Tag...you're it

I've been tagged for the first time. Brian tagged me with an easy one, at least. I'm supposed to list 10 songs that I'm into right now. Going to be hard to pick just ten off my playlist, but here goes:

1. "Testify to Love" by Avalon. Because everyday, I pray that I will be a "witness in the silences when words are not enough."

2. "Come Away With Me" by Norah Jones. Because her mellow voice makes me melt, and I love the images she creates. "come away with me and we'll kiss on a mountaintop" and "I want to wake up with the rain falling on a tin roof while I'm safe there in your arms." Ahhhh, yes.

3. "Someday" by Sugar Ray. Because this song came out during a rough time in J's and my life and reminded us that what's most important is the person who has stood by your side. "Someday when my life has passed me by, I'll look around and wonder why you were always there for me." Besides, Sugar Ray's pretty fun!

4. "Some Kind of Wonderful" by Joss Stone. Because, well, have you heard her voice?! And I love this arrangement. A little blues, a little funk, a little soul. "Now my baby, when he holds me, he sets my soul on fire. And, wooo, when my baby kisses me, my heart becomes filled with desire. When he wraps his lovin' arms around me, he almost drives me out of my mind. I get these funny little feelings inside of me and chills run up and down my spine." That's good stuff, now.

5. "Shackles" by MaryMary. Because it's always good to be reminded to throw my hands up in praise. "Take the shackles off my feet so I can dance. I just wanna praise you. I just wanna praise you. You broke the chains now I can lift my hands. And I'm gonna praise you. I'm gonna praise you!"

6. "Dream a Little Dream" by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. Because? Come on...it's Ella and Louis!

7. "Dance With Me to the End of Love" by Madeleine Peyroux. Because jazz is just sexy. "Show me slowly what I only know the limits of."

8. "Exalted Forever" by Big Daddy Weave. Because BDW has a great beat that totally matches the line "I sing for joy at the work of your hands." Think cross between Dave Matthews and Hootie. (Remember Hootie?)

9. "Prosperity Blues" by Keb 'Mo'. Because life isn't complete without the blues. I love this song. He's singing the blues about not having the blues anymore! "I can't even crack a frown since the blues slipped outta town."

10. "The Valley Song" by Jars of Clay. Because it's good to be reminded that sometimes it's the toughest roads that lead to the places of greatest retreat. "I will sing of your mercy that leads me through valleys of sorrow to rivers of joy."

Thanks for letting me play along. Bonus points to anyone who recognizes more than three of the above songs! And since I took my turn at being "it," I will be tagging Monica, Sue, and Penny Halston. You're it!!

on being a wife

Often when I meet someone, s/he will ask me what I "do." I could spend twenty minutes detailing all the things I that I do and am responsible for throughout the course of the day, but I know that what they are really asking is what job I occupy outside of the home.

And I wonder...why is being a wife not good enough? Why do we not value this position?

I can only speak as the wife of a career soldier because that is what I am, but it is more than a full-time position. In the military, a spouse's actions and appearances can have quite an impact on a soldier's career. So it is my job to not only care for J but also for his career.

I have my standard duties of taking care of the home, running errands, being J's friend and confidante (not a duty but a privilege), scheduling appointments, paying bills, taking care of the pups, yard work, cooking...all the little things that have to get done during the course of a day.

Then I have all the things that help him be the respected NCO that he is. I have committees in which I actively participate. I have "command appearances" as I call them...functions at which I can't be required to attend (because I'm not the one wearing combat boots) but where my appearance shows HIS dedication to his career. I help with charity functions. I help by showing up in the middle of the night to give food to the soldiers coming off a long, tiring training mission. My home is always available for meetings and "social calls" at last-minute notice. I often have four, seven, ten people I've never met before over for dinner or a cookout for "unit bonding." We've had new soldiers stay with us for a day or two until their rooms in the barracks become available. I play taxi service for new soldiers without vehicles. I play welcome committee to new families. I know the name and number of the wife of every soldier of J's and call them to check on them and their children and see if they need help with anything. I take food and drinks to J's work when training prevents them from taking breaks to eat.

I understand all the military jargon. We speak in acronyms and abbreviations and lingo. I know what it all means. I understand J's job and what he does and how it relates to what others are doing. I know what's on the training schedule and when they will be home or gone and what will be going on.

I know the protocols for social functions from casual lunches to formal dinners. I know the rank structure and how to recognize and address everyone I meet accordingly. I am the gracious, well spoken wife who is always available and always seen but, appropriately, always in the background.

I also know when things aren't going right how to get them taken care of. I understand the chain of command and when to follow it and when not to. I can walk into the Command Sergeant Major's office or the Colonel's office with grace and resolution and have a problem taken care of immediately and in such a way that even my complaints bring credit to J.

But people asking what I "do" want to know what I get paid for doing. Because that is what's important to them. So I tell them what my profession is and answer the appropriate questions about working with children and listen to the stories about their jobs. I give them a friendly smile as I refill their glasses and duck inside to check on the food and to make sure everyone is finding everything they need. I make the right comments and share the right anecdotes as I move through the crowd of people unobtrusively straightening up as I go. I laugh at a joke as I light the torches to give light to the night sky.

