Where, oh where has Tuna Girl gone?

For what seems like the first time in a long time, I have tons of stories to share. I have things I'd like to write, memories I'd like to preserve before they fade away. But I'm busy. So, so busy. Too busy to write. And that sucks.

But here is what is up with me...in a condensed CliffsNotes version.

1. We went on the Nickelodeon Family Cruise and Royal Caribbean's Freedom of the Seas. It was a blast and really a celebration for the kids. But we probably won't ever go on a cruise again. This was definitely a once in a lifetime thing. We're just not cruising people. I'd rather go to a destination and spend lots of time exploring.

Besides, by about midweek, most of the other parents caught in Nick-hell-odeon had lost their fucking minds. I mean, people seriously lost their shit.

It was all smooth sailing for the Tuna Clan though. Everything worked out really well. Oh, and we got slimed! And swam with dolphins, which was amazing. My son said it was "better than Disney World" and he might be right.

2. I started taking piano lessons. I'm so excited. And a little anxious. Even after only one lesson I can really understand my kids a little better now. That shit is hard.

But apparently, I rock! I was really nervous about my first lesson but my teacher was psyched by how much I already knew. And I didn't even know I knew it. He even asked me if I was really a beginner. Toot, toot! (That's me tooting my own horn.) Toot, toot.

It's all good. Once I get past Ode to Joy and the same variation of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star my kids learned on the violin when they were four...well...we'll just see how much I rock then.

3. Speaking of...Our anniversary is next Thursday (14 years!) and my husband bought me a piano. It is my new baby! I love it and am so excited. I can't keep my fingers off of it.

4. I'm going to have a full house this next week. My parents are bringing all three of my nephews (twin nine-year-olds and a five-year-old) for a week long visit. The good news is that this inspired me to finally Spring clean my house. I still call it Spring cleaning as long as it isn't fall yet, right? The bad news is that...well...my parents and nephews will be here for a week. I'm not good with children, or guests, or my parents. Whenever they visit I both look forward to it and dread it. I probably need therapy.

5. The kids school starts August 31. I am beside myself with happiness. This next year looks very bright.

6. And last but not least, all those little mouth breathers on the cruise got us sick. Luckily we didn't start feeling it until after we got home. But, ugh. Now we get to pass it on to my nephews and have them bring it home to my sister-in-law. Happy Back to School to her. *cue evil laugh*

What a Difference a Year Makes

We celebrate one year with our "new" violin teacher!

Great News!

My husband got a call at 4 o'clock this afternoon.

They canceled his trip. The whole thing is called off!

We are ecstatic! It's funny because this is the best news we've gotten in a long time and we want to shout it to the rooftops. But nobody knows that he was supposed to be leaving. Except you guys and the kids' violin teacher.

As far as everyone is concerned things are pretty status quo for us, but we feel like celebrating!

I keep thinking of all the things he'll be able to do with us these next six months.

We are so lucky. I am so happy!

Good News, Bad News

The good news:

They're pushing back my husband's TDY report date until after our cruise. Yay! He can go with us.

The bad news:

They're extending the TDY from four months to six months. So he'll be away until February.

The good news:

He's not going overseas! He's going back to our old base. (But it's a TDY not a PCS so they won't pay for us to go with him.)

The bad news:

So this six-month-long TDY doesn't count toward his AEF (too hard to explain) so he's still due to leave for Afghanistan in May for four to six months.

This is killing me. Six months ago I would have killed for him to be sent back to our old base. If we were still at that school I hated I would have gone with him whether they paid for it or not. But we can't duck out for six months right now.

He's mostly upset because he was all set to coach my son's soccer team and assistant coach my daughter's team. It's funny the things he worries about the most. He's also worried about telling his mother. Funny. (It would have been nice to have him coach again though. It helps my scheduling conflicts.)

Oh, I know that it could be a lot worse. He could be going to Afghanistan for a year. But honestly, I think we'd both prefer that. As he put it, "I'd rather be doing something that really needs to be done. I'd rather be making a difference!"

What will he be doing? Well, as he put it, "...sharpening pencils."

Yes, it could be a lot worse, but this sucks too.

At least I'll be getting back to our old base and visiting my old friends. That will be fun. Hell, we'll be spending Thanksgiving and Christmas with them.

If you don't have anything nice to say...

I have absolutely nothing good to say about our branch of the military today. So I'm trying really hard not to say anything at all.

We got crappy news this weekend. Looks like I'll be starting another school year at another new school without my husband around. I can't say more until it all actually happens (which is supposed to be by Monday).

Damn it.

This is complicated and it sucks.

I've always said that I really love being a military wife. And once upon a time, I did. But lately, I'm starting to wonder just how much damage this is doing to my kids. Is it worth it?

My husband is wondering the same thing. But when he started muttering the "s" word (i.e. "separating") at work, the guys all jumped up and told him to cool off and not make any hasty decisions.

It's not like my husband hasn't done his duty. He's done his fair share for fourteen years. Like, I said, it's complicated.

Just when I was starting to feel settled and happy. Damn it.

Better than my Colin Quin Autograph

Today my daughter got a letter from Michelle Obama. It's pretty cool.

Back when the first family was trying to pick a dog, my daughter wrote a letter to Sasha and Malia telling them why she thought they should choose a daschund.

It's nice that she got a reply back. Although it was a form letter that was probably sent to every kid in America who wrote the family about dogs, it is still signed by Michelle Obama.

My daughter thinks it is totally awesome.

Speaking of Magic Wands

My daughter currently has about $1200 worth of violin bows sitting in her room.

I once heard a bow described as the magic wand of the violin. I didn't realize how true that was. Most instrument companies will send you a few bows to try and choose from. There are so many variables in a player, a violin and a bow that getting the perfect fit between the three is a lot like magic.

So my daughter's bedroom currently looks like a scene out of Ollivander's Wand Shop.

The artist does not pick the bow. The bow picks the artist.

It's time this young artist picked her bow so I can send the others back. I keep threatening her, "You take care of those bows or you'll be getting a job to pay for them!"

A little bit of magic is damned expensive.

Read the Book

We have a rule in my house. You can't see a movie until you read the book first.

I mean, let's face it, there has never been a movie that was better than the book it was based on. Never.

This rule, however, generally only applies to my daughter and me as my son is just starting to read chapter book and my husband doesn't read at all.

Seriously. He has never read a book for pleasure. Ever. (How I married a man who doesn't read, I'll never know. Maybe it was fate's way of making sure our family didn't go poor from buying books.)

However, after seeing the Harry Potter movie last weekend, and listening to my daughter and I go on and on about how the book was different, and listening to me go on and on about how books are better than movies he asked me if I still had the first Harry Potter book in the house.

Of course I do!

But I had been planning to start rereading the series over again from the beginning (maybe with my son). Still, there was no way I was going to tell him that and keep that book out of his hands.

So he got it out and put it on his nightstand. And there it has sat for four days. I've actually reread it while he was asleep and have started on The Chamber of Secrets.

God, I hope he reads it. I can't even tell you how much. As the only one on our family who doesn't love to read, he has always been a bit of an outsider. I want to bring him into the book-loving fold.

Good Fences

Before I write anything else, I should first say that I have spent the last six months of my life, changing my life outlook. I am all about being positive. I've been slowly but surely eliminating the negative people in my life and slowly but surely tuning into the happier side of myself.

That being said...

*sigh*

*ahem*

Good fences really do make good neighbors.

Some people moved into the house next door. The one that used to be occupied by, and is still owned by a lovely German family. My kids were devastated when the German family went back to Germany as their kids were great to play with.

They never came over uninvited or unannounced. They were polite. Their parents were on top of everything they did.

Now, well, there are three boys "staying" in the house next door. The puzzle of ex-wives, girlfriends, and parentage is impossible to figure out.

The "dad" seems nice enough but he was really over eager to get our kids to come play with his assortment of future criminals. (Do I judge a book by its cover, or a kid by his mohawk? Apparently I do.) Now I know why. He needs distractions.

I stupidly allowed my kids to play with the juvenile delinquents. They've been waiting for kids to move in since Christmas. How could I deny them? But it has turned into a total cluster. ("Cluster" being fly boy short speak for "cluster fuck" which is slightly worse than "goat fuck"!)

They come over all the time. They bang and bang and bang on my door if I do not answer it right away. They are constantly pushing over the threshold. They fight and wrestle and hit each other with sticks (All of which may be cool with lots of families, but not with me!) They fucking argue with me. A kid! A fucking eight-year-old kid. A fucking kid who isn't mine!

Today I had to use my mean voice. I am so over it.

I find myself hiding from them. I won't let the kids swim in the pool if I know the boys are home, because they'll be over faster than flies on shit. I take the kids out to eat, just so our meals won't get interrupted.

I'm home alone on a fucking Tuesday morning and I can't even fucking masturbate because a fucking eight-year-old kid is literally kicking my door.

