Missy and I have been having the most wonderful week, hence the blog neglect! We haven't been doing anything out of the ordinary, just enjoying life's simple pleasures. Like homemade corn muffins with good friends. Sounds simple enough, right? Monday rolled around, and as the sun shone through my kitchen window I glanced over at my calendar. Tuesday morning coffee social. Beating through the cobwebs (exaggeration of course) I reached into the dark crevices of my pantry to see what delectable treat I might be able to whip up without a trip to the grocery store, which coincidentally is closed on Mondays. The base and I are at odds on that one. In my mind, Sunday is for God, Monday is for food shopping, but that's another topic altogether.
Anyway, back to my barren pantry. I had one thing in extreme excess: self-rising cornmeal. My mouth watered a little as I thought of one of my favorite recent recipe finds, cornbread. I'm not normally a fan but this cornbread will win any critic over! As delicious as that cornbread is, it is not exactly a sanctioned breakfast item in my mind. Next best thing? Corn muffins. And so I pulled out the laptop and began my search for one highly rated, award winning corn muffin recipe with minimal ingredients for the it's-time-to-go-food-shopping-baker. Mission accomplished, except I still didn't have quite enough of the few required ingredients. Substituting milk for buttermilk, done, but I only had water... the other problem? This recipe called for real corn in addition to my army supply of cornmeal! There's an item I can guarantee I never stock in my house, whether it be in can, frozen or cob form. I looked at my woefully depleted bag of mixed vegetables wondering just how much corn I could siphon from the green beans, carrots and peas. Exactly 1/2 a cup. After sitting Missy down for a snack so I could sort through the frozen vegetables and pull each kernel out one at a time, I had collected exactly 1/2 cup worth of corn. That made me exactly 1/4 of a cup shy of what the recipe required. I was not about to bring half-a$$ed corn muffins to my breakfast the next morning, so I phoned Rosali. Milk situation, solved. Corn situation... oddly also solved. Apparently I'm not the only household that sees corn as the codependent vegetable. Rosali was more than happy to make a corn donation, but found her freezer stocked with the same vegetable medley as mine. Thankfully Rosali is equally anal and didn't bat an eye at sifting the corn kernels out of the bag. And so, 30 minutes later I was happily headed back home with milk and 1/4 cup of additional corn. The rest of the baking went uneventfully enough, except for high-speed blending the honey butter in a shallow tupperware container. But that is really just a matter or perception. One might see a giant mess in the kitchen of butter splattered and caked onto my counters, cabinets and walls. I choose to see it as remodeling my rental home. Splash of color here and there... and there is always the comfort that in less than two years I will hand the keys back over to the base (or in the short term, that most problems can be solved by a simple phone call to housing maintenance). It takes a lot of stress out of daily life. Faucet leaking? Not my problem. Lost the screws to the door hinge? Not my problem. Missy drew on the wall behind the laundry room door? Not my problem as long as they don't inspect there... and they probably will not. Not to mention housing has extremely lax guidelines, and a very gracious definition of "normal wear and tear".
Well, I'm falling asleep as I type, so I'm going to take that as my cue to sign off! My corn muffins may not have been perfectly made, but they were perfectly delicious! Imperfectly perfect.
Good night!
Bea
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Friday, September 16, 2011
Hard News & a Hike
A few years ago, one of our dear friends brought us dinner after Missy was born. I remember how nervous she and her husband were to hold Missy because she was so tiny. When I found out I was having a baby girl, my Dad told me that while boys are nice, girls are little angels sent from Heaven. Sometimes, I think those angels are too precious for God to part with, so He reserves a special seat in Heaven for them. Those little angels don't get much time on Earth, if any at all. This is what happened to this particular friend that blessed us with dinner after Missy entered the world. But my friend's arms will not go empty. God may be caring for her little angel, but He also sent her a sweet little boy to cradle. A wee little 3 lbs, I cannot help but smile remembering how nervous she and her husband were with my 4 lb baby, and how much more nervous they must be when that bundle of joy is their very own. I am sure it is a bittersweet moment for them, to say the very least.
I am not sure what else to say regarding their situation, so I guess I will just tell you a little bit about the rest of my day. Maria and I took Missy on her final hike today (I may repeat old hikes with her, but the remaining ones I have set aside are too dangerous for her to accompany me on). It was absolutely breath-taking. The hike down was nice enough in and of itself. I am always a fan of the lush greenery of the woods. But it was nothing compared to the spectacular, vibrant turquoise color of the water. Staring at it, it still seemed unreal. We sat and swam there for quite a long time. It was difficult to leave such an awe-inspiring sight. I just wanted to keep looking, taking it all in. What a wonderful final hike for Missy! That brings me to 23 hikes completed out of my goal of 44! We stopped for a fantastically healthy lunch of McDonald's (hey, we split the double cheeseburger meal at least, so that made it healthier...) and it never tasted so good. Hiking will make one ravenously hungry. But after such a nutritious lunch I am more than ready and needing a work out, so now I am pounding down a homemade iced coffee (so a few less calories than if I had purchased it out in town). Once it delivers my second wind, it is kenpo time! And of course I'll jog those fries off later tonight!
Thanks for reading!
Bea
I am not sure what else to say regarding their situation, so I guess I will just tell you a little bit about the rest of my day. Maria and I took Missy on her final hike today (I may repeat old hikes with her, but the remaining ones I have set aside are too dangerous for her to accompany me on). It was absolutely breath-taking. The hike down was nice enough in and of itself. I am always a fan of the lush greenery of the woods. But it was nothing compared to the spectacular, vibrant turquoise color of the water. Staring at it, it still seemed unreal. We sat and swam there for quite a long time. It was difficult to leave such an awe-inspiring sight. I just wanted to keep looking, taking it all in. What a wonderful final hike for Missy! That brings me to 23 hikes completed out of my goal of 44! We stopped for a fantastically healthy lunch of McDonald's (hey, we split the double cheeseburger meal at least, so that made it healthier...) and it never tasted so good. Hiking will make one ravenously hungry. But after such a nutritious lunch I am more than ready and needing a work out, so now I am pounding down a homemade iced coffee (so a few less calories than if I had purchased it out in town). Once it delivers my second wind, it is kenpo time! And of course I'll jog those fries off later tonight!
Thanks for reading!
Bea
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Playing Catch Up
So here I am, drinking cup of coffee #4, eating some spinach quiche and polishing off the last cupcake. I know, my family doctor is cringing all the way from the medical clinic. I like to tell myself that my P90X work outs (which I finally started up again, hooray!) and my 2.5 mile jogs every day make up for my other less than impressive habits. So what have I been up to during this 10 day black out? A whole lot of staying artificially awake (shout out to Folgers on that one!), I'm now on phase 1, week 2 of P90X (one step at a time!), my jogging has increased from its initial length of 1.5 miles to 2.5 miles a day (I'm kind to myself and I don't time my jogs...) and I am hiking (uneventfully) again! I have been on two additional hikes since the hike from hell, which brings me to the halfway point in my hiking book! My original goal was to complete all of the hikes I could do with Missy on my back in her little backpack carrier (okay, ginormous, over-sized hiking monstrosity), but, since I will have completed that mission with this weekend's hike and we are only halfway through our time here, I figured I would go all out and aim to complete every hike in the book! Don't worry, Missy will be safe and well cared for at home with our darling sitter.