I walk past J and check the food cooking on the grill. He puts his hand on my waist and tells me what a great night it's turning out to be as he leans down to give me a kiss and say "thank you." And he's absolutely right...it IS a great night. And I love what I "do."

Short

There's a term used in the military to describe someone who is about to leave a post...or the military itself. It's called "short." It means that someone only has a short time left before moving on. It doesn't just describe the person, though; it also describes the mental changes that start taking place before leaving.

Things are a little different in the military community. We know that we are only going to be somewhere for three years on average, so we make friends fast and hard. We settle into our homes quickly and become part of the new neighborhood as though we had lived there all our lives. When it's time to leave, though, we kind of start a process of mental separation to get ready for the move. We start noticing more the flaws of our soon-to-be ex home. We even start distancing ourselves from our friends just a little so that it won't be so hard to leave.

I guess that's where I am now. Things that haven't bothered me about my home for three years are suddenly hard to live with. I look around at the area I'm living in, and I just can't wait to get out of here. I keep thinking, I've had to put up with this for THREE years! And I've started noticing things about my friends that, sadly, irritate me to no end. I know it's a defense mechanism this whole noticing all the bad things that I'm doing. It's easier, of course, to leave someplace that wasn't all that terrific than to leave a place you loved. And it's easier to leave if your friends are irritating you than if you think that you'll never have another friend so terrific as this one.

So I understand why I'm feeling the way I am. But I am SO definitely short.

Packing up

Six weeks. I will see J in six weeks!

Barring any changes made by the military, I will be leaving Fort Polk on 24 August and be heading back to Michigan for a couple of weeks before hopping on the plane and flying to Korea. I've been running around this week making appointments and filling out form after form. I've already hit several snags, but I've been able to fix them or work around them. Hopefully, most of the hard part is out of the way. Getting the paperwork and appointments is the worst.

Now I am making a schedule of all that I have to accomplish to get out of my little house. Today is the 28th, and my household goods are being picked up on the 22nd...that's a little less than a month. While technically a crew comes in and packs everything for me, I still need to go through everything in the house and sort it into the various piles: storage, mailing, taking on plane, and getting rid of. My first inspection is on Monday. I will find out everything that I need to do as far as the military is concerned to "clear quarters" or move out without being charged for anything.

Six weeks. Forty-two days from now, I will be looking into J's ocean-blue eyes. Forty-two days from now, I will feel his strong arms and taste his kiss. And forty-two nights from now, I will be able to sleep again.

Date with a doctor

I can't believe it's been almost a year since my surgery. It's been ten months today. I'm going in this next month for my one-year check up. It wll be a month early, but the surgeon wants to have a chance to see me before I leave for other parts of this world. I haven't seen her since last November at my six-week check up. This one is kind of a biggie--she wants to note the changes in the quality of my life, note my recovery progress, and note how I'm doing without the aid of pharmaceuticals. Also, if my physical comes out ok, I won't have to have another one for three years. Hopefully.

It's a lot to think about. I can't even put into words how different my life is now than it was ten months ago. I can enjoy...everything...so much more now. It's incredible to not have my daily life revolve around pain. I'm looking forward to the day when I'm fully recovered, but even having a numb lower abdomen is better than living the way I was. So I guess if feeling never does come back, it would be okay. I'm still learning how to cope with some of the symptoms of menopause without taking prescription drugs. I think my body is just confused as to why this happened about 25 years ahead of schedule. I'll just keep taking all those vitamins!

What was my trade off? And was it worth it? I'll never be able to have children. I can also admit that it sometimes bothers me, just a little, to think about the fact that my parts are gone. Intellectually, I know that having them is not what makes me a worthy woman. But there's still one little part of my mind that makes me sit down and mourn the loss while hoping J doesn't think less of me. I had a really mean person online say the most hideous thing to me. I quickly put him on "ignore" and tried to do just that. But his words still echo every now and again.

My family thinks it's funny that I choke on a single prescription pill but now take a handfull of vitamins each day. Vitamins I trust.

Was it worth it? More importantly...would I do it again? Everything but the epidural, I would! I know what my trade offs were. Yes, I did give up a lot to have this surgery; I gave up the daily pain and frustration and emotional reaction to it all.

How long will it last? That, I don't know. There are no guarantees that my disease won't return. A friend keeps saying that there's no way she would ever go through such a surgery without a guarantee.

There are no guarantees in life..except those made to us by God. So I guess I will just put this all back in His hands. He's never let me down yet.

Lazy mornings with J

J called early this morning. I wasn't quite awake yet. I heard the phone ringing and reached for it instinctively. I mumble a sleepy hello into the phone and am greeted with the warm molasses sound of J's voice. Eyes still closed, I can't help but smile as I bury a little deeper into the covers. I don't want to leave this cocoon.

I remember lazy mornings with J. We didn't get them often. But oh, the delicious mornings of waking up to the sounds of birds singing outside the window, the first rays of sunlight gently streaming through the window blinds. I would feel when J would awaken by the change in his breathing. And then, of course, would come that first morning sigh...half grumble, half purr. I melt when I hear that sound. Oh, those mornings when we didn't have anything to run and do! We could just lie in the sanctuary of each other's arms.

His voice this morning took me back. As he spoke to me across the lines, I kept my eyes closed so that I could feel him there with me. The sheets were perfectly cool from the breeze of the ceiling fan. I stretched and felt the covers sliding over my legs reminding me of the mornings when we would wake up with our legs tangled together and the sensuous combination of cool sheets against warm skin.

