I’m Moving!!!

ATTENION LOYAL FOLLOWERS!!! I have opened a new blog! I will not be posting on this blog anymore. For me Blogger is just a better fit. The new blog is the same format, same title, same everthing…just waaaay better!

I hope you won’t leave me

http://www.soldierslady.blogspot.com

Summer, I Miss You…Please Come Back

I took this picture yesterday, and I must admit that just looking at this picture makes me yearn for summer. Behind the camera I was bundled in about 20 layers, with watering eyes, the cold wind beckoning my leg hair to grow, and snot creeping it’s way out of my nose.

My lovely friend Amber just forwarded me the link to this awesome vintage clothing site, where I promptly purchased this baby. Like it? http://www.unique-vintage.com/

A Letter to Summer:

Dear Summer,
I know that I’ve complained about how hot you are and what horrible things your humidity does to my hair. I know I whine about sand in my sheets and wet beach towels stinking up my car, but that’s behind us.

Can't you feel the sunshine?

I need you back.

I miss sending my kids outside to play without getting dirty looks. I miss watching my spouse surf while I lounge in the sun reading magazines. I miss not looking deceased from a lack of sunlight. I miss running. I invested in so much cold weather running gear, but it sits neglected in my drawers. Everytime I get up the courage to embark on a run, I end up discreetly acting like I’m just checking my mail because it’s too freaking cold! I miss that contented sleepy feeling I would get after a day outside in the sunshine.

I miss you. Please come back.

Ah, Summer... An oldie but a goodie!

Laughing Alone

Just a quick post because I’m really missing my spouse, and since I started this blog to help me cope with Dan’s Deployment, I thought I should share. You’re Welcome.

The only thing worse than crying alone is laughing alone. When you’re watching something funny on TV or when you see something that reminds you of a funny moment the two of you shared, you become acutely aware that he is gone. You can tell him about it when he calls, but chances are that by the time your phone rings, you will have forgotten all about it.
Laughing is one of my favorite things to do because of the emotion that accompanies the act. Pure joy…or something like it. Maybe everything else has gone wrong, but you can still laugh because you have someone to laugh with you. Maybe you’ve just made a huge idiot out of yourself, but the person who loves you laughs with love in their eyes because to them your ability to screw up so royally is all part of your charm.

I laugh almost everyday. My kids crack me up, and I have a saucy group of friends who seem unable to speak without humor or sarcasm.

But there is nothing as good as side-splitting, eye-watering laughter with your favorite person in the world.

Meaty

Hey kids!! Don't eat meat, eat us!!

Helllo ladies, so nice of you to join me for another edition of “I Should Be Studying, But…”!

Today we’ll be talking about vegetarianism and how saying the words “eating meat” make me giggle like a schoolgirl!! Yes, I own a timeshare in the gutter, so my mind spends most of its free time there.

But I digress. As most of you know, I rarely eat meat. This is due to my distrust of the food industry in general, as well as the nasty tidbits of information I’ve garnered about the meat and dairy practices in particular. Not to offend, but my dislike of meat has more to do with taste and environmental issues than it does with any ethical issues I have with eating animals. I am not a heartless witch; I just don’t have a particular affinity for cows, or pigs, or chickens…or really any animals. I’m that awkward chick who nervously giggles when your dogs jump on me. Animals just aren’t my cup o’tea.

However, the food industry in the U.S. is OUT OF CONTROL!!

There is so much crap in meat besides the meat, it’s insane. Hormones, antibiotics, Neu5Gc (a sugar molecule found in red meat that has shown up in cancerous human tumors), toxins and pathogens…the list goes on. And the FDA is a giant useless pile of fecal matter. They will approve pretty much anything for human consumption. So don’t trust food labels. Labels mean nothing.

Papa don’t preach, but if you want to learn more you should read these books:

~The Great American Detox Diet
~Food, Inc
~Skinny Bitch
~The Kind Diet

So, what was I doing eating a heaping greasy pile of mall Chinese food last week??

I’m anemic and I was feeling faint…back off!

I’m not perfect, and I’m sure I’ll screw up now and again, but I know how awesome I feel when I’m not eating any meat and I want that all the time. I never wanted to be that annoying chick that doesn’t eat meat…or dairy…snivel. But after I ate that Chinese hot mess, my stomach paid the price…hard core. It’s either all or nothing now, because when you go that long without meat and then try to sneak attack your stomach, you lose.

The Walk of Shame

I promised a friend that I would blog about this most red-faced moment of shame.

Here on the base we have little convenience stores called C-stores. They get very busy at lunch time with these guys:

After dropping my peanut butter off at pre-school, I was forced to stop at the C-Store for some of these:

My strategy was to get in and out fast. No eye contact, no chit chat. Grab the pads and go. So I stuck to the plan. I walked directly to the feminine hygiene aisle, quickly scanned the pads, looked around, and grabbed a box. I was dismayed to see how long the line was, but I what choice did I have?

I could smell the testosterone.