And that is honestly about the extent of it. I'm really not horribly fascinating you know. Missy has been seeing just how long she can postpone my purchasing a new camera (it was the sole victim of the hike from hell) by breaking everything in sight. John and I worked out a deal that if I spend under a certain amount, anything under that amount goes to my new camera. So how long it takes to save up that money is up to me. Fast forward to Missy throwing a dog bone through the glass of the entertainment center (joke's on her, I already had replacement panels, ha!) and using one of her little friend's DS systems as a bath toy (joke's on me... $200 later). She also painted on one of my couches (thank you Crayola for washable kid paint, it is greatly appreciated). I've been debating adding a recipes section to my blog (since I'm so awesome at keeping up with my blog in general...) and I have repeatedly vowed to go to bed earlier. So far I've failed myself miserably and not closed my eyes until midnight at the earliest. I am still uncertain as to what I actually do. As far as I can discern, I look at the clock at 9pm, blink and it is 1230am. Perhaps my clocks are broken... On that note, I really should get on today's work out! Thanks for reading!!
Bea
And that is honestly about the extent of it. I'm really not horribly fascinating you know. Missy has been seeing just how long she can postpone my purchasing a new camera (it was the sole victim of the hike from hell) by breaking everything in sight. John and I worked out a deal that if I spend under a certain amount, anything under that amount goes to my new camera. So how long it takes to save up that money is up to me. Fast forward to Missy throwing a dog bone through the glass of the entertainment center (joke's on her, I already had replacement panels, ha!) and using one of her little friend's DS systems as a bath toy (joke's on me... $200 later). She also painted on one of my couches (thank you Crayola for washable kid paint, it is greatly appreciated). I've been debating adding a recipes section to my blog (since I'm so awesome at keeping up with my blog in general...) and I have repeatedly vowed to go to bed earlier. So far I've failed myself miserably and not closed my eyes until midnight at the earliest. I am still uncertain as to what I actually do. As far as I can discern, I look at the clock at 9pm, blink and it is 1230am. Perhaps my clocks are broken... On that note, I really should get on today's work out! Thanks for reading!!
Bea
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Hike From Hell
I love hiking. I absolutely adore it and dare say it is my favorite pastime. John and I even got engaged on a hike at Yosemite National Park a few years back. It is an integral part of our lives. We have been hiking for a number of years on a variety of terrain, so I am far from new to hiking. I dare say, I know what I am doing when it comes to hiking. This is why I was so surprised to find myself and my friends in such a dangerous situation on a local trail. How could this have happened? We felt that we had taken every precaution, checked every detail and were prepared. How does an experienced hiker err so severely?
So, here is what happened. We 5 adults set out in the rain to embark on our 2 hour, one way hike along the coastline. I had been on an adjoining segment of the beachline and taken a different trail North, so I was expecting the same terrain (combined with the photos and descriptions of the "medium" rated hike in my hiking book). Once we had the cars situated on either end of the trail, the rain had stopped and the skies were clear. Not sunny, but clear. We did know there was one rocky portion over limestone that we would hike across at low tide, so we were all wearing appropriate footwear- hiking boots or sneakers. Other than that, we were expecting long stretches of sand. We had checked the tides and knew for certain it was indeed low tide, which was necessary to cross the rocky portion. Cameras in hand, we took our first photos and set out. The first thing we hit was the rocky portion. Great, no problems. Tide was low so the water was well below where we were walking. Perfect, we had timed the hike right and it was going to be a good one. More than halfway through the hike it was raining again, but not hard. We laughed that we wouldn't have to worry about the heat on this hike or stopping to take a dip in ocean. We started hitting stretches of beach where there was no sand and limestone outcroppings forced you to walk out into the ocean to get around them. Unexpected, but manageable with the low tide. The coral was a bit tricky to walk on and we did notice a strong undertow. Far from the first hike I've undertaken with a water portion, so again, no one thought much of it and we continued on. As we headed farther North on our hike, the winds whipped around the bluffs and poor weather off-shore made the water more treacherous than any of us were anticipating. Realizing we were figuratively in over our heads, we decided to call for help. Sure it was embarrassing, we had joked many a times about getting a free helicopter ride by being rescued, but the conditions were worsening quickly and the situation was becoming emergent. Going back was not an option as we'd have to fight through the same menacing waves as if we continued forward with the hike. So we were stuck about 2/3 of the way through the hike. This is when we realized all five of us, with five different cell phones, had left them all back at the cars or home assuming someone else had brought theirs. Yes, this is a horrible and idiotic mistake. We should have checked to make sure someone had a phone. But, do understand, while I always support having a cell phone on hikes, they rarely work on hikes, so it wasn't all that prominent in my mental checklist when we set out. That said, I am not excusing myself for not checking.
My heart sinking inside my chest and realizing the gravity of the circumstance, I turned and picked up the pace. This is not an easy feat to accomplish on limestone. If you are not familiar with limestone, picture coral, but much stronger. It is just as sharp, but whereas coral will break, limestone will not. It is incredible hard and jagged. My hiking shoe got snagged several times and ripped, and most of us where dawning bleeding cuts from scrambling over the stone. Tiring from battling the currents and limestone, Rebecca was imploring her husband to stop. He turned to me and asked if we wanted to rest on a small stretch of limestone where the tide had not yet reached. I could not hide my disbelief at such an insane request. The conditions were bad enough now and would only worsen with time. We had to keep moving. But they slackened their pace, more and more while Maria and I pressed hard to reach the end. When we turned around, we could no longer see them. So, we were split into two groups. I cannot describe the guilt and agony of leaving them behind. Time was not on our side and what could we really do to help them and ourselves against the crashing waves and undertow? I regretted not urging them to keep up. I was so focused on getting out, watching the water to time my movements and just to get to safety that I let them fall behind.
Maria and I treaded through waist deep water, slipping on the coral depressions and trying to steady ourselves by holding on to the sharp limestone, leaving stinging cuts on our palms. The funny thing about grabbing onto limestone is it cuts almost like multiple pinheads, so you cannot see the cuts, but my goodness, can you feel them if you get saltwater or soap in there. The limestone jutted out into the ocean again where the reef was essentially non-existent, meaning there was nothing to break the waves before it hit where we were "hiking". We approached cautiously, get hammered by waves when I looked out and saw two large waves barreling in. I told Maria to turn her back to the ocean and brace herself. We were at the base of what looks like a backward "C" carved into the limestone from the water beating there repeatedly over time. The waves crashed mercilessly into the partial enclosure, making it obvious that you would have to go in between waves or be battered and sucked out to sea. And so we held on as tight as we could with our elbows and hands wrapped painfully around the limestone and our feet planted firmly on the coral/limestone below. The waves crashed over our heads, throwing us into the rock and then sucking us back out just as violently so our feet slipped out from under us and we hung on desperately. Choking on saltwater, the next wave hit us, and as soon as it retreated we bolted up into the "C". We ran as best we could over the limestone and my stomach dropped when we rounded the corner and saw how far the limestone carving continued. I screamed as crabs jumped off of the rock onto my hiking shoes (I am very much afraid of crabs) and tried to ignore the tadpole like worms I was grabbing and had flailing on my hands as we hastily grabbed the limestone to keep a three point hold at all times. It was by far the most frightening experience of my life.