J's voice was low and gravelly like it was on those mornings when we would whisper so as to not break the spell. He teased me about being lazy and still lying in bed. I teased him back and then finally conceded to getting up. He said no, not yet. He was just climbing into his bed for the night. And with him in his bed and me in mine, the 6,000 miles between us disappeared as we snuggled up together and whispered about our days and our hopes and our dreams just like we used to. Morning in one place and night in the other didn't matter. It was all the same with our eyes closed and our hearts reaching out to each other.

I told him goodnight softly as he drifted off to sleep. After I hung up, I dressed and took my pups for their morning wander. Outside, the birds were singing their morning songs, and the first rays of sunlight were filtering through the trees and catching on the droplets of dew still hanging on the petals of the roses we planted together. A light morning breeze was gently stirring the windchimes as I sat on our glider, content with the world.

What a beautiful, lazy morning.

Betrayal

I feel so betrayed by my friend. I am stunned.

Even though I talk to J on the phone pretty regularly, I love the written word. When I'm writing, I have a moment to pause and find the word that has just the right taste and feel on my tongue. I can sit and wait for the exact words to fill a page and say just what I feel. I also like that a letter can be pulled from it's keeping place anytime and reread. Whether or not J does this, I don't know. But it's how I best express myself.

Right now, J's room is filled with cards. He claims that he can decorate the walls with them as there are so many. Some of them have a few lines written inside; some of them are filled. Other cards contained poems or essays that I have written to him.

One day, I was sitting quietly waiting for just the right words to come to me when my friend buzzed me on the computer. She wanted me to come over. I normally stop what I'm doing and go when she calls, but not this day. I told her that I was busy writing and would talk to her a little later when I finished. I think she was a little put out. Later that evening, she asked me if I had finished what I was working on. I had, and she asked if she could see it. I wanted to say no. But for one reason or another probably relating to guilt for putting her off that day, I relented, and I emailed my writing to her. Later that night, she told me it was "nice."

Today I found out that she used what I wrote. She took my words of love and passion for J and used them. And she used them for another man...not her husband. I saw my words written on a piece of paper. It took me a moment to realize what I was reading. She had changed a word here and a name there. But there was my heart so painstakingly written to my husband being sullied...dirtied...cheapened as she used it to send to her "friend"--a "friend" she swore to me was no longer in her life--all the while pretending that these words were written from her heart!

I left without saying a word. I don't know what to say. She doesn't know that I know what she did. It would have been different if she had decided to "pretend" to write this to her husband. I still would have kind of liked her to tell me she was using it. But for her to give them to another man?!

Those were my words. They came from a place of love, commitment, friendship, passion, and partnership...and 15 years of marriage. I'm not Hallmark, and I don't make cards for cheap, illegitimate affairs driven by childish ideas of what "true love" is.

You want to know what true love is, my friend? It's the man who stood by you when you couldn't walk and helped you back on your feet. It's the man who held your hand during delivery and proclaimed undying love to you and the child that wasn't even his own. It's the man who drove 20 miles to get your favorite kind of ice cream when you were sick and then held your head when you threw it back up later. It's the man who's still standing next to you no matter how many times you've tried to push him away.

Send my letter to him. Celebrate him. I will send you everything I write. Let me know when you grow up. Until then, don't expect to see anything else I write. It's obviously over your head.

Rose colored glasses

People like to tell me that I'm too nice, I'm too gullible, that things aren't as simple as I make them out to be. People say that I look at the world through rose colored glasses.

I've learned quite a bit from gardening. I have many, many roses in my yard right now. Roses come in all different shapes and sizes and colors. Each one is just a little different from the other. Even on one single rose bush, no two of my blooms are ever quite alike. But they are all beautiful. Roses are strong and hearty, too. They can withstand the tropical heat of Louisiana or the cold winter of Michigan. Winds may bend and reshape them, but they rarely break. They can grow in almost any type of soil. The more sun they are given, the more they will flourish. Yet even a rose planted in the shade with lilies and cannas trying to overtake it can find its way out of the dark and produce brilliant, sweet smelling blooms. As a bud is opening, it's true color isn't fully revealed until each delicate petal has been allowed to unfold. Sometimes, flowers will stop unfolding halfway if the plant is stressed or disturbed or taken by disease. Roses, to protect themselves from those who would hurt them, have razor sharp thorns. A soft, gentle touch will spare a gardener from being pricked.

I've learned a lot from gardening. I hope that I do look at the world through rose colored glasses.

Celebrating Saturday

I was thinking earlier about how the next holiday is still quite a ways away. I was mostly thinking about this because a holiday is an excuse to do something fun, and I want some fun. I was kind bummed when I realized that my next scheduled time for fun...and to try to convince a friend to have fun...is a month and a half away.

Then I thought about it. Why do we only celebrate special occasions? Why do we trudge through life with our heads down and wait to perk up and live for those few certain days spelled out by the calendar?

So I'm celebrating Saturday. Why? Because it's a beautiful day. Because I've had a pretty good week that has brought me one week closer to being with my best friend. Because life is just too short to trudge through it. No more trudging! I will skip my way along and just offer a smile to anyone who looks at me sideways.

