Blowin' It

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

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

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

Home Dreaming

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

Woo hoo!

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

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

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

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

Cynic.

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

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

Dang it!

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

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

Four Years

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

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

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

There Are Some Dumb Questions

Today I made a tragic error.

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

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

Dumb, dumb, dumb move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We're here about my bladder."

My son really is amazing sometimes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Onward to the Penis Doc

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, This Sucks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Internet, Violins, Auctions and Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good News

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

I know where we're moving!

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

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

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

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

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

But he'll be mopping floors by the ocean!

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

Terrified

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, of why did I volunteer to do this?

Traveling Up

It's Patrick's birthday today.

Do go wish him a happy one.

Don't mention the numbers 3 or 8.

Happy birthday, Patrick!

Le Troisième Petit Cochon

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

Sometimes the things my kids do amaze me.

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

Anal Sex and the Power of Dude

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

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

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

He completely ignored me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he laughed at me. He laughed!

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

I'll give you anal sex.

Running with Bacon

Have you ever wanted to trip a runner?

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

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

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

They all had tight little pants.

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

Where are my machete arms?

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

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

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

Biggish Tuna, Tiny Pond

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My alter ego can do all the hard work.

Allegro on Stage

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

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

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

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

One Track Mind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Valentine's Day to Me

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

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



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

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

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



Spoiled much? Hell, yeah!

Great Moments in Motherhood

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

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

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

What would you have done?