I'm done. They are on a two day probation from knocking on our door which will turn into a permanent probation.

*ahem*

Like I was saying, I'm really looking for the positive in people lately. Sometimes I just have to look really fucking hard.

Oh, and I'm positive I can talk my husband into installing a new privacy fence.

RICE, RICE, Baby!

You know what's not very smart? Wearing sandals when you have a badly sprained ankle.

Last weekend I met up with local bloggers Misty and Dena...

Okay, wait. Major side note here. When I was moving here, Misty gave me tons of help. We e-mailed and talked on the phone. It was always my intention to meet up with her within a few weeks of arriving, but it just never happened. I don't know why I get so nervous meeting bloggers. It always turns out fine and every blogger I've met has been really great. Misty and Dena were no exceptions!

Anyway...

Last weekend the kids and I finally met up with local bloggers Misty and Dena and their kids at the beach. We had a very nice time, but as we were walking back to our car, I missed a step on the little walkway and wrenched my ankle pretty bad. Again.

I hurt my ankle last Fall and again in New York in November. This time I really messed it up. It's all RICE for me for a while.

Except, like I said, I stupidly wore sandals to run errands this morning (dropping the kids off at soccer camp and running to the doctor's office). And I even more stupidly went to a water park on Saturday!

Every year we give the kids the choice of having a party or going on a day trip for their birthdays. We always secretly hope they'll choose the day trip. This year my daughter asked to go to Water Country USA and bring a friend. So we did.

But man! All that walking killed my ankle. I'm so glad we rented the cabana. It was totally worth it.

Another side note. Taking care of three kids is exponentially harder than taking care of two. I don't know how other people do it. Although, taking care of someone else's kid is much more nerve wracking. If something happens to your own kid, you can say, "Eh, oh well. You should have been more careful." But I don't want to bring a broken child back to her parents. "Oops, sorry!" just wouldn't cut it.

In conclusion: I sprained my ankle. Then I made it worse. Then I wrote side notes.

Lucky 13

Today is my daughter's birthday. She is ten-years-old.

I won't say that I can't believe she is hitting double digits, because it just wouldn't be true. Actually, I feel like it has taken forever for her to be this old. She's finally ten. Finally.

Unlike most parents, I am perfectly happy to trade my little girl for a big one. She may be hitting the angst of puberty, but she is finally finding some independence. She is finally finding herself and her self confidence. It is so very good.

I've had to push this one screaming from the nest. But they've got to fly sometime. And in two years she'll be able to babysit.

She's a great kid. She's as sweet and empathetic as a child could possibly be, and creative, imaginative, and talented to boot.

Happy birthday, sweet girl! I know this next year is going to be a great one.

Man, I've been a parent for ten years. That's the longest I've ever done anything.

Sarcophagus

Last week, the kids dragged a big moving box out of the garage to make a sarcophagus for my son.

Um, yes. They were making him an Egyptian coffin. Okay.

So they've been playing with it all week.

Last night when my husband came home from work he asked me, "Where's the boy?"

"Playing in the family room," I answered.

But we couldn't find him. Just as I was really starting to worry we heard snoring.

From the sarcophagus.

He had climbed in, closed the top and fallen asleep.

What's the scariest noise for any parent to hear?

Silence.

Even in Ancient Egypt.

What Ten Years of Motherhood has Taught Me.

Being a mom has taught me a few useful things. Just a few, really, but sill.

My favorite SuperMom skill is the ability to find a public restroom in the most impossible circumstances. Times Square? Bourbon Street? I can find a decent bathroom anywhere.

In fact the only time in the past ten years that I haven't been able to find a bathroom was at a gay beach that was a freaking ten mile hike from civilization. Through sand! Uphill! (Every time I tell that story I add a mile on principle.)

This Fourth of July I was SuperMom again when I decided that the kids might enjoy the fireworks better if they had designated seating, pre-fireworks entertainment, plenty of food options, and...of course...bathrooms aplenty.

We bought tickets for the local Triple-A baseball team and enjoyed the postgame fireworks (which were awesome), stadium food (which was expensive), a run around the bases (which the kids loved), and bathrooms aplenty (which were surprisingly clean).

By the way, SuperMom scores big by smuggling in glowing necklaces and bracelets bought for a buck a dozen months ago. (Next year Supermom could smuggle in more and make a nice little profit.)

Rage Against the Smallest Damn Thing

I am amazed and appalled by the amount of anger I am carrying around these days. It's starting to leak out all over the damn place.

I think, in an effort not to be a bitch, to keep the peace, and mostly not to be accused of being a hypocrite, I have buried an enormous amount of anger. I just haven't buried it very well.

That hasn't always been my style. In fact, that has been the complete opposite of my style for the majority of my last thirty-six years. But when you're trying to be all things to your family all the time, you start to change.

I'm not used to having unresolved issues in my life. I'm not used to carrying around hurt and anger. I'm not used to all this residual rage. I'm not handling it well.

Immersion

I'm finally back to the real world. I'm somehow surprised to find that not everyone plays a string instrument and I don't have to attend parent lectures every day.

Taking the kids to a Suzuki violin institute was well worth the time and cost. It was quite an interesting week. Not only were the kids inspired but I was reminded of the very important reasons why we started all this violin stuff in the first place.

It was a week of immersion. I haven't spent a week of pure immersion like that since my days of spring training for softball. It was...kind of freeing. There were no computers. I didn't take any phone calls. I didn't watch any television.

It was just me and my family. And it was good.

My mom met us there, to help me get two kids through four classes a day. She loved watching their group lessons and play-ins. Unfortunately she missed their solo recitals and concerts.

In the middle of the night on Wednesday she got a call from my father. My father lost his sight in one eye this past year due to diabetes. That night his other eye "blew". He had to have emergency surgery to try and save his sight, so my mom took off for the ten hour drive back to her home.

She was a wreck and the kids were sad.

My father is going to have to wait about three weeks to see if his eye heals at all.

But I'm back with a new sense of purpose and lots of decisions to make. And a weeks' worth of reflection to help make them.

Violin Mom

I'm off for a week of violin camp with the kids. I'll see you next weekend...with enough violin mom crap to make you puke.

Every Day for a Year!

I am absolutely riding high tonight. What a great day.

First of all, as of this morning, my children and I have practiced violin every single day for an entire year.

Can you even believe that? My own mother can't believe it. When I told her I was getting up at 5:45 a.m. every morning for violin practice, she was speechless.

But, man has it paid off.

First of all, tonight my son graduated to the next level of violin training. We celebrated with a graduation recital and reception with his four fellow graduates. He played five solo pieces. He's been working his butt off to perfect them and he sounded great tonight.

The compliments were flying after his performance. There is something about my son...I don't know. I can't explain it, partly because I don't really see it myself. But people love him.

Yeah, sure, he played better than the other kids (ahem), but people just love his spirit. One mother wants to get him an agent and put him in movies. She went on and on about him. To me he's just my kid. My great kid, for sure. But I expect him to act and look and live the way he does.

People were also complimenting me left and right. To the point of embarrassment. But you know I love it. I took the initiative to organize the reception and people acted like it was a huge deal. All I did was send a couple of e-mails.

So I was feeling pretty positive when we got home. But then my daughter got the mail and things got even better.

My daughter was accepted into the orchestra she auditioned for! This is a huge deal. She'll be one of the youngest kids in the group. I'm so proud of her!

The audition was not an easy thing. For her or me. She worked for hours and hours on scales, sight reading and a solo piece. She was ready but she was nervous. Watching her walk out of the warm up room and into the judging room was a profound parenting moment for me.

She was all on her own. I had done everything I could do for her. She was all on her own.

Sure, she's performed solos in huge concerts, but I was always in the audience, watching and cheering her on. And helping her process it all in the aftermath.

This time she was all alone in that room. Just two judges, her, and her music.

She is very proud of herself tonight too. She was beaming!

Practicing together every single day for an entire year has made a tremendous difference in our lives. And not just with their violins. It has made us all believe that we can do anything we set our minds to. It has proven to my children that working hard is its own benefit. It has taught them that they can get anywhere they want to go, with enough discipline.

On Sunday we're heading to D.C. for a week-long violin institute. We're all excited. We'll be heading into another year of music with a song on our hearts.

Needing Knobs

Oh sure. I get locked in the laundry room and the whole family just laughs at me.

My husband gets locked in the laundry room and has to be rescued by a seven-year-old with a screwdriver and suddenly we have new doorknobs throughout the house.

At least I love my new knobs.

Survivor: Laundry Island

Last night I was locked in the laundry room.

The door knob has been acting up for a while, but I still shut the door behind me so the dog would stay with me and I could give her a treat.

Then I couldn't get out.

Between me and my television-watching husband was the laundry room door, the closed bathroom door (our laundry room is off of our bathroom...I didn't want you to think that my husband was watching television in the bathroom...although, I'm sure he would...actually I'm surprised he hasn't asked for a flat screen above the tub yet) and about ten feet.