As I began to near the cashier, I heard a soft chuckle behind me, and another Marine whisper “wow!”.
This was not a wow like they thought I was so unusually beautiful it had temporarily stunned them. This was the wow you give an overweight girl in a belly shirt, or a car with the bumper sticker that reads “I like boobs”. This was not a good wow.

Thinking they were perhaps so immature that any feminine hygiene item embarrassed them, I adjusted my arms so that the pads were in front of me. And that’s when I saw that I was not holding pads…oh no, I was holding these:

Note that the box clearly reads: WIPES AWAY IRRITATING DISCHARGE

Two things happened simultaneously at this point. First, I realized that in my rush I had grabbed a box of anti-itch, anti-odor feminine wipes. Second, I realized that I was next in line to check out. The line had grown steadily longer behind me, so starting over wasn’t an option. I quickly told the cashier that I had grabbed the wrong item, and as 25 Marines watched, I ran to exchange the stank wipes for the correct pads.

As I paid I considered the appropriateness of turning around and explaining that I do not have an odor or itch problem.

In the end I opted for the downturned, red-faced walk of shame out of there.

Man Eater

I am taking an eye-opening class this semester called “Gender and the Criminal Justice System”. As we’re still in the beginning phase of the course, the professor has focused mainly on how gender is viewed in our society. It’s fascinating…seriously. She basically shows slide after slide of mainstream advertising, stuff like this:

Is this chick about to get gang raped? Maybe. Does she look happy? Powerful? No. The advertisers have managed to make her powerlessness seem erotic. Get it? They’re making it seem attractive to be submissive and vulnerable. Here’s another one:

Where do you even start with an ad like this?? A point my professor made that I love is that advertisers are making women physically smaller and smaller so that they literally take up less space. What better way to make us seem less imposing and therefore less powerful? If you have any doubts about what we as women should worry about, advertising spells it out for us. We need only worry about how we look. If something about our bodies doesn’t fit in the social norm of beauty, just change it!

So, am I angry? Yes. Doesn’t it make you a little angry? Not only at advertisers, but at ourselves for buying into it all. I’m angry and I’m exhausted. Not only do I worry about school and grades, mothering my children and being a partner to my husband, but I also get to worry about the size of my bust and the fat on my thighs. Our bodies are being constantly picked apart and scrutinized, by ourselves and by others. In a way I feel like I have no right to be angry because I will probably always buy into this idea to some extent. I’ve lived this way for 25 years. I’ve spent thousands of dollars on my body and I still struggle to feel attractive after two kids. *By the way, 1 in 4 American girls have an eating disorder. However, if we look at women with disordered eating that doesn’t fall neatly into one disorder, it’s more like 4 out of 5.

We all buy into it to some degree, yet the ones writing the scripts of our roles are DUDES!!

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a man-hater. I love my husband and I love my boys, and I realize that men also face a different kind of pressure from our society. However, I think it’s unfortunate that men and women are put in their respective boxes and expected to stay within the lines.

We aren’t born masculine or feminine. It is not genetic. It is instilled in us, but is not actually a part of our makeup. We are trained to behave a certain way, and for the most part we stick to our roles. So the question I want you to ponder is, who writes the roles?

Fatigues, or “Fatty Gays” as the French Say.

This has been a long week, and I approach today’s blog with some apprehension, as my laptop keyboard is playing some sort of twisted game with me. There is a delay with certain buttons, and others I have to press repeatedly before the letter appears. This forces me to type reeeeally slowly, with ample backspacing. This is what I’d like to do with my problem child laptop:

Yes those are bullet holes. Why do you ask?

Moving on! The past week has been very busy and hectic, but fun nonetheless. The week basically led up to Cole’s Marine birthday party! What does a Marine party entail? 1) Pinata. 2) Require that all kids dress in military attire. 3) Enlist your friend’s hubby to be the kids’ drill instructor for the o-course portion of said party.

How do you make an o-course, you ask? Easy. Call tire/car repair businesses in your area. They should be more than happy to give you as many old tires as you need! Jessica and I picked up a truck load of old tires, which we made into an o-course. Really fun, and totally FREE!!

16 old tires=hours of entertainment!

Troop Formation

Here’s the story with my title. As I was dressing little Aidin in his cammies for Cole’s party, I called them “fatigues”. (Of course, I said this in my best French accent.) Aidin, used to hearing them called cammies, asked, “What are fatty gays??”.

And So It Begins…

The semester is now in full swing, leaving me little time for creative endeavours. During the semester I don’t allow myself to read any good books (it’s too distracting), and often after writing mind-numbing law essays, I simply don’t have any juice left for blogging. If I were exceptionally good at anything else, I would quit school. Maybe someday I will get so good at writing that I’ll get to quit my day job and write all the time for exorbitant amounts of money, but for now it’s just not my reality. Don’t misunderstand me, I do enjoy learning, and I have a lot of interest in what I’m studying. I suppose it’s that childhood dream that I woud grow up and do something more creative and expressive.