Maria and I made it to the beach at the conclusion of the trail and looked back anxiously waiting to see our friends. We could see as far back as the "C" carving, which was still quite far from the end of the trail. We waited until we saw the waves crashing completely over the top of the carving and could not fathom how anyone could pass through after all the difficulty we'd experienced with comparatively calmer waters. How could they be so far behind us? Were they even okay any more? We could call for help, have search and rescue come out and be humiliated when they turned up, or we could not call and quite realistically lose our friends. We had no way of knowing their conditions, and if they did need help, the more time that passed the less likely they would walk away from the incident with a happy ending. So we made the call. They did make it out on their own, but had clearly struggled far greater than we had. Their clothes had been shredded by the waves pushing them against the stone and they were covered in bleeding cuts. Meghan was one of the three and ran to Maria sobbing and shaking. She really did not believe they were going to make it. She and Rebecca had been pulled out by the undertow away from the relative safety of the jagged coastline. She knew she could not fight the waves and had already resolved in her mind that if she were pulled out to sea she would just give up. She was pulled under and slammed back into the limestone by another wave. She instinctively grabbed hold fearing it was her last chance to save her life. When the water receded in between waves, she found herself on top of Rebecca who was holding on just as feverishly and had hit her head on the rock. They took turns crying hysterically as they battled to reach the end, each seriously doubting they would actually make it. Meghan later told me she just kept thinking, "I shouldn't be here. This is not happening." They did attempt to stop and wait for help at one point, unsure, but hoping Maria and I had made it safely out and were able to call for help. The rising water hit them relentlessly, so they were unable to safely wait.
And that is our story. It was the worst hike I have ever been on, Meghan and Rebecca are terrified to even think about approaching the water, and all of us our feeling the soreness and stinging of the previous day's misadventure. But we are all beyond grateful. We know how fortunate we are and how poorly things could have turned out. I personally thank God for being there with us and seeing us through. I do find it interesting that a few of my friends, now aware of what happened, said they were thinking of me and were inexplicably concerned about me that day.
Will I go hiking again? The best thing to do when you are thrown off of a horse, is to get back in the saddle. Happy hiking, and I'll see you on the trail. Just not this week. Or maybe the next.
So, here is what happened. We 5 adults set out in the rain to embark on our 2 hour, one way hike along the coastline. I had been on an adjoining segment of the beachline and taken a different trail North, so I was expecting the same terrain (combined with the photos and descriptions of the "medium" rated hike in my hiking book). Once we had the cars situated on either end of the trail, the rain had stopped and the skies were clear. Not sunny, but clear. We did know there was one rocky portion over limestone that we would hike across at low tide, so we were all wearing appropriate footwear- hiking boots or sneakers. Other than that, we were expecting long stretches of sand. We had checked the tides and knew for certain it was indeed low tide, which was necessary to cross the rocky portion. Cameras in hand, we took our first photos and set out. The first thing we hit was the rocky portion. Great, no problems. Tide was low so the water was well below where we were walking. Perfect, we had timed the hike right and it was going to be a good one. More than halfway through the hike it was raining again, but not hard. We laughed that we wouldn't have to worry about the heat on this hike or stopping to take a dip in ocean. We started hitting stretches of beach where there was no sand and limestone outcroppings forced you to walk out into the ocean to get around them. Unexpected, but manageable with the low tide. The coral was a bit tricky to walk on and we did notice a strong undertow. Far from the first hike I've undertaken with a water portion, so again, no one thought much of it and we continued on. As we headed farther North on our hike, the winds whipped around the bluffs and poor weather off-shore made the water more treacherous than any of us were anticipating. Realizing we were figuratively in over our heads, we decided to call for help. Sure it was embarrassing, we had joked many a times about getting a free helicopter ride by being rescued, but the conditions were worsening quickly and the situation was becoming emergent. Going back was not an option as we'd have to fight through the same menacing waves as if we continued forward with the hike. So we were stuck about 2/3 of the way through the hike. This is when we realized all five of us, with five different cell phones, had left them all back at the cars or home assuming someone else had brought theirs. Yes, this is a horrible and idiotic mistake. We should have checked to make sure someone had a phone. But, do understand, while I always support having a cell phone on hikes, they rarely work on hikes, so it wasn't all that prominent in my mental checklist when we set out. That said, I am not excusing myself for not checking.
My heart sinking inside my chest and realizing the gravity of the circumstance, I turned and picked up the pace. This is not an easy feat to accomplish on limestone. If you are not familiar with limestone, picture coral, but much stronger. It is just as sharp, but whereas coral will break, limestone will not. It is incredible hard and jagged. My hiking shoe got snagged several times and ripped, and most of us where dawning bleeding cuts from scrambling over the stone. Tiring from battling the currents and limestone, Rebecca was imploring her husband to stop. He turned to me and asked if we wanted to rest on a small stretch of limestone where the tide had not yet reached. I could not hide my disbelief at such an insane request. The conditions were bad enough now and would only worsen with time. We had to keep moving. But they slackened their pace, more and more while Maria and I pressed hard to reach the end. When we turned around, we could no longer see them. So, we were split into two groups. I cannot describe the guilt and agony of leaving them behind. Time was not on our side and what could we really do to help them and ourselves against the crashing waves and undertow? I regretted not urging them to keep up. I was so focused on getting out, watching the water to time my movements and just to get to safety that I let them fall behind.
Maria and I treaded through waist deep water, slipping on the coral depressions and trying to steady ourselves by holding on to the sharp limestone, leaving stinging cuts on our palms. The funny thing about grabbing onto limestone is it cuts almost like multiple pinheads, so you cannot see the cuts, but my goodness, can you feel them if you get saltwater or soap in there. The limestone jutted out into the ocean again where the reef was essentially non-existent, meaning there was nothing to break the waves before it hit where we were "hiking". We approached cautiously, get hammered by waves when I looked out and saw two large waves barreling in. I told Maria to turn her back to the ocean and brace herself. We were at the base of what looks like a backward "C" carved into the limestone from the water beating there repeatedly over time. The waves crashed mercilessly into the partial enclosure, making it obvious that you would have to go in between waves or be battered and sucked out to sea. And so we held on as tight as we could with our elbows and hands wrapped painfully around the limestone and our feet planted firmly on the coral/limestone below. The waves crashed over our heads, throwing us into the rock and then sucking us back out just as violently so our feet slipped out from under us and we hung on desperately. Choking on saltwater, the next wave hit us, and as soon as it retreated we bolted up into the "C". We ran as best we could over the limestone and my stomach dropped when we rounded the corner and saw how far the limestone carving continued. I screamed as crabs jumped off of the rock onto my hiking shoes (I am very much afraid of crabs) and tried to ignore the tadpole like worms I was grabbing and had flailing on my hands as we hastily grabbed the limestone to keep a three point hold at all times. It was by far the most frightening experience of my life.
Maria and I made it to the beach at the conclusion of the trail and looked back anxiously waiting to see our friends. We could see as far back as the "C" carving, which was still quite far from the end of the trail. We waited until we saw the waves crashing completely over the top of the carving and could not fathom how anyone could pass through after all the difficulty we'd experienced with comparatively calmer waters. How could they be so far behind us? Were they even okay any more? We could call for help, have search and rescue come out and be humiliated when they turned up, or we could not call and quite realistically lose our friends. We had no way of knowing their conditions, and if they did need help, the more time that passed the less likely they would walk away from the incident with a happy ending. So we made the call. They did make it out on their own, but had clearly struggled far greater than we had. Their clothes had been shredded by the waves pushing them against the stone and they were covered in bleeding cuts. Meghan was one of the three and ran to Maria sobbing and shaking. She really did not believe they were going to make it. She and Rebecca had been pulled out by the undertow away from the relative safety of the jagged coastline. She knew she could not fight the waves and had already resolved in her mind that if she were pulled out to sea she would just give up. She was pulled under and slammed back into the limestone by another wave. She instinctively grabbed hold fearing it was her last chance to save her life. When the water receded in between waves, she found herself on top of Rebecca who was holding on just as feverishly and had hit her head on the rock. They took turns crying hysterically as they battled to reach the end, each seriously doubting they would actually make it. Meghan later told me she just kept thinking, "I shouldn't be here. This is not happening." They did attempt to stop and wait for help at one point, unsure, but hoping Maria and I had made it safely out and were able to call for help. The rising water hit them relentlessly, so they were unable to safely wait.