First I knocked. Then I yelled his name. Then I banged and knocked some more. Then I yelled some more.

Fifteen minutes later when I had dissolved into hysterical laughter, he rescued me.

I had been envisioning myself spending the night in the laundry room. I had even been envisioning my children finding me days from now dead and curled up with the dog.

Okay, that's not true. I'd eat that damn dog long before I'd die. Sorry, but if it was me or her, well, I'd be cooking her in the dryer.

Oh, wait. I suppose I could eat her Purina ProPan before I'd have to resort to that. Heck, between her treats and the water in the laundry room sink, I could have a pretty sweet life in there.

All alone.

Ah. Alone.

And by the time anyone found me I'd probably have lost some significant weight. It would be like a vacation really. A vacation at a health spa!

Excuse me. I'm going to go get the dog a treat again. I might shut the door behind me. Maybe no one will think to look for me until school starts in the fall.

Like Pinned Butterflies

Every year when the kids get out of school, I have fantasies about spending our days sipping lemonade and playing badminton. And every year I am rudely reminded that life goes on and on and on. And responsibilities rarely take a vacation.

These last two weeks have been a bitch! And it ain't over yet, sisters!

Between soccer tryouts, and more soccer tryouts, and even more soccer tryouts (because she didn't make the first team), and a week's worth of speech evaluations, and an audition for an orchestra I feel like my kids have been under a microscope lately.

Oh, and never mind the two violin concerts, solos for each kid, and my son's six solos for graduation recital next week.

I feel like I've been in a ringer. I can only imagine how the kids feel.

One more week and we can crawl out from under the microscope. And soon you'll be treated to more sickening stories of my kids and our domestic life. Because no matter how any one else evaluates these two, I think they freakin' rock.*

*70 to 80% of the time anyway

Time to Celebrate

Today is our last day at this school! Woo hoo!

I'm doing a happy dance complete with back flips! Woo hoo, again!

Yesterday the girl in my daughter's class who is switching schools with us leaned over and whispered to my daughter, "I can't wait to get out of here. Then I'll never have to come back to this place again!"

I had no clue that sweet girl was anything but happy.

My daughter leaned over and whispered back, "I know."

Happy dance, people. Join in with us!

Aim High

This morning I completely doused the kids in S.P.F. 70 sunblock so they wouldn't get burnt out at Field Day. Then I joined them on the field for a picnic lunch.

And wore exactly 0 S.P.F.

Whoops. Thanks to my v-neck t-shirt, I now have an inverted triangle burnt into my milky white skin.

And thanks to the pendent I always wear, I now have a milky white outline of a jet plane embossed on my skin.

So hot. And as close as I'll ever get to a tattoo.

Counting the Hours

My son, who wants to be a movie star when he grows up, was very unhappy with his grade's Spring show last Friday.

As we were walking to the car he motioned for me to lean close to him. Then he whispered, "That was the worst program I've ever been in."

"Why, Buddy?" I asked. I mean, I couldn't argue with him. But I wondered why he felt that way.

"It was just horrible!"

He ain't wrong.

The week before we went to see my daughter's school orchestra. They plucked out a few notes while a recording blared so loud that if you couldn't actually see the kids, you wouldn't have thought they were even playing. (And even then...)

I mean we weren't expecting a lot, but my husband took the afternoon off for that?

Last week my son asked me if I would please homeschool him for the rest of the year. Seriously. The most social child in the history of the world, wants to be homeschooled.

We have four more days. Three and a half now, really. And then we never have to see this school again.

I'm thinking of throwing a party. Academy here we come!

Sappy McSapperstein

A while ago, a dear friend asked me to come give a speech at a Military Appreciation Banquet in Louisiana this Friday. While I would have loved to have gone, given my speech, and spent the weekend with my old friends, I couldn't miss all the day-to-day stuff here.

So she asked if I would write a speech anyway and she would read it on my behalf.

I must admit, I've been putting it off. I knew I'd get all emotional while writing it. That's the only way to make a speech poignant, funny or meaningful. You have to really get into it.

I finally got the damn thing written this morning. And now I have a massive headache from all the crying.

My friend said that's only fair since it made her cry too and now she misses me more than ever. That's sweet and I love her, but the bitch made me write this crap in the first place.

Okay, I'm happy to do it. This organization means a lot to me and I somehow became the poster woman for military spouses back at our old base (which absolutely humbled and honored me).

But now I miss her and everyone else back in Louisiana even more too. And my eyes are burning and my head aches.

If I get invited again next year, I'm going.

Craig's Birthday Gift to Me

Oh, sure. Most people think he did this sexy version of "Oops!...I did it Again" for ratings and fun. But I know it was his secret love message to me.

Me. Me. Me.

(Craig Ferguson. Craig Ferguson. Craig Ferguson.)

What does it say about me that I think this is SO HOT!

Five Stars, Baby!

This is kind of weird.

In my never-ending quest to find good babysitters (just a couple more years until my daughter can sit for my son!!!!!!!!) I joined a sitter/parent web service-type-thing.

There are lots of ways to find sitters and to protect both the families and the sitters from danger the site offers background checks and reviews.

So you are supposed to review each sitter you hire. (No problem. Our sitter was awesome.)

But the sitter is supposed to review the family too.

Now, I have been rated and evaluated on lots of things in life. Performance. Appearance. Results. But I have never had a review like this. Our sitter was basically reviewing who we are as people, as parents, and as a family.

It's a good thing I am pretty damn confident or I would have been obsessing and checking the site all day long. Which I didn't. Nope. Not me. Uh uh.

I must say, it is one thing to hear that other adults really like your kids. (We got five stars, baby!) But it is another thing entirely when that adult's comments highlight the very values you have been diligently trying instill in your offspring for ten years.

Score! It all hasn't been in vain. Of course I knew that we were on the right track, but outside validation is always nice.

2009 and has been the Up with Tuna Family year. Go Team Tuna.

The Best Birthday Gift Ever

This doesn't make any sense! But I keep checking the math over and over again so it must be true.

I was thirty-years-old when I started this blog.

How could that possibly be? Today I turn 36. And I don't feel one bit older than I did back then.

Last night my husband took me to see Wicked here in town. I really enjoyed it. I had been hearing about Wicked for years and so I was very happy to finally see it. The production was great, but I am mostly impressed by the writing. In a thousand years, I could never come up with a story like that.

This morning my husband left a homemade card for me on the kitchen table. I have to admit, part of me thought, "Oh, that is so sweet!' and part of me thought, "Looks like someone forgot to buy a card." But mostly I thought it was sweet.

But for the lack of gifts (except for the Godiva chocolates that just showed up at my door by Express mail) and cake, this birthday had some serious highlights.

For one thing, my husband and I cleaned the house. He did a major portion of the work. I don't know if he even realizes it, but that is just about the best gift he could give me. I was completely overwhelmed and stressed out because I can never keep up with the work in this house.

We also found a really good, really reliable babysitter. A good babysitter is worth her weight in gold (and we pretty much paid her that much). This one is a high school science teacher with grown kids. She couldn't be more perfect.

And finally, seriously, the best gift I have ever received was an e-mail from an old bayou friend (and my former assistant softball coach). He wrote, "Thanks for getting (our school) started w/ softball last year. If it were not for you we would have missed the whole experience. We finished the season yesterday in 1st place w/ a record of 14-1. What you taught the girls (and me) along w/ (our new coach's) expertise just kept the girls growing the entire season. You should be proud of your softball legacy."

Oh, man. He has no idea what that means to me. Those girls were so special to me. I am so happy and proud to be able to start them off on the right foot in a sport I love.

In response, my husband sent me an email. "Congratulations on instilling the love of the game to another generation."

I think he may have hired a ghost writer. But mostly I thought it was sweet.

So I may be another year older and deeper in debt, but I am happy, in love, and have a clean house. Plus, I have chocolate. And it just doesn't get any better than that.

Just Because

License to Age

The last time I went to the DMV, someone asked me what high school I went to.

This time? Not so much.

It's been a tough four years.

But next time? Well, the next time I have to go to the DMV will be when my daughter gets her license.

How freaking scary is that?

You Can't Go Home Again

Do you know what's weird?

What's weird Tuna?

It's weird that my husband is TDY to our hometown.

It's also weird that I'm more stressed about this little five day TDY (business trip) he's taking then his six month or year-long deployment that's coming up, but I guess it's just because I'm especially stressed lately.

Anyway, this is the first time that he's traveled for work to the base near where we grew up. He spent the first day checking on our house (it's still there) and going to dinner with his father (long story). And he even took my brother out to lunch yesterday.

To me that's weird. I am so incredibly introverted that I would feel awkward taking my brother out to lunch. I never expected my husband to invite him. But he thinks I'm nuts.

"I'm going to a conference in his office!" he told me. "How can I not meet him for lunch?"