There is so much in my life that's precious. LIFE is precious. And I want to celebrate it all. I went to the store this afternoon and got some balloons and tied them to my patio. I even got some of those little noise makers. I'll be sitting out there this evening with a drink and some popcorn. And if any of my neighbors ask me what I'm celebrating, I'll just give them a big, silly smile and tell them I'm celebrating Saturday and invite them to join me.

Happy Saturday, everyone. May you always find a reason to celebrate!

A reflection of me

As I sit here, Cokie is lying at my feet. Here, in this little tiny closet that is my computer room, she lies panting just to be near me. And it kind of makes me sad because I'm not sure I'm worthy of this kind of love.

Some days I get caught up in my own funk. Some days I have a thousand and one errands to run. No matter what, my pups just lie here waiting for me...waiting for me to snap out of it, waiting for me to come home...waiting for me to accept the adoration they want to lavish upon me.

They have this look in their eyes. It's trust.

Things may not always be the way they would like them. I'm sure they wish I'd take them for more walks or longer ones--or feed them steak for dinner every night! But they trust me to do what's right, to make everything ok. And it makes me sad when I don't live up to that.

But then I look at pictures of me and J together. And I have that same look in my eyes when I'm with him. I trust in him to make the right decisions and to take my feelings into consideration. I trust him to be there when I need him. And I trust that even if things aren't always the way I wish they would be, he will make everything ok in the end. I wonder if that ever scares him, too.

Sticks and Stones

I'm sad right now. And a little angry. Maybe a lot angry and a little sad. Either way.

I know something that it seems other people in the world haven't learned yet. No one has the right to step into another person's life and tell her how to live it. Trust me, if someone doesn't like me, she is free to turn and walk away. Buh-bye. See ya. I don't even care if she is cursing me as she leaves as long as I can hear her voice fading into the distance. I'm pretty good at ignoring stuff like that. I just pretend that you don't exist..which, of course, you don't in my world. I can even learn to laugh at how ridiculous someone sounds to be obviously obsessed with my life when hers barely rates my acknowledgement.

I'll tell you when I stop laughing...when someone comes near my family. You can laugh, yell, curse, shout, cry, beg, or scream at me all you want. I think you're silly and lonely. But these people around me, the ones whose smiles cause my heart to melt...you'd better leave them alone. Your issues aren't really with me, but they will be if you don't back away.

I have this friend. We've never met--never spoken on the phone. Truth is, we've never even IM'd or emailed each other. But she's my friend because she kept me company at night with her words. She brought a smile to my face on days when I couldn't find anything else to smile over. She made me giggle and laugh and chuckle and snort and guffaw. She did this just by deciding to write a little journal and put it out here for other people to read and enjoy. Whenever you invite others in, you might end up with a guest or two that aren't very nice and you wish would just go away. But what happens when some people become so disruptive that they ruin the evening and threaten to start breaking things? You have to call an end to the party and ask everyone to leave. And that's what my friend has had to do.

I hope your locks are strong enough to keep the bad men out, Christine, and that you can one day open your doors again. It was a heck of a party.

Just passing time

Ok. Here's the deal. I have started this post at least four times. Each time, get so far into it and then erase it. Why? Because it's just not interesting to anyone...not even me, and I lived it. It was just a day. And the details aren't particularly interesting. The only funny thing to happen today is when the earring broke off in my ear tonight, and that's not really funny--it's supid. And it hurt. And I still can't believe it took three people working together to get it out.

Anyway, the only other thing that happened is that I ended up at the Shoppette here on post (think gas station & convenience store) until 2:34 in the morning talking to the military police. No...nothing's wrong. I ran up there with G to grab a soda, and we ended up standing out there for almost and hour and a half chatting. The Shoppette is open 24 hours, so MP's are there all during the night to get coffee, soda, snacks...anything to keep them awake during the boring night shift. And I don't know what happened (well, actually I do...it's called G), but a friendly hi and hello turned into an hour and a half long conversation.

And you know what? I enjoyed myself. I've almost forgotten how nice it is to talk to people. What did we talk about? Absolutely nothing. Chatter. Jibber-jabber. And it was fun.

You know what else? It's already after 3:00 in the morning. It's amazing how time passes when you're passing it with someone else.

Counting my blessings

I have to admit that I've been feeling a little emotional the past couple of days. I don't know why. It shouldn't be hormonal anymore...I had that little problem removed. There's nothing particularly sad in my life. The weather is fine. I haven't had an argument with anyone. And yet...I'm not quite myself. Is it because today is day one of month 8 of my husband being gone, and sometimes it doesn't seem like it's going to change? I don't know. But because I'm tired of being in a funk, and because I don't want to succumb to trying to eat my way out of it, I'm going to count my blessings to remind myself of all the good things God has given me.

My faith: thank you God for filling my heart with the knowledge of your goodness.
My husband: I am so blessed to have this man as my lover, my partner, and my friend.
My dogs: they keep me company and make sure I leave the house each day for their walk.
Rebecca: to be able to look at my sister as a friend, someone I truly enjoy.
Jodi: to have the opportunity to build a relationship with my older sister.
Mom: the love that she gave me is a part of me every day.
Dad: I have the chance to reconnect with the man who once made me think he set the sun in the sky just for me.
G: for someone that will always be there if I call
Amy: who reminds me to smile and makes me feel needed
My MIL: the friendship we have now is only sweeter for the pain it took us to get here
My FIL: shows me that people can change
My nieces and nephews: who still look at me as though I'm fun and cool and like my little made-up reasons for things

I have a home, clothes, food, and many extras. I am able to afford a computer and the Internet connection with which to make new friends and to keep me company while J is gone.