And that is our story. It was the worst hike I have ever been on, Meghan and Rebecca are terrified to even think about approaching the water, and all of us our feeling the soreness and stinging of the previous day's misadventure. But we are all beyond grateful. We know how fortunate we are and how poorly things could have turned out. I personally thank God for being there with us and seeing us through. I do find it interesting that a few of my friends, now aware of what happened, said they were thinking of me and were inexplicably concerned about me that day.
Will I go hiking again? The best thing to do when you are thrown off of a horse, is to get back in the saddle. Happy hiking, and I'll see you on the trail. Just not this week. Or maybe the next.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Grace Under Pressure
My father once told me courage is grace under pressure. That said, I've never felt particularly brave. I am the type of person that would rather feel angry than sad; I'd rather punch a wall than cry in a pillow. Sorry, Rosali, I cannot take up yoga because it is too peaceful. I cannot meditate my problems away, I need to run them out, or better yet, outrun them. I tend to run angrily, letting my mind wander to places I don't want to go. Each chord hit, is one step faster, one push harder. Maybe I literally run from my problems. I hate running because it hurts. My shins throb, I cannot seem to catch my breath, it's a push to keep any momentum going and pushing a 25lb child only makes it more difficult. But what is harder than any of that is processing emotional pain. I'll take physically pain any day of the week. And that is why I love running, and love to hate it.
I have always felt like I was fighting. Life just has a funny way of happening, regardless of plans or timing. Pressure. I'd like to cave in, close my eyes and float in the oblivion of darkness. Just for a moment. But where's the grace in that? Is it courage to keep walking? To keep trying? No. It's called living. And to some extent it's called loathing.
I read a book a few years ago, a woman's personal account of deployment. I wanted to scream at her, to tell her how much I hated her, what a horrible person she was and how she gave us all a bad name. She lamented daily, ignored household chores, moped about the house sleeping on the floor midday, and generally neglected her responsibilities to her child, her dog (which died), to her friends and to her husband. The icing on the cake was her patting herself on the back at the end of the book for how much she had changed and grown. I guess when you start at literally nothing, anything is an improvement, but for heaven's sake, be embarrassed, not proud.
God, I don't know where you are right now, but I know you are with me. I feel lost and forgotten, but I know you are still there. I never much cared for my living room floor anyway, it smells and is stained from far too many previous owners. Am I brave because I run instead of power-napping it on the tan abomination? Sure, I'm guilty of eating too many chocolates (I am still female...), but is it seriously reasonable on any level to just lay down and take it? Give up because life is hard? Author I despise, you have fun snuggling up to the abrasive fibers of base housing, I'm setting my alarm for tomorrow morning and trying again. They cannot all be good days, but they cannot all be bad ones either. I'm not brave, I'm not graceful, I'm not even particularly witty or interesting. I'm just living a life.
Bea
I have always felt like I was fighting. Life just has a funny way of happening, regardless of plans or timing. Pressure. I'd like to cave in, close my eyes and float in the oblivion of darkness. Just for a moment. But where's the grace in that? Is it courage to keep walking? To keep trying? No. It's called living. And to some extent it's called loathing.
I read a book a few years ago, a woman's personal account of deployment. I wanted to scream at her, to tell her how much I hated her, what a horrible person she was and how she gave us all a bad name. She lamented daily, ignored household chores, moped about the house sleeping on the floor midday, and generally neglected her responsibilities to her child, her dog (which died), to her friends and to her husband. The icing on the cake was her patting herself on the back at the end of the book for how much she had changed and grown. I guess when you start at literally nothing, anything is an improvement, but for heaven's sake, be embarrassed, not proud.
God, I don't know where you are right now, but I know you are with me. I feel lost and forgotten, but I know you are still there. I never much cared for my living room floor anyway, it smells and is stained from far too many previous owners. Am I brave because I run instead of power-napping it on the tan abomination? Sure, I'm guilty of eating too many chocolates (I am still female...), but is it seriously reasonable on any level to just lay down and take it? Give up because life is hard? Author I despise, you have fun snuggling up to the abrasive fibers of base housing, I'm setting my alarm for tomorrow morning and trying again. They cannot all be good days, but they cannot all be bad ones either. I'm not brave, I'm not graceful, I'm not even particularly witty or interesting. I'm just living a life.
Bea
Monday, August 22, 2011
I'll See You Around
John's been gone for nearly a month and a half, and for the most part, I feel like I am all over this deployment. This is not my first rodeo, as they say, so I have been cocky over all. I've walked around with my chin up and the general attitude of, "I got this." But today, I cried. It is the first time I have cried since tearing up at the airport when I dropped John off to head to the sandbox. It was a momentary lapse of, "I can't do this." What made me cry? A video of John flying around with the rest of the crew dropping soccer balls and stuffed toys to children below. There was a slow, melancholic song I am not familiar with playing along to the video. I guess it really sunk in where John is and how dismally depressing it really is out there. To say "he's in the sandbox" is very different from actually seeing him in the sandbox. There is a nice degree of separation and an overall inability to truly grasp what it means to be there. Seeing that video broke my ability to compartmentalize the mere fact from the emotional reality of the situation. I cried watching the video, felt my heart grow heavy in my chest and had an overwhelming yearning for him to come home. I know it's not his turn yet though, it's not time. As much as I want my beloved husband home, I understand it is his turn out there. We all rotate, someone's husband has to leave for someone else's to come home. I am grateful for the person that will replace mine so John can come home. But for now, John has to be out there so someone else does not. I love you and I miss you, John. As I say at the end of every message, email and letter I send to you, stay safe. That is all that I want from you. Just stay safe so when it is your turn, you can come home to us... the same way we sent you.
Bea
Bea
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Getting My Jog On
Hello e-journal!
Never have I ever... been a runner. Ever. I have even conjectured that if my life were threatened in hot pursuit on foot, I still do not think I would run. That is how much I dislike running and that is how terrible I am at running. It isn't that running is a difficult concept. One foot in front of the other, repeat. Now just do it a little bit faster and voila, running. Except that it feels awful. I cannot breathe, my body seems to prefer bouncing up and down in place as opposed to making wonderfully long strides like a gazelle, and I am pretty sure there are certain speed walkers that can move faster than I can while "running". And so, with all of that in mind, I took up running. I know, logical, right? Turns out I don't hate it as much as I thought I did. I was pretty accurate on the lack of skill in running though. So while I may look like I'm suffering internal organ failure while jogging around the neighborhood, I am actually quite pleased with my new hobby. So far I am doing 2 miles a day with Missy and the dogs in tow (after all, it is generally frowned upon to leave small children unattended at home, so in the jogging stroller she goes). Will I be winning any races any time soon (or ever for that matter)? No, so I set my goals much lower and a lot more realistically. By the end of the year, I'd like to be up to 4 miles a day and do at least one 5K (yes, I have run 5Ks before). I would like to think both are quite possible in the next 4 months. It doesn't sound like much in my head, but we'll see how much my knees bearing down under the strain of my love-handles agree. Who knows, maybe I will become fantastically thin and fit from all this running? I know, I know... lower and more realistic goals. It would be nice though!
So long for now!