Even if I took my brother out to lunch out of obligation, I would feel worried and sick about it for weeks before. I just wouldn't know what to talk about. It's not that he's a bad guy. I just don't know him that well.

How sad is that?

Anyway, my husband said it was a really nice lunch. They talked about our kids and sports and work. "He's a really nice guy, when his bitch of a wife isn't around," he said.

That's funny. My mother said the same thing last week.

Anyway, it feels weird that my husband took a trip "home" without us. He has a rental car. He'll be in town for the Bruins' game seven at the Garden. (I wish he'd get tickets for himself but he said, "I couldn't do that to you.") He's even staying at the hotel where we spent our wedding night.

I hope he appreciates that my parents our out of town this week, or they would have guilted him into doing something.

Sunrise, Sunset

My daughter has started her own blog.

It may be time to pass the torch. Excuse me while I vomit.

She has a bunch of homeschooler friends from violin, including the redheaded menace (who my daughter insists is not mean but just doesn't know how to behave), and they all have blogs.

*sigh*

My husband's only comment? "Do you really think that is a good idea?'

Well, no. Of course not. But apparently blogs have trickled down to the under 10 set (a sure sign that they are SO OVER) and I am determined to use the opportunity to teach her about Internet security while she is still young enough to listen to me.

Happy Mother's Day to me. Someone pass the vodka.

Appreciate Me, Damn It!

Today is Military Spouse Appreciation Day. And I almost missed it!

Thank goodness the banner on my bank's web page reminded me. Now can someone call my husband and remind him too. (You might want to remind him about Mothers' Day and my birthday while you're at it.)

A big HURRAH to my fellow military wives today. We kind of rock, don't we?

I Wish!

Right before we left our old school, a civilian friend of ours gave $250,000 to the school to start an endowment fund for military families. Cool, huh? He wanted any military family who wanted to attend the school to be able to, regardless of their financial situation.

He's kind of awesome. He didn't want any recognition or anything so they called it the Military Family Endowment and only announced his identity at the board meeting.

Yesterday, SW (one of my best friends from back on the bayou and the president of the school's parents' association) asked me if I could fly in for a military appreciation breakfast and presentation.

Since I can't make it, she then asked me to write a little something for her to read during the presentation to our endowment fund.

She said, "This year the parent's association would like to make a contribution to the endowment fund your family started. Is it called the Tuna Family Endowment?"

Um, no.

It's not.

Yes, my mother-in-law always makes very generous contributions to the school, but $250,000? Hell, no!

And us? I think we donated 75 bucks last year.

But, apparently, word got around that we started this quarter of a million dollar endowment.

If we gave a quarter mil, I'd want a damn building named after us.

Now I have to write an e-mail explaining this all to my friend and setting the record straight. That could be hard.

Huh. I wonder if I'll still have to write something for that presentation. That could be hard too.

"Dear fellow parents...we're not the generous rich fucks you think we are..."

Why I'm Sucky and Boring

The next time you're sitting in a boring work meeting, think about this.

They say, write what you know.

Do you know what I know?

I know about sitting through an hour of mind numbing presentations by fourth graders.

I've seen a lot of really great school presentations over the years. I'm always amazed at what the teachers can get the kids to do and how creative their presentations are.

Yesterday...ummm...not so much.

Each fourth grader filled out a form about a breed of dog. And then they read the information on the form to the crowd with absolutely no preparation or practice.

By the fifth time I heard about how many cups of food a dog should have a day, I was ready to put a corkscrew in my brain.

Oh! And they handed out questions for the parents to ask. To which each and every kid replied, "I don't know."

I tried to intentionally choke myself with the little slip of paper my question was written on ("Are Irish Setters popular in the US?") but it didn't work. No rescue by EMT for me.

I couldn't even sneak out at intermission because my kid was dead last.

At least she mixed up her question responses with, "I'm not sure, but I think so."

After, there was a reception. I could have been completely invisible. The only people who talked to me, or even made eye contact with me were my daughter and her teacher. (And one very kind woman whose daughter is switching schools with us next year.)

Her teacher thinks my daughter was "amazing". "We saved the best for last!" she told me.

Um, okay.

Next year when she's whipping your school's ass in forensics, or someday when she's giving speeches for charitable foundations or starring on Broadway, be sure to remember that she didn't learn anything from you.

Okay, what was that I was saying about finding the happy? I'm happy I won't have to sit through another presentation like that ever again. There's an hour of my life I'll never get back, all for the love of my amazing kid.

Find the Happy!

At my daughter's league championship soccer game yesterday, one of my favorite girls sort of tripped over her own feet as she was hustling for a ball.

"Her heart was willing but her feet weren't able," I said and everyone laughed. (Yeah. I'm a card.)

But, you know, that could be a metaphor for my life lately. (Yeah. I'm a dork.)

I feel like negativity is completely permeating the world right now. Sure, the economy sucks, loved ones are sick, and some people are hopelessly jobless. I understand that. But I don't think it is an excuse for other people to be meaner, nastier, and more isolated than ever.

I'm trying to stay upbeat. I'm trying to chill. I'm trying to only obsess about the things that are really important.

But I keep getting dragged down into the muck. My heart is willing to be happy and free, but my head isn't able.

I'm just so tired. I'm tired of people. I'm tired of guilt.

You can't just cruise through life and expect to be happy. You have to make happy. You have to work at it. It's like a good marriage or partnership in that way.

I'm going to shift gears, right now, today. And force myself to find the happy.

Who's with me?

A Facinating Story about a Doughnut

Sacrilege!

Yesterday, I almost threw away a doughnut.

I know!

I had picked up two Dunkin Donuts on a whim (along with a hot chocolate because that's how I roll) on my way home from dropping off the kids.

I snuggled up on the couch to watch my crush Craig Ferguson (Craig Ferguson, Craig Ferguson, Craig Ferguson!) ate one doughnut, and then completely forgot that I hadn't eaten two.

I actually thought to myself, "Huh, I ate those awfully fast." And I thought to myself, "Huh, the bag I just balled up to throw away felt awfully full."

When it hit me...hello! There's a doughnut in the bag!..I was flabbergasted.

Who the hell have I become?

So did I unball the bag, fluff up my glazed doughnut and eat it?

You bet your ass I did. Do you know me at all?

Silver Lining

Last week my daughter did something she'd never done before.

Totally out of the blue she started crying that she didn't want to go to school.

In the past, she cried if she had to miss school, even if she was sick.

"What's going on, kiddo?" I asked her. "You've never felt this way about school before."

"That's because I loved my old school. The kids don't behave here. I'm so sick of it!"

She's breaking my freaking heart. I couldn't get any more information out of her, but I ended up calming her down by telling her that there is barely a month of school left and then she'll never have to go back there again.

I was actually starting to feel guilty about making the kids move schools. They'll have to start all over again and we might not even be living here much longer. Plus, their current headmaster keeps sending me letters expressing her distress at our leaving. Even though every time I see her in person she has no idea who I am.

So, the girl may be breaking my heart but at least she's helped me feel better about our decision.

There is exactly one month left of school. I've never been so excited for summer.

You don't know how glam I am.

We are spiraling out of control in our quest to be the most white trash glam family on our block (or in the cul-de-sac). We just bought an above-ground pool. So fancy!

When we moved here we were pretty intent on buying a house with a pool. When that fell apart, we bought a house with a yard big enough for a pool. And then we found out that we'd have to spend about 45 grand to put in the pool we wanted.

So now we have an above-ground pool. And we're six grand poorer. But we're stimulating the economy. Go Tuna Family!

You Just Never Know

Man, there's nothing like hearing the words, "I have good news and bad news..."

Every military spouse I know can identify with those phone calls. I can't tell you how many times my husband has called just to give me a "heads up" on some possibly life changing news.

This time I was hanging out at home waiting for our new television to be delivered. Just as the guy was pulling into the driveway my husband dropped the bomb.

"Is my T.V. there yet?" he asked me.

"The guy just pulled in," I replied.

"Oh, okay. I'll call you back then. I have news."

Why does he say that when he doesn't have time to give me details?

"Good or bad?" I asked. "Tell me quick."

So, the news isn't really a big deal. It's just a possible career opportunity that would require us to move again relatively soon. He was really calling to ask me if I thought he should pursue it.

I don't know why he bothers to ask me anymore. I always tell him to pursue everything.

It's a good reminder. Just as I start to get comfortable and forget that I'm even a military wife, I'm reminded of the tentative nature of this life.

You just never know.

A Slippery Slope

I have a love/hate relationship with Drew Barrymore.

Well, it's not so much a relationship, really. It's more that I think it is great that someone so interesting looking can be considered beautiful by so many. But I think the way she talks needs to be outlawed.

Why is she so weird?

We were watching her on Lettermen the other night when I voiced my "weird" opinion of her. To which my husband quickly replied, "She's hot."

Really? Really?