I am able to stand and walk and sing and dance and hear the whisper of the wind and see the glimmer of the dew on my flowers.

I have indeed been blessed.

With tears in his eyes, he says "go"

I don't write about politics here. My little journal isn't about politics. But I have been asked so many times how I can possibly support a president who would choose to send my husband into harm's way. I'm going to skip all the political jargon and gobblety-goop and cut right to the chase:

I have met Mr. President, and I have seen him cry..cry for me, cry for my husband...cry for asking him to leave.

You see, that's what I want. The fact is that my husband is a volunteer in his service to his country. This is the life he has chosen. He wants for me and his family and my family...and your family...to have a wonderful, free life and is willing to give his own life to see that this happens. And he will go wherever this president or the next--or even a previous one that I didn't care for at all--asks him to go.

Me? I'm the one left behind, the one left to worry and wonder and wait. This, too, is a life of my choosing. I ask no one to shed a tear for me...except the person who would send my husband into harm's way. I ask that this person stand in front of me and look me in the eyes and tell me that this is what he believes is necessary...and then shed a tear for the necessity of it. I ask that he please just appreciate what it is that he is asking and that my husband is so willing to give.

Politics of the whole thing be damned. I saw my President face to face, and I saw him cry.

Thunderstorms

It's thunderstorming today.

I miss J even more when it's thunderstorming. We used to sit outside and watch the storms roll in. We would watch as the sky turned colors and darkened with heavy clouds. We'd smell the ozone in the air as the clouds prepared to let loose of the water that was too heavy to carry anymore. We'd feel the breeze as it started to blow coolly through the yard. Then we'd just sit back and wait...wait for the first rumblings of thunder...wait for the first flashes of lightning...wait for the first fat drop of rain to fall. It's so tranquil.

After the storm really got going, we'd go inside out of the wind and rain. We'd leave the blinds open so that we could watch the storm through the picture window in the living room as we snuggled into the couch...into each other.

I sat outside by myself this afternoon watching as the storm first appeared. I watched as the sky darkened into a deep, rich blue like the color of J's eyes. I breathed deeply of the air as its perfume changed and seemed to carry J's very scent. I felt the breeze as it danced around me and toyed with my hair like J's fingers. And when the thunder came, it echoed through my soul like the husky timbre of J's warm voice. I was at peace.

I stayed out in the storm until I was drenched--not wanting to part from this sensory-driven interlude. Just then, J wasn't six thousand miles away living a life separate from me. Each drop of rain tasted of his kiss as it splashed on my cheeks, and with every flash of lightning, I felt the electricity of his touch. He was there with me in the middle of the storm, and we were the only two people in the world.

Wherever you are today, my love, I pray that God sends you a thunderstorm.

our babies

since I put up pictures of me and of J, I thought I should put up pictures of the rest of our little family. This is Weezer and Cokie. They don't know that they are dogs, so please don't tell them. (I don't think they'd believe you, anyway.)

Weezer is a Newfoundland mix. Cokie is a flat-coat retriever...and yes, that is a breed. They are both rescue animals which is something J and I believe in strongly. (Please support your local rescue shelters whether it's ASPCA, Humane Society, or whatever is in your area.) We have had them for over ten years.

Weezer-Beezer (my buddy) will be 11 this October. We've had him since he was about 3 months old. The shelter was totally wrong about what kind of dog he is, but we are so glad! They said he was a spaniel mix...but they also said he would be about 30 pounds. Well, he is a Newfie mix and weighs about 100 pounds. And I am so in love with this dog. He is a gentle giant, but turns into my protector whenever J has to leave. He has the meanest sounds bark on the planet and keeps strangers far, far away from me and our house. I once got a phone call from a maintenance man who had entered the house while I was away. He was calling me from my bathroom because Weezer had him cornered and wouldn't allow him to move. I came home and let the man out, and he learned to let me know if he had to come by for routine maintenance. Another time, I had the exterminator out to make all the creepy-crawlies go away. I had to point something out to the man over in a corner, and Weezer apparently thought the man was standing just a little too close to me because he grabbed ahold of his pants and gave a tug. I didn't even realize it, but the exterminator turned to me and said, "Uh, could you get your dog off of me, please?" I looked, and there was Weezer with this man's pants firmly in his teeth. (Turns out Weezer was right. The man was a jerk, and I fired him shortly after that. Weezer is much happier with the new exterminator.) He's never bitten anyone. Of course, he's never had a need to. Most people take a look at a great big 100 pound black dog coming at them and decide to stop.