Bea
Never have I ever... been a runner. Ever. I have even conjectured that if my life were threatened in hot pursuit on foot, I still do not think I would run. That is how much I dislike running and that is how terrible I am at running. It isn't that running is a difficult concept. One foot in front of the other, repeat. Now just do it a little bit faster and voila, running. Except that it feels awful. I cannot breathe, my body seems to prefer bouncing up and down in place as opposed to making wonderfully long strides like a gazelle, and I am pretty sure there are certain speed walkers that can move faster than I can while "running". And so, with all of that in mind, I took up running. I know, logical, right? Turns out I don't hate it as much as I thought I did. I was pretty accurate on the lack of skill in running though. So while I may look like I'm suffering internal organ failure while jogging around the neighborhood, I am actually quite pleased with my new hobby. So far I am doing 2 miles a day with Missy and the dogs in tow (after all, it is generally frowned upon to leave small children unattended at home, so in the jogging stroller she goes). Will I be winning any races any time soon (or ever for that matter)? No, so I set my goals much lower and a lot more realistically. By the end of the year, I'd like to be up to 4 miles a day and do at least one 5K (yes, I have run 5Ks before). I would like to think both are quite possible in the next 4 months. It doesn't sound like much in my head, but we'll see how much my knees bearing down under the strain of my love-handles agree. Who knows, maybe I will become fantastically thin and fit from all this running? I know, I know... lower and more realistic goals. It would be nice though!
So long for now!
Bea
Monday, August 15, 2011
The Child Void
I'm laying here, tired, very much wanting to go to sleep. But something Meghan said today is echoing in my mind keeping me awake. She relayed a story to me about one of her classmates (she is working towards her Bachelors right now). The classmate has a 5 year old and has been trying to have another child ever since. Instead, she's been riddled with miscarriages. I would like to say I have enough faith in God that this story does not frighten me, that I do not worry the same fate will find me. I look at Missy and she is magnificent. Yes, I feel absolutely blessed to have her and I am so grateful for her happy little self. But in my heart I know she is not enough. Does that make me greedy? Insensitive? It pains me to know that if we never did have any more children there would be a void in my heart, an emptiness in our home. I hate saying Missy is not enough. It is no fault of hers. Nothing she could do would make her more perfect as our child or more satisfying as a member of our family. It is nothing that she lacks. I just cannot imagine a life without siblings for her.
It used to seem so simple. A woman would announce she wanted a baby. It felt as if mere moments later she was announcing her pregnancy. Her belly grew, her ankles swelled, she waddled and complained of back pains, but again, in the blink of an eye the big day would come. She would send out photos and emails of her healthy child, the astonishing weight and length scribbled in the corner. The most difficult part seemed to be birthing what amounted to a human watermelon. But then reality set in. As an adult, pregnancy seems more a game of luck and perseverance than a walk in the park. It is not just a means to an end, but a desperate scramble to an uncertain conclusion. I know more women who have suffered miscarriages than I have fingers, a few who have suffered multiple. Even more horrifying, if you are lucky enough to sail through the first trimester, find yourself at 12 weeks where you can "safely" and proudly announce your pregnancy, you still cannot truly breathe a sigh of relief. A shocking dose of reality chilled me to the core even in the humidity of the summer. A friend's baby suddenly and unexpectedly died soon after birth. It was a moment that took my breath away. The truth was unfathomable. I read the email multiple times, just knowing I must not understand, I had to be misreading something. No one's baby dies, the worst thing that can happen to a woman is a miscarriage, right? I had heard of a woman's child dying, someone I had met only briefly a few years back. A few weeks postpartum, her baby died of SIDS during the night. But she was a smoker. She smoked during her pregnancy and after her baby arrived as well. It made it easier to shrug the incident off. As callous as it is, in my mind I could blame her. She did something wrong, so her baby died. It was easier than accepting the crushing truth that abominable things happen for no known reason or cause. I did not have the same shallow comfort with my friend this past summer. She did absolutely nothing wrong, and she still lost her baby.
I think of the early crossings on the Atlantic. The wooden ships crashing against the tumultuous sea, hoping to avoid shipwreck, pirates, disease, famine, mutiny and a multitude of other ill-fated ends. A leap of faith truly into the unknown where the best one could do was say "damn it all" and bear down, hoping for the best. This is the image I have when I envision pregnancy now. The journey into parenthood is more fearful than parenthood itself. When I do find myself pregnant again, I can already hear myself rationalizing in the back of my mind... "just as long as I have a healthy baby, it will all be okay". Not an overbearing shout, just an obstinate whisper mocking all faith.
It used to seem so simple. A woman would announce she wanted a baby. It felt as if mere moments later she was announcing her pregnancy. Her belly grew, her ankles swelled, she waddled and complained of back pains, but again, in the blink of an eye the big day would come. She would send out photos and emails of her healthy child, the astonishing weight and length scribbled in the corner. The most difficult part seemed to be birthing what amounted to a human watermelon. But then reality set in. As an adult, pregnancy seems more a game of luck and perseverance than a walk in the park. It is not just a means to an end, but a desperate scramble to an uncertain conclusion. I know more women who have suffered miscarriages than I have fingers, a few who have suffered multiple. Even more horrifying, if you are lucky enough to sail through the first trimester, find yourself at 12 weeks where you can "safely" and proudly announce your pregnancy, you still cannot truly breathe a sigh of relief. A shocking dose of reality chilled me to the core even in the humidity of the summer. A friend's baby suddenly and unexpectedly died soon after birth. It was a moment that took my breath away. The truth was unfathomable. I read the email multiple times, just knowing I must not understand, I had to be misreading something. No one's baby dies, the worst thing that can happen to a woman is a miscarriage, right? I had heard of a woman's child dying, someone I had met only briefly a few years back. A few weeks postpartum, her baby died of SIDS during the night. But she was a smoker. She smoked during her pregnancy and after her baby arrived as well. It made it easier to shrug the incident off. As callous as it is, in my mind I could blame her. She did something wrong, so her baby died. It was easier than accepting the crushing truth that abominable things happen for no known reason or cause. I did not have the same shallow comfort with my friend this past summer. She did absolutely nothing wrong, and she still lost her baby.
I think of the early crossings on the Atlantic. The wooden ships crashing against the tumultuous sea, hoping to avoid shipwreck, pirates, disease, famine, mutiny and a multitude of other ill-fated ends. A leap of faith truly into the unknown where the best one could do was say "damn it all" and bear down, hoping for the best. This is the image I have when I envision pregnancy now. The journey into parenthood is more fearful than parenthood itself. When I do find myself pregnant again, I can already hear myself rationalizing in the back of my mind... "just as long as I have a healthy baby, it will all be okay". Not an overbearing shout, just an obstinate whisper mocking all faith.
Friday, August 12, 2011
She's Trying to Kill Me...
Missy woke up at 1am this morning. I waited in vain with my eyes closed, hoping to avoid becoming wide awake and ruining my chance for a good night's rest. But her crying continued. And continued. And continued. Every time I went in to comfort her and check on her, she was bright eyed and ready to play. At 1am! At 2 am! At 3am... People really can die from lack of sleep. The brain will eventually start to shut down, rendering its exhausted victim insane prior to dying. So I am convinced Missy is indeed, trying to kill me. I may already be in a state of delirium. I'm too tired to know for certain...
So it is going to be an entire pot of coffee kind of day. Despite her lack of sleep, Missy seems energetic and content. My head still feels like it is spinning and I'm pretty sure the world is moving in slow motion today. John wrote me today. Several emails actually. So as groggy as I am, I still consider it a good morning and a great start to the day. How could I not? His emails maintain a certain level of normalcy around here. After all, a wife is supposed to talk to her husband daily. Typically in person, but that's a minor detail, right?
Last night was wonderful. Missy stayed home with our sitter, while Meghan, Ashley and I went out for dinner and a movie. We saw the Change Up, which I think provides one of the most accurate portrayals of parenthood. As a mother, it was absolutely hilarious. I'm not sure a single or childless individual would enjoy the movie nearly as much.