I recently got an email from Dan, who is trying to decide what to do with his life after the Marine Corps. He writes: ” I think I have 2 personalities.. one side of me wants to stop bad guys and help people.. the other wants to work a low-key job like artist, scientist, or college professor and just surf and chill.”
Yep, he’s eloquent. But I think he has the same dilemma that a lot of us face at some point in our lives. Do what you think will make you happy, or do what you think you should do.

For now, I’ll remind myself of why I’m going to college. 1) To get a job because I am not cut out to stay home forever. 2) To help people. 3) To provide for my family if something happens to Dan. When you are raised by a mother who lost her husband and was left with 5 kids and no education, this concept is instilled from birth. You go to school. End of story.

I still say “when I grow up…”. I think I’ll keep saying that until I realize that I’m doing exactly what I was meant to do.

Bad Dreams

Yes, it’is 5:40am and I’ve been up for about 3 hours…lovely. I heard from Dan last night, which usually puts me in a state of relative contentment for the rest of the day. However, last night my brain was not cooperating. This one’s for all you dream analyzers out there. Bust out your dream dictionaries and decipher this baby for me.

WARNING!!! I HAVE VERY VIVID DREAMS!!

In my dream I am at church. Sunday school to be exact. I am seated between my friends Summer and Jessica, when suddenly my nose starts bleeding. An annonymous hand extends to me a hankerchief, which I use to stifle the blood loss. I remember thinking “who carries hankies anymore?”. I politely excuse myself from my row and power walk to the ladies room. Once in a stall I start to feel like my heart’s going to explode, and I am sure I’m dying. Since Summer is the most considerate friend of the two I was seated between, she comes to check on me. I am frantic by this point. I can’t breath and I start to cry tears of blood(I know, it’s like a Tarentino film by now), which makes me unable to see so I really start freaking out. Sweet Summer is being so nice trying to calm me down while some random chick I’ve never seen calls 911. I hear Summer say “she’s dying, she’s dying”, and I’m asking her to please call Dan. Someone please call Dan. I just want to see Dan. And then it hits me that he’ll never make it in time.

I know. The most depressing dream EVER.

So, after awakening from that episode I ditched the idea of sleep and watch Jersey Shore instead. A lot of Jersey Shore. In fact I just rose up from my Jersey Shore coma to post this.

Here’s what probably contributed to said dream:

Cole had a rough night last night. I watched “A River Runs Through It” until 9, and when it ended I realized that Cole was crying in bed. I went in to investigate and found him in full camos clutching his Daddy doll. We bought all the supplies for his 8th birthday party yesterday and he was very excited, but then he remembered that Dad “has been gone for years”. I let him sneak out of bed and stay up late with me to write Dan letters.

Sometimes I forget that the boys are missing Dan just as much as I am. In fact, they’ve only spoken to him twice in the past three months, because he usually calls in the middle of the night.

It’s rough to see your kids hurt. When I told Cole this, he responded, “like it hurts Jesus when you hurt?”. I would imagine.

Cole's Letter. This kid really likes exclamation points!!

Veggie Pizza and Chunky Monkeys

I made the best veggie pizza ever tonight. It was like a party in my mouth. I bought the prepackaged thin pizza crust and added the following:

Newman’s Own Marinara Sauce ( I looooove this stuff.)
fresh chopped spinach
chopped red onion
sliced mushrooms
cherry tomatos, halved
shredded mozzarella cheese
crumbled blue cheese

Not only was it delish, but it was so pretty! I would have taken a picture, but I was too hungry. As many of you know, I frown upon cooking when Dan’s gone. It’s just not fun anymore. However, after my kids began begging for food at Jessica’s house, I realized that maybe it isn’t all about me. (That’s never a fun realization.) So, I’m going to try to make dinner at least 5 nights a week. I added canadian bacon to the boys’ half, and Cole inhaled 2 huge pieces. However, when I told Aidin it was time to eat he just kind of wimpered and snuggled deeper into his blanket. His little cheeks were extra rosy, and when I felt his forehead my suspicions were confirmed…he has a fever. I let him watch cartoons while I ate, and then I retired to my bed to set about digesting.

About 10 minutes later I heard Aidin grunting from the bathroom. (FYI-he cannot wipe himself after he takes care of business.) Assuming my wiping skills would be required, I yelled “Aidin, are you pooping?”.
“No. I’m throwing up”, he yelled back. I jumped up and ran into the bathroom, where sure enough he was bent over the toilet.
I asked him what hurt, and he said, “there’s just something in my belly that wants to get out”. A few minutes passed, and he finally stood up, flushed, and said, “I’m going to go watch some cartoons. If I need to throw up more, I’ll come back”.

Chubby Monkey

I just looked at him and laughed. Here’s my four year old who occasionally acts like an old man. I am so lucky to have him. He’s my last baby. He still thinks I’m the coolest person in the world. Cole’s moved on to Dad, but Aidin’s still my main squeeze.