Cokie-Mokie (my pumpkin head) is not a protector. Oh, she'll let you know if someone is at the door, but that's all one should expect from her. She is also 10. She was an abandoned puppy that we brought home because she was black and matched Weezer. She is my snuggler. (Weezer gets too hot.) She is a total girl. She loves to be brushed and have baths and wear scarves tied around her neck. She loves to run and play, and it's hilarious to tell her that there's a critter under the ground and to "get it" because she will dig and dig and snort and sniff and go crazy trying to find something under the ground. I know...it's bad to abuse her natural hunting abilities this way. But it's also funny. They hate the armadillos. Cokie is always nosing around all the little holes they make outside, and every once in a while, I point to one and say, "What is it? Get it, Cokie, GET IT!" There she goes! Sniff, dig, snort.

There they are. My babies. The pups. Time to go snuggle on them now!

An honorable man

This is my husband. He is the most beautiful man I know.

J may not be perfect. He can sometimes be forgetful. He rarely gets enough sleep so is on occasion grumpy and tired. He doesn't suffer fools well.

But he knows the meaning of honor. He lives it every day and in everything he does. He makes a commitment to something and follows it through to the end. He makes commitments to the soldiers under his care to see that they are trained and have everything they need to function beyond where they thought they could. He meets with their families and has them over to our house for cook outs. He takes their phone calls no matter what time they come in. He would never ask them to do anything he would not do himself, and if one of his soldiers is working, he is working.

He makes commitments to his friends that he will always be there for whatever they need.

He makes a commitment to his family that he will always keep coming back no matter how many times they let him down. He doesn't limit second chances. And no matter what, he never ends a conversation without telling them that he loves them and will talk to them again soon.

He made a commitment to me, his wife. A commitment that can be difficult to honor under any circumstances but especially under the circumstance of being a professional soldier. He may not always be around when I would like him to be, but he honors our marriage as the constant in his life that keeps him grounded. He never puts me on the back burner or acts as though I am second to his career. He tells me that we are partners and tries to share everything with me and let everyone else know that he is where he is because of me. He takes whatever opportunity he gets to just spend time with me and let me know how very much I am a part of his life.

He made a commitment to his country. He wears this uniform proudly. He wears it knowing that it is not a statement of support for any administration or current policy but a profession of loyalty to his country and to a way of life. He goes wherever he is asked and does whatever is required. He performs his job with dignity and would never do anything to bring discredit to his service or his country. He is willing to sacrifice his own comfort, safety, and even life to honor this commitment.

I am so proud to be his wife.

Comfortable in my skin, Part 2

...cont'd

I am not one of the beautiful people. Not in that sense, anyway. I'm just me. And I do pretty much like what's on my inside. But...what do you do when your insides don't match your outsides?

I was always pretty average on the outside...and I was comfortable with it that way. I could paint myself up for special occasions, but on the average day, I was the typical girl next door. I was very active. What I lacked in ability I made up for with enthusiasm...and a sense of humor. Things started to change in my early twenties. Due to pain from a medical condition, it was getting harder and harder to be active. Then came the hormone shots and (occasionally) steroids. It happened gradually, but I went from being a size 8 to a size 18 over about ten years. I'm only five feet tall.

On the inside, I remembered what it was like to run and climb and play and be free. I remembered what it was like to walk into a store to pick out an outfit and not leave the store in tears. I remembered how much fun it was to get dressed up and go out. Instead, it had become a nightmare involving staring at the awful, huge clothes hanging in my closet and hoping that wherever we were going would be dark and have places to sit. I was so self conscious. And I wasn't comfortable anymore.

And yet, this was just how things were. I was used to them. I dreamed of them changing, of course. But I didn't know when--if ever--they would.

Last summer, I sat down with my doctors, and we all agreed that it was finally time for surgery. I was scheduled for 28 September.

It's nine months later now. Recovery is a little slow, but that's only because I'm actually trying to recover to a time of 13 years ago when I had a body I could understand and control. J has been gone for 7 months now, and in some ways it's good to have this time to myself. As much as I miss him and so desperately look forward to being with him soon, this is giving me time to settle into a new life.

You'd think it would be easy. All of a sudden, most of the pain is gone. I can do things again. And I'm down to a size 10 now. But I've lived many, many years of dodging pain, cramps, bloating, mood swings..and other things too horrible to mention. I've had to deal with side effects of medication and hormones. (I will never take them again!) So I'm learning how to be just a person again.

I'm hoping that when I see J, I will have truly accepted that this is my new life. I'm also hoping that the four-inch wide section of my abdomen will eventually regain feeling and that I will be able to strengthen those muscles. I've got no delusions here. There's no way to erase the past 13 years and become a perky 20 year old. But I don't want to. I just want to be able to go for a walk in the daylight. I want to be able to go swimming--in public. I want to be able to feel my husband's arms around me and not cringe inside because this body just can't belong to me.

I just want to be comfortable. And I want to see the look on his face when he sees me smiling and oh-so-happy to be average.

me

me

ok. I actually wanted to post this to my profile, but I can't figure out how to do this. if anyone can help me here, I would be ever-so-thankful!

Comfortable in my skin, Part 1

"It's what's inside that counts." Isn't that what we're supposed to say--what we're supposed to think? I mean, it sounds good. We shouldn't judge others by their appearance but by their actions. And maybe on the surface we put on the appropriate PC face, but let's be honest...most people still really feel that:

a 100 pound woman craving chocolate is cute; a 250 pound woman craving chocolate is an out-of-control fatty:

a man with a 32-inch waist sweating at the gym is just getting a good burn; a man with a 44-inch waist sweating at the gym clearly doesn't exercise enough:

a nicely dressed woman with three kids in tow and pregnant with #4 is someone who just loves her family and being a mom; the woman in sweats and flip flops with three kids in tow and pregnant with #4 is uneducated and probably just having kids for the welfare checks:

a man in a suit pays with a check so he has a paper trail for his accountant; a man in old, torn jeans pays with a check because he is hoping to beat it to the bank.