Sorry for the scatterbrained post. It is the best I could muster up today. I did say you would get the unique opportunity to hear my thoughts, and my mind is rarely a well organized place. I will leave you with the image of Missy playing with her croissant. It is a chocolate croissant which she has torn a small piece off of. The outside is bread of course, but part of the chocolate inside if protruding from the fragment. To Missy this apparently resembles a dog. And so, she is bouncing the fragment around on the table making it "woof".
Farewell friends,
Bea
So it is going to be an entire pot of coffee kind of day. Despite her lack of sleep, Missy seems energetic and content. My head still feels like it is spinning and I'm pretty sure the world is moving in slow motion today. John wrote me today. Several emails actually. So as groggy as I am, I still consider it a good morning and a great start to the day. How could I not? His emails maintain a certain level of normalcy around here. After all, a wife is supposed to talk to her husband daily. Typically in person, but that's a minor detail, right?
Last night was wonderful. Missy stayed home with our sitter, while Meghan, Ashley and I went out for dinner and a movie. We saw the Change Up, which I think provides one of the most accurate portrayals of parenthood. As a mother, it was absolutely hilarious. I'm not sure a single or childless individual would enjoy the movie nearly as much.
Sorry for the scatterbrained post. It is the best I could muster up today. I did say you would get the unique opportunity to hear my thoughts, and my mind is rarely a well organized place. I will leave you with the image of Missy playing with her croissant. It is a chocolate croissant which she has torn a small piece off of. The outside is bread of course, but part of the chocolate inside if protruding from the fragment. To Missy this apparently resembles a dog. And so, she is bouncing the fragment around on the table making it "woof".
Farewell friends,
Bea
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Just a Day
What to write about today. I have the nagging pressure to write something profound (completely self-inflicted), but like most people, my daily life isn't exactly profound... So, I'll just tell you about my hum drum day, and if I bore you, well, you can thank me for helping you fall asleep. If I entertain you, then you can thank me for a good chuckle. Or you can thank me for neither, that's just fine too. I like to think I'm not that needy and vain.
Today was a fine day, albeit a very exhausting one. Missy woke up after some rather terrifying nightmares and had quite a difficult time going back to sleep. Once she was back in her peaceful slumber, I found my mind racing and getting irritated over the strangest of things. I was getting increasingly angered over a tour guide on a recent trip- a trip that I LOVED. It was one of my favorite vacations which during normal daylight hours, I had absolutely no problems with. However, in the middle of the night I was quite bitter about it. So bizarre. I had my alarm set for 7:40am. When my pleasant little chime went off, my appendages felt as though they weighed 100lbs each. Nothing a little coffee (or a lot) cannot fix! So off I went with my dear friend, Rosali, to her 16 week appointment (she's pregnant just in case you didn't quite catch that...) while Missy stayed home with one of our other dear friends. The appointment was just delightful. Despite being half awake and not pregnant myself, I was still giddy to hear the heartbeat. There are few sounds that are more pleasant on this fine Earth of ours. Perhaps that is what I should program as my alarm. It was also amusing to see my slightly nervous friend with her little sheet of questions, politely trying to ease her fears without taking up too much of the doctor's time. What a flash back to when I was sitting with my list of questions, feeling somewhat ridiculous by all that I had to ask. Also amusing was her horror at the scale as her petite frame stepped off. I remember feeling the same way (just add a good 20 lbs and that was my starting weight, let alone my weight at 16 weeks!) The anxious look on her face contemplating just how high that number would go by the end of her pregnancy. I remember bargaining with the scale... just not over this number and we will still be friends. My magic number changed later in my pregnancy, and while I remained friends with the scale, I did not with the mirror or my pre-pregnancy wardrobe (I don't understand, did my clothes shrink?!)... at least not until after Missy had blown out her first birthday candle... sometimes it is nice rekindling old friendships though, no?
After hearing all was well with the baby and the mother-t0-be, I finally sat down to do the entire week's worth of Bible study homework while simultaneously tidying up for the study and of course playing and feeding Missy. I completed the assignments just as the leader walked through the front door, so quite literally, just in the nick of time. The house was tidy with my beloved Woodwick candles burning, maintaining the illusion that my house is always in proper order (just don't mind me barricading the door with my body if you stop by unannounced pretty much any other day of the week). The study was just lovely- Beth Moore knows how to throw together a lesson! It was an emotional session, with 3 of the 4 ladies in attendance in tears simultaneously over different challenges. Of course I was the perfect supportive friend, and sat there emotionally inept and utterly helpless to all three. The best I could stammer out was a half-heartened, poorly delivered joke about refusing to cry and being the "rock" for the day. So much for grace under pressure...
With a couple of hours before my dinner guests would be arriving, I indulged my addiction and checked Facebook (who am I kidding, that was probably the 6th time of the day) and jotted some emails. I reheated the chili and cornbread I'd prepared the night prior for a party that I never made. So it turns out the chili needs to simmer for one hour and an additional 30 mins after adding the kidney beans. I would almost understand my error if I didn't make this chili regularly. I can practically recite the recipe without looking at it. Well, at 630pm it still had an hour to go and the party had already started, so I phoned two friends to help me polish off the abundant dinner (meant for approximately 10 people) and watch a movie. As 3 people didn't exactly solve the overabundance of food issue, I invited Meghan over again the next night, to be joined by my pregnant friend, Rosali as well (she counts as two, right?) So we three adults, 1 fetus and 1 child continued the respectable dent into the chili and cornbread and watched yet another movie. And what other way to remain guilt free after a hearty meal than to go for an evening jog (because who am I kidding, even in a life-threatening situation I highly doubt I'd ever go fast enough to qualify as "running").
And that was my banal, far from profound day.
Today was a fine day, albeit a very exhausting one. Missy woke up after some rather terrifying nightmares and had quite a difficult time going back to sleep. Once she was back in her peaceful slumber, I found my mind racing and getting irritated over the strangest of things. I was getting increasingly angered over a tour guide on a recent trip- a trip that I LOVED. It was one of my favorite vacations which during normal daylight hours, I had absolutely no problems with. However, in the middle of the night I was quite bitter about it. So bizarre. I had my alarm set for 7:40am. When my pleasant little chime went off, my appendages felt as though they weighed 100lbs each. Nothing a little coffee (or a lot) cannot fix! So off I went with my dear friend, Rosali, to her 16 week appointment (she's pregnant just in case you didn't quite catch that...) while Missy stayed home with one of our other dear friends. The appointment was just delightful. Despite being half awake and not pregnant myself, I was still giddy to hear the heartbeat. There are few sounds that are more pleasant on this fine Earth of ours. Perhaps that is what I should program as my alarm. It was also amusing to see my slightly nervous friend with her little sheet of questions, politely trying to ease her fears without taking up too much of the doctor's time. What a flash back to when I was sitting with my list of questions, feeling somewhat ridiculous by all that I had to ask. Also amusing was her horror at the scale as her petite frame stepped off. I remember feeling the same way (just add a good 20 lbs and that was my starting weight, let alone my weight at 16 weeks!) The anxious look on her face contemplating just how high that number would go by the end of her pregnancy. I remember bargaining with the scale... just not over this number and we will still be friends. My magic number changed later in my pregnancy, and while I remained friends with the scale, I did not with the mirror or my pre-pregnancy wardrobe (I don't understand, did my clothes shrink?!)... at least not until after Missy had blown out her first birthday candle... sometimes it is nice rekindling old friendships though, no?