Okay, if you like people who talk out of the sides of their mouths, I guess she's okay. But she has seriously sparked my interest in Grey Gardens.

Grey Gardens is one of the many popular gay culture things that I had no clue about. I heard it mentioned a thousand times, but never asked what it was about, assuming that I should already know.

Now, I'm fascinated by the story. And that of the Collyer brothers in Harlem.

Recently my parents demolished the life long home of my father's two deceased spinster aunts (one of whom always spoke with a British accent for no apparent reason) because it was too dangerous to even try to clean it out.

Since I was little I had heard stories about how the sisters had money stashed away in every nook and cranny because they didn't trusts the banks. They used to babysit me when I was very little and I remember their house seeming like a magical collection of player pianos and antique toys.

In the end, after the last sister died last year, my brother braved the decades of trash and decay to case the place for dead bodies and easily accessible cash. When he found nothing, they razed the house and sold the land to a developer.

How do you let things go so far?

You see, I'm asking, because I can understand it all too well.

I'm a little afraid to watch Grey Gardens because I'm afraid I'll see myself too clearly in the Beale women. I'd like to watch the documentary before the HBO movie, but I'm reticent.

I can easily see letting myself get to that point someday. When my husband is gone, and my children are gone...

There is such a small degree of separation between eccentricity and tragedy.

Easter Ham

And I keep my streak alive of always being sick on major holidays.

What's up with that?

Actually, the kids have been really sick since last Tuesday or Wednesday. We spent Thursday and Friday night doing the fever dance...you know...that dance of trying to keep a kids' fever low enough so you don't have to take him to the ER, but being ready to head to the ER if you need to.

I've never taken either of the kids to the ER and I don't want to start now.

The problem with my son is that he's so good natured, even when he's sick, that it is hard to tell when he's really feeling bad.

I, on the other hand, let everyone know when I am sick.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to parent when your voice is shot and your throat is on fire?

I did manage to put together an Easter dinner, mostly by just heating up store-bought sides. We had a Honeybaked ham that I picked up last week. It ended up being really good.

But I have to admit, I am so annoyed that after nine years we still can't get through a meal (at least a meal that isn't chicken nuggets, plain hamburger, buttered pasta, pancakes or eggs) without my daughter crying.

As much as I say that it's just too bad if she won't try the perfectly normal (and often bland) food I've provided for her, I still end up avoiding making meals I know she'll cry over. I've made her peanut butter sandwiches too many times before.

This is my major parental failure.

All in all, it was a nice Easter, despite the fevers, hacking and snot. I'll never understand why, but Easter is my daughter's favorite holiday.

Maybe next year she'll try a bite of ham. Before I decide to trade her in.

Only Us

Only I would get a really bad sunburn while wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt.

My face looks like tomato. It feels really stupid having a sunburn when it is 60 degrees in April.

Only my daughter would yell out, "Mommy! Look at this giant cock!" in the middle of a waiting room.

She had taken a picture of a really big rooster on her field trip.

I'm so glad the women in my family have such a flair for the dramatic.

Caught Between Two Worlds

Remember what I said about being happy with my son's baseball coach. Yup. I take that back.

The guy's an ass.

No adult should ever tell a group of kids to shut up.

I know my disdain for his behavior is mainly a cultural thing. And I mean that in both an ethnic and a...well...honestly, a socio-economic thing.

I grew up in a working class town with working class people. I grew up around parents who swore and yelled at their kids in public. I grew up where everyone smoked at Little League games and belched in front of ladies. I grew up around racism and homophobia.

So I should feel comfortable in that element. But I don't. I chose to go to a private school and I chose to get out of that town. Even my husband struggled though college and became and officer in the military to get away from all that.

We're trying to give our kids a better life. And yet, here I am, throwing my kid right back in the fray, just because I think he should play baseball.

It's funny, because here I am calling the private school people here snooty. But then I'm turning right around and calling the neighborhood people low class.

But I've got to be honest. I'll choose snooty people who spoil their kids over low class people who demean their kids. Mostly because they're demeaning my kid too, and he doesn't deserve that. I can keep my kids from being spoiled, but I can't keep them from being humiliated.

Now, I should point out something here though. Something I find quite interesting.

That coach today yelled at and embarrassed every single kid on that team. Except my son.

Why? Not because he's a great player (believe me). I think it's because my husband is in his uniform, with his rank all right there on his shoulders, when he takes my son to baseball practice. And the coach repeatedly calls him "sir" even though my husband has asked him not to.

I'm not sure what to think of that.

I have to be honest. I really want my son to quit baseball. And I have never ever ever quit anything in my life. So that's saying a lot.

By the way, I'm venting here because anything I say to my husband (who wasn't at the game today as he had to take my daughter to soccer) he is going to chalk up to me being an overprotective mom. And a former coach who doesn't think anyone can do as good a job as me.

But I'm going to start Googling youth lacrosse and researching our new school's developmental sports program. I can't take this for another season.

Oh, and also. I've already thanked my husband for providing us with this lifestyle I was starting to take for granted.

Dark Places

Okay, my friends, I've got to admit something here.

I'm kind of a wreck.

It turns out that our friend who died this past weekend apparently killed himself.

After we had seen on Facebook that he had died, I tried to find out some information about what happened. When so many people you know are pilots, and you hear that someone has died, you always assume that there was an incident.

But we knew that our friend just had his "fini flight" (a celebration of someone's last flight in his/her military aircraft). So my husband was thinking he may have been in Iraq or something.

But no. It turns out that he had just started flying civilian jets. He was doing his dream job.

I couldn't find an obituary or news story anywhere. But we have friends who had been in contact with his wife and were flying down for the funeral. We had funeral home information. Still, no one seemed to know what had happened to him.

"Maybe you should check out his Facebook page," I suggested to my husband. "Of course, if something happened to you, I certainly wouldn't be jumping on your Facebook account first thing, but you never know."

And his wife had posted on his Facebook profile.

She said he had died at home..."self induced"...and posted her home number so people could call and "help" her daughter "who doesn't know yet".

I don't know. It seemed weird to me. What the hell does "self induced" really mean? Yes, it sounds like he had killed himself, but that was just so out of sync with the guy we knew that I had to think I was mistaken.

On Tuesday, his Facebook wall was flooded with, well, mostly words of support for his wife and daughter and words of respect and remembrance for our friend. He was a very well-liked guy. Always was. His daughter is the same age as ours. I don't know his wife at all.

But it certainly didn't seem like a prudent time to start asking questions.

Then early Wednesday morning his wife posted an explanation. She said he had killed himself with rope and used his body to block the door from her. She said he had sent time-delayed text messages. And that his letter to her was lost. There was something about a bird and a shark and her having rescued someone from the train tracks earlier that week.

There has been zero activity there since.

Yes, if my husband were dead, no matter how he had died, I doubt I'd be my most coherent. But I really don't think I'd be on Facebook posting our home number and giving out details. But, we all grieve differently so I won't judge.

Still.

It all seems wrong and strange to me.

And I can't get it out of my mind.

Sometimes I am a little obsessive. If something bothers me, I can't let it go. It's not like we were going to miss this person on a daily basis. It was the circumstances that had me rattled.

I knew he had been posting on Facebook regularly in the last few weeks. And it was all just totally normal life stuff. I went scrolling back over the last year on his wall, just looking for...something.

How can a guy who had just been happily speaking at his daughter's career day turn around and inflict that kind of horror on his family the next? I guess he could have been sick or clinically depressed, but it would have been hard for him to fly for the military for all those years and hide it that well.

I guess PTSD is a possibility. But from what we knew of his career, he had never seen combat.

I just don't know.

Even in my very darkest hours when I know without a doubt that my family would have been better off with someone else as their wife and mother, I love them too much to abandon them and fuck up their lives forever. I know he loved his daughter.

No matter what, it puts things in perspective for sure. Tragedy tends to do that.

I mean, seriously. The worst problems I have are that my house is a mess and I need to lose weight. I can't imagine anything being so bad that there wasn't someone I could talk to about it. I can't imagine anything so bad that I would risk having my daughter discover my hanging body.

It makes me want to call all of my friends and say, "Hey! If you ever want to kill yourself, don't. Call me first and tell me that you've reached that place. Okay?"

Tonight, my daughter is playing a bunch of solos in a violin recital celebrating her graduation to the next violin level. Normally, I'd be stressing out about it. But today I just feel thankful that I have these happy children and a solid marriage to a good man.

I feel like celebrating life. I have to stop thinking about suicide and death before it eats away at me.

Positively Hoops-i-fied Fabulosity

What do you do when you're up late contemplating life, death, suicide, hopelessness and happiness? Why, you escape it all and make your own Hoops & Yoyo video.

This is the most brilliant thing I have ever created.

Hoops & Yoyo always make me feel better.

In the morning I can go back to being...introspective and weary.

Lost Friend

I'm sick of calling my husband to tell him that his friends have died.