I hear things like this every day. Oh, it's never said to the person's face. And sometimes it's not even said in words. It's the way we smile a little brighter towards the "beautiful" people. It's how we try just a little harder for them. We just somehow see them as better, smarter, nicer...more worthy of all the good things in life. Or maybe we just want to associate with them in hopes that some of their "beauty" will rub off on us.

cont'd...

Create in me a clean heart...

I have started writing a couple of times but have decided not to post those thoughts. Most people make New Year's resolutions on January 1st. I'm trying to stick to those made on my birthday. This is my new year, and I want to make the most of it by making the most of myself. Even though no one reads this, it still has my name attached. I read it. I know that I wrote it. And I want to be a better person. Maybe tomorrow will come; maybe it won't. Maybe these will be the last words I ever write. Do I want those to be angry or bitter? Do I serve to make the world better or worse by what I write? I cannot count the number of times I have sung the following prayer in church, but it is in earnest that I now pray... create in me a clean heart, oh God, and renew a right spirit within me. cast me not away from your presence, and take not your Holy Spirit from me. restore to me the joy of your salvation and uphold me with your free spirit.

Happy Birthday

It's my birthday today. I am 33 years old. It'll be just a private celebration today...just me and the pups. Mom is...gone. J is in Korea. I just don't expect anyone else to remember. But that's okay.

I woke up this morning with a song in my heart. I woke up singing, "This is the day that the Lord hath made. I will rejoice and be glad in it." So God must have remembered my birthday. I took my babies for their morning walk/squirrel hunt. When I came back, I called my sister-in-law's house. My niece answered, and I got to talk to her for a while. That itself was a birthday present. I'm going to spend the rest of the afternoon with my pups. Tonight, I'm going to see the annual Soldiers Show here on post. It's normally later in the summer. Kind of perfect this year that it got scheduled early and on my birthday!

33 years. Am I who I want to be yet? Have I used my time wisely or frittered it away? Have my mistakes taught me lessons that I can use in the next 33 years? If something awful happened tomorrow, would I be at peace knowing that I lived a good life? Does everyone in my life know how important they are to me?

Things to work on in the next year:

smile more
laugh more
count my blessings every day
don't join people in their misery; encourage them out of it
look for the opportunity for blessings in every circumstance
quit bearing gifts as though they are burdens
don't gossip. ever
be a witness in the silence
accept my beauty
seek out the good in everyone
live life filled with love

an open letter to my mother, page 2

It's been six months since I last heard your voice. Why is that so hard for me to believe? Maybe because not that much has changed. Oh, there's been a thousand things I've wanted to tell you, but it was all just jibber jabber--just excuses to talk to you.

I'm still in Louisiana... hoping to get to Korea soon.

Rebecca came for a visit, mom. We had a really good time. People still asked us if we were twins! Funny how we can laugh about that now.

I have one of your wedding photos. I was going through mine, and I found one of me in the same pose as you. Guess what? I have your smile, mom. It's more of a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, really. I have your chin, too. Now I'm looking for just the right photo frame so that I can put you on one side and me in your dress on the other.

Your headstone finally came in. They had to special order it from somewhere. China, probably. Now we are just waiting on the engraving. We are having a slight difference of opinion with the "artist." He thinks it would look good one way, we told him to kiss our asses and just do it our way. Sorry for swearing, mom, but sometimes you just have to. It should be done soon, though. I think you will like it. Actually, I know you're saying that we shouldn't spend that much money on it. Don't worry about it. This is what we wanted, so please just accept it. Ok?

I was going through pictures the other day and came across the ones from last summer. Remember my "pretty princess" haircut? Wow, that was awful. Those are the last pictures I have of you. I wish I had taken more.

I'm trying, mom. I'm trying to laugh more than I cry, to hope more than I fear, and to sing more than I shout. I'm trying to smile because it's your smile and because the light that shines from my eyes when I do is your light. And I'm trying to find a way to move on without letting you go.

My friend's little boy is 5. He asked me where my momma lives. I told him that you live with the angels. He asked me if that means I can't see you anymore. I told him that I can see you whenever it rains because that's you and the angels dancing in the clouds and stomping all the water out of them. It rained today, mom, and I just want to thank you for stopping by to say hello. Please come by anytime.

Little more than I can give

One of my favorite songs has that line in it. Some days, especially these days, it seems as though that's what is being asked of me. A little more than I can give. My list of to do things just keeps getting longer. I barely make it through one item before two more are being added. My beautiful pups need their attention. My friends all need what they need. My husband. My yard. My life. I spend all day doing things, but at the end of the day, nothing got done. It can be so frustrating. It's all a little more than I can give.

But you know what the next line in the song is? "A little more than I deserve."

I take a look around. I have so much. I am so truly blessed. And instead of focusing on what I'm not able to give, I need to focus on what I've been given. It's WAY more than "a little more than I deserve."