After hearing all was well with the baby and the mother-t0-be, I finally sat down to do the entire week's worth of Bible study homework while simultaneously tidying up for the study and of course playing and feeding Missy. I completed the assignments just as the leader walked through the front door, so quite literally, just in the nick of time. The house was tidy with my beloved Woodwick candles burning, maintaining the illusion that my house is always in proper order (just don't mind me barricading the door with my body if you stop by unannounced pretty much any other day of the week). The study was just lovely- Beth Moore knows how to throw together a lesson! It was an emotional session, with 3 of the 4 ladies in attendance in tears simultaneously over different challenges. Of course I was the perfect supportive friend, and sat there emotionally inept and utterly helpless to all three. The best I could stammer out was a half-heartened, poorly delivered joke about refusing to cry and being the "rock" for the day. So much for grace under pressure...
With a couple of hours before my dinner guests would be arriving, I indulged my addiction and checked Facebook (who am I kidding, that was probably the 6th time of the day) and jotted some emails. I reheated the chili and cornbread I'd prepared the night prior for a party that I never made. So it turns out the chili needs to simmer for one hour and an additional 30 mins after adding the kidney beans. I would almost understand my error if I didn't make this chili regularly. I can practically recite the recipe without looking at it. Well, at 630pm it still had an hour to go and the party had already started, so I phoned two friends to help me polish off the abundant dinner (meant for approximately 10 people) and watch a movie. As 3 people didn't exactly solve the overabundance of food issue, I invited Meghan over again the next night, to be joined by my pregnant friend, Rosali as well (she counts as two, right?) So we three adults, 1 fetus and 1 child continued the respectable dent into the chili and cornbread and watched yet another movie. And what other way to remain guilt free after a hearty meal than to go for an evening jog (because who am I kidding, even in a life-threatening situation I highly doubt I'd ever go fast enough to qualify as "running").
And that was my banal, far from profound day.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Procrastinating...
So here I am sitting on my red couch, more than likely wasting valuable brain cells on Facebook: my obsession. I should be making up my food shopping list... I should be taking a shower after the jog I went on earlier... I should be cleaning my house (We won't go into any more detail there... you'd judge me if you knew how much I had to do!) But no, I'm sitting here leafing mindlessly through FB. Ha, and now I'm writing this, so getting farther from what needs to be done by the minute. Oh gosh, and my Bible study homework that I'm desperately behind on. Haven't even started this week's! Beth Moore would be disappointed in me. Well, while I'm here avoiding my responsibilities, might as well tell you about my day.
I prayed for rain. Yes, that's right. I laid in my double bed, sandwiched by my two 50 lb dogs, and prayed for more bad weather. Why? Because apparently I enjoy wallowing in self-pity. I prayed for rain to get me out of my waterpark date, so I could sit inside my messy house, on my red couch, and do nothing in the relative darkness of the overcast day. This was preferable than barreling down waterslides in the sun. Yes, I'm ridiculously irritational and emotional at times. No, I probably wouldn't want to hang out with me either due to these shortcomings, but that just makes me all the more grateful for my dear friends. Anyway, I prayed earnestly for a continuation of my isolation and laziness. God answered by ending our week-long downpour and brought the sun out in all its glory. I grimaced and cursed when I opened the blinds. Sigh, oh well, guess I'll get ready then. Well it's a good thing someone has my best interest in mind, because I had a great day and it very much lifted my spirits! The waterpark was just wonderful and the company of my two dear friends (and Missy of course), was even better. And as a bonus, seeing my less than fantastic physique upon reviewing the photos from the day has motivated me to get back on my exercise routine and stop drowning my miseries in food. My waistline thanked me in advance... I think my hips may have as well, but they were muffled by the awesome lovehandles bearing down upon them. Well, now that you think I'm a 400 lb gollum, let's move on...
The rest of the day was relaxed and fairly uneventful. I chatted with my husband, bathed my child after our family run with friends (I'm not totally irresponsible... I make sure her needs are met), put Missy to bed and psyched myself up for all that I was going to accomplish before bed. So far I've achieved none of it and guess who's feeling tired? I wonder how much I can accomplish in the next 45 mins... Probably a lot more if I got off of my blog that no one is reading anyway!
Alright, I'm going to say I'm not procrastinating any more, but there is a fair chance I'm actually just switching back over to FB to check my notification and will then become engrossed for another 30 mins instead.
Farewell for now,
Bea
I prayed for rain. Yes, that's right. I laid in my double bed, sandwiched by my two 50 lb dogs, and prayed for more bad weather. Why? Because apparently I enjoy wallowing in self-pity. I prayed for rain to get me out of my waterpark date, so I could sit inside my messy house, on my red couch, and do nothing in the relative darkness of the overcast day. This was preferable than barreling down waterslides in the sun. Yes, I'm ridiculously irritational and emotional at times. No, I probably wouldn't want to hang out with me either due to these shortcomings, but that just makes me all the more grateful for my dear friends. Anyway, I prayed earnestly for a continuation of my isolation and laziness. God answered by ending our week-long downpour and brought the sun out in all its glory. I grimaced and cursed when I opened the blinds. Sigh, oh well, guess I'll get ready then. Well it's a good thing someone has my best interest in mind, because I had a great day and it very much lifted my spirits! The waterpark was just wonderful and the company of my two dear friends (and Missy of course), was even better. And as a bonus, seeing my less than fantastic physique upon reviewing the photos from the day has motivated me to get back on my exercise routine and stop drowning my miseries in food. My waistline thanked me in advance... I think my hips may have as well, but they were muffled by the awesome lovehandles bearing down upon them. Well, now that you think I'm a 400 lb gollum, let's move on...
The rest of the day was relaxed and fairly uneventful. I chatted with my husband, bathed my child after our family run with friends (I'm not totally irresponsible... I make sure her needs are met), put Missy to bed and psyched myself up for all that I was going to accomplish before bed. So far I've achieved none of it and guess who's feeling tired? I wonder how much I can accomplish in the next 45 mins... Probably a lot more if I got off of my blog that no one is reading anyway!
Alright, I'm going to say I'm not procrastinating any more, but there is a fair chance I'm actually just switching back over to FB to check my notification and will then become engrossed for another 30 mins instead.
Farewell for now,
Bea
Monday, August 8, 2011
To Blog or Not to Blog.
Hello anonymous world. I've debated blogging... would anyone read it? Do I really have anything of significance to say? I'm not sure of the answer to either of these questions. Would I read what I have to say if I were the third party? Who knows... I'll just treat you as my online journal.
So who am I? Just call me Bea. I am a military spouse living at our overseas home while my husband is once again deployed. We have one little girl who is the spitting image of her father, so in some ways, he isn't all gone and I get to see him daily. That said, I think the depression that follows his absence is finally setting in. We are approaching the one month mark, so just the beginning, and the void in my life is obvious. Things just don't feel right. Granted I've been under the weather, so I'm sure that doesn't help, and the weather has been poor. That in and of itself would demolish any semblance of motivation, so I'm not yet sure if it is the deployment getting to me, or the one-two punch of illness and rain. My little girl, we'll just call her Missy, brightens my day. Her energy is to be envied and her giggle and white pearly smile really do light up the room even in the grayest of days out here.