Today I found out from a Facebook status update that one of his old ROTC friends has just died. I hadn't talked to him in years but my husband had recently caught up with him via Facebook.

The instant availability of information on the Internet is both wonderful and horrible. It allows old friends to reconnect but it reduces life changing news to a few lines of code.

I used to have nightmares about hearing bad news on CNN. Now I have nightmares about finding out I've lost my husband from my Yahoo home page.

We've lost way too many Air Force friends this past year. I still don't know the details this time around but no matter how his wife and daughter lost him, it is incredibly sad.

Whenever his name came up over the last fourteen years, we always said, "He was such a good guy." Today I'm thinking of his wife and daughter.

A Big Boom

Living on military bases for the better part of the last thirteen years has made us somewhat blasé to loud noises and booms. But we heard something Sunday night that made both of us check on the kids and the neighborhood.

We shrugged it off when we didn't see anything.

But how interesting is this? The boom we heard was falling debris from a Russian rocket.

It's like something out of a movie. It's like the opening scene when something strange but seemingly innocent falls out of the sky. Then later the human race is enslaved by aliens.

And that's what it's like to live in my head.

Summer Loving

When my daughter and I were running out of the house to get to her rehearsal last night, our neighbor (who makes us look bad with all of her landscaping) looked up from her weeding to exclaim, "Wow! You guys never stop running, do you?"

She's right. On school days we're up and practicing violin by six. Then I drive the kids to school and spend my days doing housewifely stuff. By two I'm headed to pick them up again only to rush them around to speech therapy, soccer, baseball, swimming and violin. Then of course there is the hour of homework and the hour of homeschooling-type stuff we do every evening.

My kids go to bed by 7:30 so we have only four hours to fit all that after-school stuff into.

No wonder the neighbors have noticed our constant running.

I swore I would never overschedule my kids. But here we are. Granted, the sports we do are pretty much in separate seasons, but there is some overlap and the kids' sports sometimes conflict.

But after a weekend like this last one (with a soccer tournament, swim clinic, symphony and violin rehearsal), I feel like we just need to stop for a bit.

I just want to sit on the couch and watch a movie with my kids. Except it seems like there is no end in sight.

No wonder my son insists that he doesn't want to go to any camps or take any classes this summer. He says he wants to stay home "and relax!"

I know they'll be bored by mid-July. (And I'll be going stir crazy!)

But they have to go to a violin institute and a week of day camp at their new school in June. And they want to take surf lessons. Plus we have a big vacation planned in August.

But I have promised them to spend more days at the beach. And more days relaxing. And more days having fun.

For the first Spring ever, I'm looking forward to the Summer.

Happy

The boy had his first real baseball practice tonight and loved it. His coach is great (and I'm picky!) and my son is stoked.

The girl is graduating from Book 2 of her violin training next week. We have worked so hard for this. She's playing five songs solo in a recital to celebrate. And her violin teacher is awesome and one of my favorite people.

I've got a signed contract for their new school and the deposit is paid.

Spring is on its way and my husband has been preparing our lawn.

All of these things make me very, very happy.

In celebration of my happy, here are some happy photos.

Hawaii!

The girl in her school talent show.

The boy accepting applause at the school talent show.


The kids and my husband before the Final Mile race at the oceanfront.

The kids on the beach after completing their mile race.

Serious Fun

Almost twenty years into our relationship and I can still learn new things about my husband.

He took the day off work yesterday to take care of some errands. He dropped his car off at the shop and we spent the day together taking care of mundane tasks. I think it says something about us that we can still just enjoy going to Home Depot together or sitting in carpool line.

When we are alone for any stretch of time, I like to torture him by quizzing him about our past and his feelings. He always teases me about dumping him in high school and wearing plaid pants back when I was a skinny little shit.

But yesterday, while teasing him about our pathetic first date I asked him, "So, when you scored your first date with me, were you really excited? Like, woo hoo?"

He glanced at me and asked, "Do you want an honest answer or should I tell you what you want to hear?" He asks me that a lot.

Of course I chose honesty.

"I don't remember," he told me. "But I do remember having a lot of fun with you."

In fact, he went on to tell me that he remembers always having fun with me, more than anyone else.

That amazes me, because if we have ever had any real problem in our marriage it was that we didn't have enough fun together. So much so, that in the last two or three years we have made a serious commitment to have more fun together.

Yes, I just said a serious commitment to have more fun.

He also went on to say that I was always just easy to be with.

"Ha!" I yelled at him. "And you claim that I'm high maintenance."

"No, I don't." he shook his head.

"Oh, my god!" I screeched in that way that only offended females can. "You so do!"

"Well, you're not," he admitted. "You're easy to be with."

I haven't thought of myself as fun or easy to be with in a long time. I'm so glad my husband needed to take a day to get his car fixed and mow the lawn.

Housekeeping Note

Update: If you don't see your link over there ----> don't despaire. I'm typing all of my live links into my template one at a time. And the way I type, that means I only do about five a day.

Oh, and if you have a blog that hasn't been updated in over two months, but you start blogging again, please let me know. Thanks!

I am so over blogrolling. And I used to be a paying customer and a huge fan. But their new version is a huge flop and I'm moving on.

So, please excuse the mess while I update all of my links and some other nagging problems.

Ginger Crush in Found Photos

I was just searching for something totally random online when I stumbled across pictures and videos of my own kids.

What the?

There is this boy in our violin group who has come to personify everything bad and chaotic to my children. Apparently his mother is a rather popular and prolific blogger. (Suddenly I am being really careful not to string together the wrong keywords and draw her here.)

She has posted hundreds of violin pictures and videos on flickr.

So, even though we are the lazy, uncaring parents who hardly ever take pictures or video I now have a bunch of them pilfered from flickr.

At our violin workshop last weekend, I noticed that this personification of juvenile evil is always sure to stand next to my daughter. He doesn't pay attention to anything but he always knows when she enters a room. And these new pictures I have discovered of said evil boy always include my daughter.

I think someone has an evil crush.

When I commented as such my son turned to my daughter in absolute desperation. "Please don't marry him!" he implored. "I don't want him to be a part of my life forever!"

Cracked. My. Ass. Up.

These Are Days

The longer I live the more convinced I become that aliens dropped my daughter into our family. She is clearly not from us.

There are days...

Sometimes I wonder why we ever decided to have kids at all. If only it were possible to get to that second easy kid without having to go through the daily drama and agony of dealing with a first-born. I think lots of parents would take that option.

I'm off to eat some doughnuts before I eat my young. Happy Spring.

Speaking of School

Yeah. Um, speaking of school (ahem)...

This week is the beginning of the final trimester for the kids at school. My daughter's teacher called to let me know that they are moving my daughter up into an enrichment level math class.

Um, okay. Seems a little late, but whatever.

I've finally adopted a "whatever" attitude just in time for my daughter to get her first all-A report card ever. I've got to work up more enthusiasm.

The final trimester is also the trimester when my daughter starts her "Strings Exploration". She will be taught basic violin at school and play a concert for the parents in May. This should be interesting.

My son had a very good report card too. What makes me the happiest for him is that he is noted for having outstanding manners and class participation.

He is also very happy because he will have an art piece featured in a show at school this month. Apparently, it's a big deal. It's funny because he is so mathematical that I forget he is artistic too. He won an award at a city-wide art show last year. We're going to the opening this afternoon.

He's so funny because he immediately pointed out to me that his best buddy was not going to be in the show. His best friend is the smartest child I have ever met in real life. His IQ must be through the roof, but he is also a very polite, social, and an all-around good kid. They do math challenges together, but he is ahead of my son in reading. My son feels a little competitive with him, but in a good way. It's nice for him to have a friend who challenges him.

And it's nice for my son to see that he has his own special talents too. And apparently they are in art and writing. According to his report card he is excelling in their first grade writers' workshop. My husband sighed at that. "Great," he said. "That's all I need. Another writer in the family."

He should count his blessings, no matter how wordy they may be.

Five Years

Five years ago today I started this little blog.

In 2004 my daughter was four-years-old and in preschool. She had just started soccer and she did ballet. Now she's getting ready to go to fifth grade in a new school. She's playing advanced soccer and auditioning for an orchestra.

In 2004 my son was two-years-old. He wasn't even potty trained yet. Back then I said, "He is sweet and affectionate. He is also very strong-willed and independent. He's a lot like me, come to think of it." And boy, was I right. He's still all those things but now he reads and writes and does fourth grade math.

In 2004 my husband was at "Top Gun". He was still a captain. Gosh, we were young! Now he's up for a promotion and working at a completely different job at a completely different place. He's a lot more gray and has a lot less hair. And our marriage is better than ever.

In 2004 I was thirty-years-old. That's so young! I was a stay-at-home mom then too but my life was completely different. (My hair is still full and not gray.)

When I think of how much I have grown and changed since then, I am astounded. I am still amazed that people come by and read anything I have to say here on the web.