The Call

I got the call this last week. J says it's time to start making arrangements for me to move. I still dont have a date yet because he has to arrange some things on his end. But it's time for me to start preparations. I would be lying if I said I was looking forward to the move itself. It's going to be a pain. And my head is spinning thinking of all the appointments I have to make to get the information I will need to make my decision so I can make more appointments to schedule the actual move. I'm hoping to find something out tomorrow.

I'm sad about leaving my dogs with their grandparents for a year. I don't want to do it. Not at all. What else can I do? I just can't choose staying with them over being with my husband. But I'm sad.

I'm nervous about seeing him. I always get nervous after we've been apart for a while. I can't explain it...it's just the way it is. And I've lost some weight. That's a good thing, I know. But I haven't said anything about it to J. Will he notice? Will he be happy? I know he will notice--there's just no way he cannot. But I'm nervous.

I'm apprehensive about the language. I'm pretty good at languages; I have an ear for it. But not Korean. I'm studying and trying to learn, but I don't know how well I will do with this one. Fortunately, J is really picking it up. I hear him speaking it on the phone, and it all sounds the same to me. Normally, I'm strong in this area, but I'm apprehensive.

I'm anxious about meeting everyone. I know that J has said good things about me. I know that everyone is looking forward to me coming over and being part of the little family at his camp. Will I live up to their expectations? Will I be all that they expect from all the things he has said? Will they think I "match" him? I don't want to be a disappointment. I know that I won't be, but I'm anxious.

And...I'm excited. I've been waiting--mostly patiently--for the day when I can not only talk to J but be a real part of his life again. I want to be with my husband, my lover, and my friend. It's going to happen soon. I know there's still a bit of time between now and then. I know it's going to take a lot of work to make this happen. I know what I'm going to have to leave behind and what I'm going to have to learn and how I'll have to pass the test with his new unit. But, I'm excited.

The countdown begins.

Goodnight, honey

It's late. You've been on my mind tonight--even more than usual. I long for you tonight. It's a peaceful longing, though. The ache I feel for you is almost a comfort to me. It's like an old friend come to visit. I curled up on the couch watching television with the sound turned off. You know, it's funny, but I almost think I understood it better with no sound. I shouldn't tell you this, but every once in a while when you call, I don't answer right away so that you will leave a message on my voice mail. That way I have something to go back and listen to when I need to hear your voice. I have five of them saved right now. I thought maybe listening to your messages would help me fall asleep. But not tonight. I see your face when I close my eyes. Your blue eyes are there shining back at me. I turned on the radio hoping the music would distract me. Instead, Jennifer Knapp's voice has me imagining your arms around me as we dance as though no one is watching. You are with me so much that I can feel your touch across the miles. When did you become such a part of my soul? I thought about crying earlier because I missed you. I actually sat down and thought maybe I should cry. But I can't. I'm not sad. I feel lucky knowing that I have someone I love this way. I came in here to turn off the computer for the night. Our picture is saved as the background right now. I smiled when I looked at it, and next thing I knew, I was going through all our pictures on the computer and reliving the trips we've taken together. And I came across the pictures of you curled up with our puppies on the lawn. What happiness we have shared. We have a good life. I need to go lie down. It will be time to get up soon. Just one more moment of looking into your eyes and perhaps a couple of times more of listening to your voice on my messages. Thank you for your love, J. I may be closing my eyes for a bit, but I will see you in my dreams, and we will dance some more. Goodnight, honey.

A Motto to live by

I have three mottos in life...

1. Dry skin is the enemy
2. Men are stupid
3. All things come to us in God's time

What the...huh? How do you get from 1 to 2 to 3? And what's up with #2? Does J know about this? Read on.

1. Dry skin is the enemy. Well, that's pretty self-explanatory. I don't think it needs any further elaboration.

2. Men are stupid. Ok, now. Don't get your undies in a bind. This was once a 157-page treatise listing causes (testosterone), citing specific examples (not calling when they are late, remembering the stats of a 27-man sports team but forgetting their wives' birthdays), and proposing coping strategies (a kick in the pants) to the strange malady that seems to affect the brains of men, specifically the married man. However, it was hard to carry around such heavy reading my purse, and I found myself having to give a brief synopsis of the contents to potential readers. After several revisions, I published the condensed version on a single notecard containing only the words, "Men Are Stupid."

Lest my work be misconstrued, let me say that I do not insinuate that men are not accomplished thinkers or that they have nothing to contribute to society. No, indeed. The sad fact is that they all-too-often are possessed by extraordinary levels of knowledge, intellect, and ability. What they lack is the understanding of how their actions (or inactions) affect those around them, specifically their wives. (For further reading on this subject, please read Volume II published under the title They Just Don't Get It).

3. All things come to us in God's time--All things come to us at a certain time and for a certain reason. Every situation is an opportunity to learn and grow. Perhaps each circumstance in our life is not what we would have wished, but if we are facing it, there is something to be gained. It then becomes our choice to thank God for what we have been given and seek out the understanding he is hoping to impart...or to kick at the dirt at our feet and disgrace ourselves by refusing to accept God's wisdom.

So that's it. For me, that covers about any situation I encounter. I just try to remember that there is something to be learned from whatever we are facing in life, it's not my husband's fault that sometimes he just doesn't get it, and everyday is more pleasant with soft, smooth skin.