So what do I have to say of consequence? My day was uneventful at best. Missy and I woke up late, scrambled ourselves together and met some friends for a playdate. The indoor gym was jam packed, I've never seen so many rambunctious children and absentminded parents. But that's judgmental... I still find other people's children overwhelming and their parents... well... I try to be empathetic, but I just do not understand a good percentage of parents these days. Are they just overwhelmed, so they've thrown their hands up as far as raising their child(ren)? Do they seriously just not care? Hey I brought them into the world, I did my part... done? Or are they really so delusional to believe their hyperactive demon of a child can do no wrong? Some parents seem like they are just itching to come to blows with you. Venting frustration on you for having to live with their little, uncontrollable monsters? It's bewildering really, and completely demoralizing. I spend so much time trying to raise my child properly for what? Don't hit... but then your kid pushes my kid around or worse, actually does hit mine. Okay... no problem, we'll leave so the situation doesn't escalate further... but why should my child have to be removed, not enjoy the playground or wherever it may be, because your child cannot behave? My child is the one that misses out and essentially gets punished for doing nothing wrong. This is all hypothetical. While I've heard many a horrifying tale of playground bullying, school inaction (or overreaction for that matter), etc. my child as of yet, has not really been the brunt of such brutality. But I am anxious over it. How will I react? What will I do? What are you supposed to do? I cannot imagine seeing another child truly hurt mine. Sure, little scuffles here and there, whatever. But to maniacally and intentionally hurt mine when you are old enough to know better? My guess would be I'll be tempted to put that kid's head through the wall, BUT for my child's sake I'm sure that would not be the best course of action, despite how gratifying it would be. Sigh, perhaps we'll just lock ourselves inside and peer at the little monsters from our windows ;) Just kidding... heavens that'd be creepy.
Well that turned into quite the long-winded rant. Dear Mom at the playgym with her 6-8 year old boys (I'm not sure specifically of their age), you gave me so very much to ponder over. While they weren't doing anything fantastically interesting this time, they are too old for a gym meant for toddlers, and I find it a little odd that you ignore them and their poor behavior the entire time and rely on other parents to discipline them for you. Again, I was not the one to step in, but as an observer, it was weird. This is not my first encounter with you. I was quite horrified the first time I met you when your sons were running around biting other children. I'm sorry I did not know you were their mother when I, quite irritated, proclaimed they were too old to be biting and that there would be a big problem if one of them bite my daughter. It's unfortunate that you overheard me. I would have liked to have phrased it a bit more kindly. But on the same token, WATCH YOUR DANG KIDS AND DISCIPLINE THEM! Why is an approximately 7 year old child biting?! Am I in the minority in thinking this is completely unacceptable and abnormal? Am I supposed to laugh it off, shrug my shoulders and just say "kids will be kids"? I mean sure, to some extent... but biting at 7 yrs old? Is that really a kid being a kid? Making my second guess my decision to produce one of these little gremlins if that's the case...
Anyway, after the playgym I put Missy down for her nap, aka babble-in-her-crib time. I cannot really blame her though, the lawn care people were quite loud and while I'm beyond grateful to not be mowing/edging/weeding my yard, I can't help but laugh at the irony that they ALWAYS come during nap time. At least the yard looks quite nice :) Well, to round out the day, I decided to feed into my self-pity and lack of energy. I called up a friend and to avoid being productive at all, we went out for dinner down the road and picked up some chocolate bars at the convenience store. And then we watched a chick flick which was just fine, although it did of course only increase my longing for my husband. Oh woe is me! :P I'll survive I'm sure.
Well, there's my post. Thank you my little diary for listening to me vent and postulate aloud. They may not be deep thoughts, but they are my thoughts. Here's this little military wife signing off.
-Bea
So who am I? Just call me Bea. I am a military spouse living at our overseas home while my husband is once again deployed. We have one little girl who is the spitting image of her father, so in some ways, he isn't all gone and I get to see him daily. That said, I think the depression that follows his absence is finally setting in. We are approaching the one month mark, so just the beginning, and the void in my life is obvious. Things just don't feel right. Granted I've been under the weather, so I'm sure that doesn't help, and the weather has been poor. That in and of itself would demolish any semblance of motivation, so I'm not yet sure if it is the deployment getting to me, or the one-two punch of illness and rain. My little girl, we'll just call her Missy, brightens my day. Her energy is to be envied and her giggle and white pearly smile really do light up the room even in the grayest of days out here.
So what do I have to say of consequence? My day was uneventful at best. Missy and I woke up late, scrambled ourselves together and met some friends for a playdate. The indoor gym was jam packed, I've never seen so many rambunctious children and absentminded parents. But that's judgmental... I still find other people's children overwhelming and their parents... well... I try to be empathetic, but I just do not understand a good percentage of parents these days. Are they just overwhelmed, so they've thrown their hands up as far as raising their child(ren)? Do they seriously just not care? Hey I brought them into the world, I did my part... done? Or are they really so delusional to believe their hyperactive demon of a child can do no wrong? Some parents seem like they are just itching to come to blows with you. Venting frustration on you for having to live with their little, uncontrollable monsters? It's bewildering really, and completely demoralizing. I spend so much time trying to raise my child properly for what? Don't hit... but then your kid pushes my kid around or worse, actually does hit mine. Okay... no problem, we'll leave so the situation doesn't escalate further... but why should my child have to be removed, not enjoy the playground or wherever it may be, because your child cannot behave? My child is the one that misses out and essentially gets punished for doing nothing wrong. This is all hypothetical. While I've heard many a horrifying tale of playground bullying, school inaction (or overreaction for that matter), etc. my child as of yet, has not really been the brunt of such brutality. But I am anxious over it. How will I react? What will I do? What are you supposed to do? I cannot imagine seeing another child truly hurt mine. Sure, little scuffles here and there, whatever. But to maniacally and intentionally hurt mine when you are old enough to know better? My guess would be I'll be tempted to put that kid's head through the wall, BUT for my child's sake I'm sure that would not be the best course of action, despite how gratifying it would be. Sigh, perhaps we'll just lock ourselves inside and peer at the little monsters from our windows ;) Just kidding... heavens that'd be creepy.
Well that turned into quite the long-winded rant. Dear Mom at the playgym with her 6-8 year old boys (I'm not sure specifically of their age), you gave me so very much to ponder over. While they weren't doing anything fantastically interesting this time, they are too old for a gym meant for toddlers, and I find it a little odd that you ignore them and their poor behavior the entire time and rely on other parents to discipline them for you. Again, I was not the one to step in, but as an observer, it was weird. This is not my first encounter with you. I was quite horrified the first time I met you when your sons were running around biting other children. I'm sorry I did not know you were their mother when I, quite irritated, proclaimed they were too old to be biting and that there would be a big problem if one of them bite my daughter. It's unfortunate that you overheard me. I would have liked to have phrased it a bit more kindly. But on the same token, WATCH YOUR DANG KIDS AND DISCIPLINE THEM! Why is an approximately 7 year old child biting?! Am I in the minority in thinking this is completely unacceptable and abnormal? Am I supposed to laugh it off, shrug my shoulders and just say "kids will be kids"? I mean sure, to some extent... but biting at 7 yrs old? Is that really a kid being a kid? Making my second guess my decision to produce one of these little gremlins if that's the case...
Anyway, after the playgym I put Missy down for her nap, aka babble-in-her-crib time. I cannot really blame her though, the lawn care people were quite loud and while I'm beyond grateful to not be mowing/edging/weeding my yard, I can't help but laugh at the irony that they ALWAYS come during nap time. At least the yard looks quite nice :) Well, to round out the day, I decided to feed into my self-pity and lack of energy. I called up a friend and to avoid being productive at all, we went out for dinner down the road and picked up some chocolate bars at the convenience store. And then we watched a chick flick which was just fine, although it did of course only increase my longing for my husband. Oh woe is me! :P I'll survive I'm sure.
Well, there's my post. Thank you my little diary for listening to me vent and postulate aloud. They may not be deep thoughts, but they are my thoughts. Here's this little military wife signing off.
-Bea
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