Every year on my blog-o-versary I thank the three guys who really got me going in this whole blogging world. But this year, all three of them have all closed up shop, at least for the time being.

To be honest, I had been planning for months to join them. I had completely committed to ending my blog today. I went through a whole process of coming to accept the end of Tuna Girl and moving on. Until I talked to my husband about it last night.

As the person who knows me best in the world, he was worried that when he deploys next, I would really miss it. I would miss the connections and the outlet.

I thought and thought about it. And I was tempted to go ahead and go on a hiatus and leave things more open-ended. But I had always promised myself that when I ended it, I'd end it completely.

So, instead I have decided to try and write more freely. Even if no one ever comes by to read what I have to say, it is still good for me to have a place to get everything out.

So once again, for my fifth year in a row on St. Patrick's Day I want to thank Nicky, Mark and Matthew, my friends and family, for getting me started in this crazy blog world and continuing to be so special to me five years in.

Thick Envelopes

They got in!

My kids got into our first choice school. Both of them.

Woo fucking hoo!

I am seriously having a hard time taking it all in. I can't remember ever being this happy or proud.

On Saturday, my husband and I were on different flights home from Hawaii. So when I got home, I picked up our car and had about an hour to kill before his flight came in. I drove right home to check our mailbox.

As I was pulling out mounds of mail, I spotted big envelopes from all three of the schools we applied to. But there were thin ones too. I had to take two trips to bring all the mail in and my heart was pumping.

I sat down on my sofa, got comfortable and started going through the envelopes one by one.

Here's a little background information (and then I swear I will never ever talk about schools again.)

When we were moving here, School A was our first choice. It is an academy whose reputation stretched all the way to the Southwest. When my son and I first visited it, I called my husband and said, "This is where I want them to go to school. This is where I wish I went to school." Not only were the facilities unbelievable, but I really liked the academic atmosphere. They were very well-behaved kids very busy learning. Their commitment to the arts is unparalleled. They have the best average SAT scores at 1260 and the most impressive college acceptances. (They are also the most expensive school in this region.) They seemed like the best fit for our family. And we ended up buying a house that is only two minutes away from School A's campus.

School B is the school we ended up going to. The very first day we visited, I just felt...eh. They are the free-spirited school. They are the beach school. They are the sports school. They are the school who just did-away with their lower school computer lab. They are the school without the violin program or any lower school drama program. I was optimistic about the kids going there when it was the only school they both got into, but my first impressions were right. As is well-documented on this blog, I wasn't impressed.

School C is Misty's alma mater. We applied there last April on her recommendation. It's a great school. It is a lot more like our old school than School B. But they were already full for the next year and wait-listed us. The only thing that I didn't like about that school is that the lower school is on a separate campus from the upper school. Both campuses are pretty convenient to home but one of the benefits of sending my kids to private school is always having them in the same place. Plus, they love going to school together.

School D was the one we didn't apply to last year. It seemed too small (it is REALLY small) and too far away. But when I realized that it was only a block away from our violin studio (and we were so unhappy at School B) I decided to check it out. It is a wonderful school. I love their math program and their math enrichment teacher. They have a really great mentoring program and a true family atmosphere. They have a school dog, for goodness sake!

Now, let's break it all down.

School A: We decided to apply there every single year until we moved just to see what would happen. Getting in there is nearly impossible. They never have openings between 2nd and 5th grade and they have 20 to 30 kids applying in each grade for those non-existent spots. They open up another class in 6th grade and we were hoping to get my daughter one of those spots in 2010-2011. This is where we want our kids to go to high school.

School B: We decided to give our current school a chance and attended a transition sales pitch. While this school is a sure thing from now to twelfth grade, the tour and presentation we had that day just cemented to us that we were making the right decision to leave.

School C: Just like last year, they told us right off the bat that with 22 kids per class, their first grade is over-full. But they asked us to please apply anyway, because you never know and they thought our family was a good match for their school. Plus. it was my daughter who really needed a new school the most anyway.

School D: Same situation. Honestly, I think they loved us, but with 22 kids in their first grade, they were beyond full. But the admissions director assured me that strange things sometimes happen over the summer and asked us to apply. And again, this school was a great fit for my daughter.

Now, the envelopes please.

The first one was from School D. My daughter was accepted! Oh. Thank. God. I was so relieved. No matter what else happened in the rest of those envelopes, I knew I'd have my daughter back to her real self. I stood up and danced a little.

Next, my son was wait-listed at School D. With assurances that we shouldn't give up hope. I really think they liked him a lot.

Next, was School A. The envelope was thick. My heart was pounding. And my daughter got in! She did what I thought was impossible. But there was another thick envelope from them somewhere.

And my son got in too! They both got into School A! What the hell are the odds? I have never been so happy or proud in my entire life.

I jumped up and down. I whooped and hollered and danced. I laughed like a nut.

But there were more envelopes.

My daughter also got into School C! She got into every school she applied to. These are not safety schools that you just walk into. These are schools with high standards. And she got into every single one.

But my son was wait-listed there too.

So our decision was easy. Or so one would think. The school I'd been dreaming about wants them. Both of them. I have to admit I spent one sleepless night wondering if we should send my son to School A and my daughter to School D. But we would really only be choosing School D because it was so small she'd feel safer there, and I don't want to limit her the way I limited myself. Besides, School D doesn't have a high school and we'd only be trying to get her into School A later anyhow.

My husband told me I was obsessive and nuts.

We told the kids on Monday. My daughter looked a little stricken when we told her she made it into all three schools but it was only because she was afraid of having to make the choice. But we told them that it was a choice we were responsible for. And we choose School A.

We took them out with Grandma last night to celebrate.

They are so proud of themselves. As they should be. They worked so hard to prepare for the entrance exams. They were so charming and polite in their interviews. They try so hard at everything they do.

They are also relieved and ecstatic that they are going to school together at least until they gradate from high school or we move. Whichever comes first. They are so sweet together and love each other so much. Seeing each other at school is always the highlight of their day.

I feel so much lighter than I've felt in...I don't know...years! I never felt like I got my feet under me after my husband's Iraq deployment. Now I can't stop laughing, dancing or even crying in joy.

They got in.

I am so proud.

And I promise. No more school talk. Until college.

Like a Happy Noodle

Aloha, all! I'm back from my fabulous Hawaiian escape and I'm more relaxed and happy than I have been in ages.

You might have heard about our part of the country getting blasted with snow last Sunday, and we were. But my husband and I managed to sneak out right before that whole mess started. We were on two different flights but it seems that they ended up being the only two flights that got out that day.

When I got to Atlanta for my transfer, it was a ghost town. The board showed canceled, after canceled, after canceled. But somehow I managed to be on the only on time flight out of there too.

My husband and I ended up getting to Hawaii within a half hour of each other. We were on the beach sipping Mai Ties when we got the call that none of his coworkers had made it out of Virginia. In fact, they weren't going to make it out the next morning either. We were going to have a whole day to ourselves on the island!

Woo hoo.

So the next morning, armed with e-mails from Pua, we set off for the North Shore. Pua's local's tour not only showed us some of the most beautiful spots on the island, but it was a culinary tour too. We had brownies, Dole whip, dinner from a shrimp truck, and then...we were too full to eat anything else.

We decided to continue down the Windward side of the island too and spent some time sitting on the beach watching some amazing surfers.

It was like I could feel the stress of the last few months...no...years melting away.

The next morning we went shopping before we had to meet my husband's coworkers for drinks on the beach. That's when I discovered Lava Flows and the rest of my week was a blur of relaxing happiness.

My husband and the guys had to work the next couple of days but I spent them relaxing. By the pool. On our balcony over the ocean. Walking the beach. I relaxed like I've never relaxed before. At night we'd meet the guy for dinner and drinks.

On Friday morning we went to the Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor. It certainly wasn't fun, but it was an amazing thing to see. We also took our own little driving tour of the military bases in the area. Very interesting. And it is always reassuring to see another base that we could stand to live at.

We flew out that afternoon. That was torture. It was a ten-hour, overnight flight. I even took Tylenol PM to try to sleep. But every time I drifted off, I'd twitch myself awake. It reminded me of the hours before giving birth. Torture.

But I slept on and off since Saturday morning (in between pizza and a movie) and now I am right back to being happy and relaxed.

I need to go to the airport and pick up the kids and my mother in an hour. They had a blast. The kids learned how to ski, went to their cousins' birthday party, and saw the Jeff Corwin experience.

And they practiced violin every day.

It's back to real life tomorrow. I am nowhere near ready.

Aloha

So this is what life was like before we decided to breed. I had vague recollections of relaxing weekends but I think the hormone surge of giving birth erases your memory of just how good life was B.C.

My kids are with my parents. I'm leaving on a jet plane in the middle of the damn night for Hawaii. And my husband will be following me a couple of hours behind.

Life is damn good. As long as I eventually get around to packing, paying the bills, and cleaning out the refrigerator, I'll be all set to enjoy our trip.

I'm leaving behind all thoughts of the kids keeping up with violin practice and the school rejection letters that will probably be sitting in our mail box when we get home.

I'll see all of you next week.

What's so funny, Mom? *

It's time for... (drum roll...)

Spot the dirty words in the first grader's homework!

This week's episode features Mommy's future career. And here we gooooo...

sore
score
store
whore
before
florist

X (annoying buzzer sound)

Nope, mommy's not going to be a florist. But enjoy your lovely parting gift.

Next week's episode will feature such classics as "ass" and "The penis on the table." Join us again for everyone's favorite game show...Spot the dirty words in the first graders homework!

*This post would be much funnier if I remembered to scan his actual misspelling of "wore" in his cute little first grader handwriting before I recycled it.

Captain Cryptic

You know, there are so many things I would like to write about now. But I can't. Some things are too private.

I think if I still felt safe and anonymous here on the blog, I would let loose. (Remember my days of complaining about AH?) But I just can't do it anymore. And how sad for me.

Why I won't write things that I know no one will ever read is beyond me. I mean, seriously. It's not like I'm forced to publish everything I've ever written. That's what journals and diaries are for. I never will get that about myself but I'm chalking it up to a big oh well.

It's a time of disappointing news, angst and big decisions in our world. And I feel ill equipped to deal with it all. I don't know how to get from point A to point B. And I'm not even sure where point B should be.

I do feel better just from writing this much though. Maybe this post will go away. Captain Cryptic over and out. For now.

Stage Mom, Classic Style

This should be cool.

My daughter was asked to play a violin solo in a community concert Sunday.

She's played plenty of solos in concerts before, but never in one that was free and open to the public. Before it has always been for nursing homes or in-house at our strings school.

For some reason, her teacher asked her to play a brand new song that she only learned to play a couple of weeks ago. Of course, last week it sounded awesome.

This week? Not so much.

This kid kills me. Kills me! She is seriously going to be the cause of the heart attack that finally ends my time here on earth.

To add to the pressure, her soccer team decided to reschedule their Sunday practice and come to the concert as a team to support her. She doesn't know this yet. (How incredibly sweet was it for her coaches to do that?)

Oh! And just for good measure, since my son played his newest song so well at his lesson on Thursday (and since so few ensemble players showed up for the official concert rehearsal on Thursday) his teacher asked if he could have that prepared to play on Sunday too.

We had a mock concert in our living room tonight so the kids could play all the group pieces together and my daughter could play her solo. And it went...not well.

Oh, the pressure of being a stage mom. Who knew it would be as bad for the parents of classical violinists as it is for the parents of pop princesses?

P.S. I'm venting here so as to NOT vent to the kids and make them nervous.

I'm Just Not That Into Self Help

Talk about living under a rock. I guess she who lives in glass fishbowls...or something like that.

I was at Target the other day to buy Chelsea Handler's book and I decided to pick up some more very light reading. I was in a rush but I want to have something completely mindless to read on my long flight to Hawaii.

So I basically just threw any old trade paperback with a picture of Jennifer Aniston on the cover into my cart.

Why did I think that He's Just Not That Into You was a novel?

Oh, maybe because they made it into a movie and movies actually need things like plot and characters. (Man, what I wouldn't give to be the screenwriter on a movie like that!)

But the sad thing is that I'm reading it anyway. I might not need a "no-excuse guide to understanding guys" or dating them, but I could use a little refresher course in dealing with friends.

The problem is I'm not sure which side I identify with more, the guy who's not so into someone or the pathetic girl who believes he really is.

I guess I should stick to Are You There Vodka, It's Me, Chelsea. Now there's something I can relate to.

Things Spouses Say to Each Other

Or at least things my husband and I say to each other.

1) Is that your feet that stink like dead animal. Or is it me?

2) (While holding shirt over nose) Are you ill? No human should make that smell. Should I call 911?

3) Sure we can have sex. Just let's not do that thing you like to do.

4) She/he must get that attitude/annoying whine/horrible personality trait/funky body hair/weird fourth toe from you because she/he didn't get it from me.

5) I love you to death, but...

6) I will pay you one million dollars to put them to bed tonight.
(followed closely by)
How about a blow job instead?

7) You're beautiful/handsome/hot.
(followed closely by)
Are you high?

8) I love you so much. I'm so horny for you.
(followed closely by)
Are you drunk?

9) Will you check my episiotomy scar for me?
(or also)
How's your scrotal incision doing?
(or maybe)
Will you see if this is a zit on my asshole or something worse?

10) Are you going to blog this?

A Leg Up

I was sitting with my pants around my ankles just a bit ago. And I realized something.

I only shaved one leg last night.

Yup, one leg is as smooth as a stretch of Gulf coast beech. The other is as prickly as a Southwest cactus.

Story of my life, people. Story of my life.

Let's Review

On Saturday morning (also known as Valentine's Day) my husband had on a brand new UnderArmour shirt for his hockey game.

"When did you buy that?" I asked him.

"Yesterday," he told me.

I assumed he went by the exchange during the work day. "So you went shopping, huh?"

"Yeah, but I didn't get you a Valentine's Day gift since I know you didn't get me anything," he answered as a $100 gift for him sat hidden in the back of my car.

That night he explained, "I didn't think we really did Valentine's Day."

He should have checked the blog.

Rich People are Obtuse

What I signed up to bring: brownies

What they have me listed to bring: deviled eggs

What they're getting: shit

(What they'd get if they ate my deviled eggs: the shits)

Shhhhh

I really appreciate silence. More than most people, I think.

I will not listen to things that I can read. I'm not a fan of NPR, not because I'm not interested in the news, but because I'd rather read it. I don't like podcasts or audio books. I can't stand electronic people yammering at me.

And while I could chat with my best friends forever, I can't stand the idol gossip and chit chat of people I don't know.

I have television shows I like to watch, but I prefer the volume to be at a sedate 5 or 6. When I watch T.V. with other people, they blare it way too loud and complain that I have supersonic hearing.

But I'll crank the radio up in the car if I'm going to sing along. I don't want to hear my own voice.

So, how is it that I would birth two children who never shut up. Never, ever, ever.

(If you think I'm exaggerating, come take a car ride with us. I'm not sure how they manage to breathe.)

Hey, Look!

I was nominated for a Blogtation of the Year award. Scroll down to August.

Definitily one of the classiest things I've said in a while.

(Thanks, Blogtations.)

Parenting by Sam Kinison

I've decided to stop yelling. I know, I know. You're thinking, "You? Tuna Girl? You yell? Never! I won't believe it!"

I can't believe it either. I never used to yell. When the kids were little I can even remember telling my husband, "You can't be mad at her. She's two!"

And I would never just yell at random people. But I've been yelling at my kids way too much lately. I feel like nobody (and I mean, seriously, nobody) ever really listens to me and so I have to raise my voice to be heard.

But we all know that strategy not only makes me a sucky mom but it just plain doesn't work. The more you yell, the more people tune you out.

So I have made a resolution. A very serious one. No more yelling.

The problem is that now I find myself expressing anger or frustration with sarcasm. I know screaming, "Would you please, for the love of god, pick up your mess!" isn't good for my kids' psyches (okay, obviously, I'm only talking about my daughter here) but I'm guessing calmly stating, "Oh, no please. Leave your mess right where it is. We all know that you think I'm your maid and that my life revolves around cleaning up after the princess," probably isn't very good for her self esteem either.

I guess I should have resolved to stop being a bitch.

But at least I'm not a loud bitch. At least not until I get PMS. Then we'll see how much resolve I really have.

Aquaman

Every time we join a swim school the place is staffed by matronly middle-aged women and cute college girls. And one hot man.

And my kids always get assigned to the hot man.

Remember Mr. Nathan. Ah, Mr. Nathan. Hottie swim teacher extraordinaire. How I miss him so.

Now the kids have a private swim coach. Tall, very dark and handsome. With a great smile. And bonus! He loves my kids. He thinks they're funny and "great".

For some reason at yesterday's practice he decided to get out of the pool and follow the kids up and down the lane on the deck. Um, hello tattoos.

I had noticed the indiscernible one on his chest before.

"What's that?" my son asked him.

"That? It's a tattoo," he replied.

"And it really hurt!" I added.

But yesterday I saw that he has a superhero inked above his naval.

Hmmmm.

There's just something about a guy who moves with confidence. Not bravado. Not ego. Just a natural confidence and masculine grace that say "all man".

Yeah, I signed the kids up for Sunday clinics. Just so that they'll be ready for swim team.

I swear.

Watch Your Mouth

Sometimes I say things I shouldn't.

Like this weekend. My husband was telling me that his father had to put his dog down.

He said, "He was pretty upset. That dog's been around for almost twenty years. They were close."

And I said, "Yeah, well, when you treat your dog better than your own son, you tend to build a relationship."

Woops.

I could probably curb this nasty habit. But why?