Tug-of-war

Elly is almost 16 months old. Most days I feel like she's about to be 16 years old with the amount of attitude she can dish out.

With each passing day I struggle. I struggle with the reality that she isn't going to be my baby forever. She is eventually going to grow up and be a big girl. That thought makes me cry and smile at the same time.

A part of me is so thrilled to watch her grow and develop. A part of me can't wait for her to be able to do things on her own.

On the other hand, the sooner she can do things on her own, the faster she's on her own and I'm in her dust. And I don't want that.

My latest internal tug-of-war is whether or not to get her ears pierced.

On the plus side, once it's done and over, she won't remember the temporary pain.

On the other hand, I'll have to endure her sobbing and that's worse than getting her shots.

Getting her ears pierced is a rite of passage for a girl. But when do you do it? I don't want my baby to grow too fast, yet I'm so excited for these steps into the world.

And if I have this much anxiety for a simple ear piercing, what the hell am I going to do when she wants to wear a bra or shave her legs. Or dear god! When she wants to go to the mall with her friends. (She won't be dating until she's 30, so at least that's an easy fix.)

Ugh! I'm so conflicted. What do you think? At what age should a girl get her ears pierced? By the time I finally decide, she'll probably be married with her own kids.

Until then, let the tug-of-war continue.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Go-Gos

Every time I hear or say the word Vacation I break out in song (mostly in my head, but every so often it's for the public's enjoyment) of the Go-Gos song.  Mainly because vacation is all I ever really wanted.


Had to get away!

Except, I can't.

But Ms. B can!  She and her husband are on vacation this week.  They're back home visiting family they haven't seen since Christmas.  While they're at the beach, I'm in school.  This doesn't seem like a fun trade-off.  How did I grow up and end up in school during the summer?  It's not even a school for the under-achievers!  It's actually a school for the advanced kids.  Or at least that's what they tell us to make us feel good about ourselves.

(It is the new military, after all.  We need to know how awesome we all are.... like we don't already know.)

What I've realized in just the few days she's been gone is how much I really miss her.  And how much I really depend on her, especially because I'm in school.  Since the middle of May I've been gone to a residential school for my job.  I'm not too far away from my house, just the other side of the beltway, but in D.C. traffic I might as well be in California.  So I stay at school during the week and come home on weekends.

All the while, Ms. B watches Elly.  Ms. B and her husband Mr. T (yes, that's his actual name.  I pity the fool!) take such great care of Elly.

They are lifesavers when it comes to watching her.  I couldn't be more grateful for them and how perfect they are.  Not just anyone would drop everything to take your sick kid an extra day and a half and nurse her back to health because you couldn't be there full-time for her.

I think back to when I was about to start back up to work and how absolutely freaked out I was to leave her with someone who wasn't me.  I was panicked.  (Do you need a reminder?) Six months later and I realize just how useless that worrying was, because instead I found the perfect people who care for my daughter as if she were their child.

Elly loves them!  She says their names (as well as a toddler learning to talk can actually say names).  She gives them hugs and kisses.  She gets excited to see them when they walk through the door.

I can't wait for them to get back from vacation.  Not just because I miss them, but because Elly misses them too!  I'm sure as soon as they get back, she'll slobber them with kisses.  And I'll give them grateful hugs that they didn't run away and leave me without someone I trust to watch my daughter.  Now if only I could figure out a way to convince the Department of Defense to allow them to permanently stay here so they can always be a part of Elsie's life.

Ok, so that's not really reality.  Maybe I need a vacation.

V is for Victory

My New Year's resolution this year is to buy more American-made products. Turns out, that's pretty hard to do sometimes.

However, I have been pretty successful when I'm looking to buy something special. I can usually do some research and find the perfect item.

My quest for the red, white and blue lead me down the path toward homemade and homegrown items. I feel like I time-warped into the 1940s.

Enter my desire for my very own victory garden!

I began planting seeds in my recyclable containers a couple months ago. I refused to pay more for the kits at Walmart when I could do the same thing with stuff I already had laying around the house (aka free).

About a month ago I got most everything transplanted outside. Not everything out there is from my own seedlings. But, everything IS American-grown. And the plants I did buy we're from a local, small business. So, I'm still assisting the American dream.

Here is my patio garden so far:



Summer squash and zucchini, lettuce, peppers, lots of basil, various other herbs



Tons of bell pepper and tomato varieties.

I hope I can keep everything growing! So far, so good! One day, I want to have a much larger garden and I'd love to help others build and create their own gardens. V is for Victory!





Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Sacrifice

Note: I originally penned this really heartfelt blog Thursday evening.  However, when I added a picture from my phone, it wiped the entire blog. Which really stinks, because this was a really great one!  Hopefully you can enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed the other one :-/




For the last week I've been away from home and work at a school I need for my job.  In the military (and as a DoD civilian) we call this time away: TDY.  I'm only about 35 miles away, but in Washington D.C. traffic it's like being an hour or four away.

It sucks every night while I'm gone.  I miss my daughter.  Yet, I have to stay focused on what I'm here for. My command paid a lot of money for me to attend this important school.  The training isn't only important for this one job, it's actually vital to my entire career in the federal government.  It's truly an honor they have spent the money to send me.  And I can't mess it up and be the next GSA or Secret Service scandal!

But while I'm gone I miss my daughter terribly. Leaving every Sunday evening and hearing her cry makes me cry.  I cry for the first few miles on the road every time.  I cry after we Skype.  I cry when I see the sitter post a photo on Facebook or text one to me. I cry when I go to dinner and the waitress sits a family with a toddler daughter a couple months younger than my own right next to me.  I cry a lot.

But it could be worse.  I could still be on active duty.  I could be deployed for six months to a year.  I could not get to drive home every weekend and see her.  I could not get to skype with her.  I could not get to see pictures of her every day.  It could be much worse.

And I'm grateful it isn't worse.  I'm grateful that there are men and women in this country who make the choice every day to get up and put the cloth of our nation on and go to the remotest corners of the world so that I can drive home on a Thursday night to rock my daughter to sleep.  I'm truly blessed to be in the company of great, American heroes who sacrifice those moments with their children so that I can spend time with mine.

I am honored to have served along side some of the most incredible people in the world.  The kind of people that stand up for their values and pledge each day to make a difference in the world.  And I'm truly grateful those people make a huge sacrifice, so the small ones I make aren't so hard.   I hope you all had a wonderful Memorial Day weekend.








Come hang out with me over at Yeah Write!

Taking a walk on the wild side

I didn't have a very good weekend.  It started off with great intentions.  Well, you know what they say about great intentions... they pave the way to Hell.  And that's where mine led me.

To understand the full irony of this situation, you have to indulge me a bit in my love of crosswalks.  I live in the greater D.C. metro area.  There's a ton of people, cars, and bicyclists.  And everyone (but me of course) is a freakin' idiot. 

People dart out from all directions to cross the street.  They don't look before they cross, they just go.  And they think "the pedestrian has the right of way" is the cure-all to their ignorance.  Newsflash moron!  You only have the right of way when you're legally crossing the road.  Not when you walk head-first into 4 lanes of high-speed traffic with your 4 kids in tow and you leisurely meander to the other side.  This isn't a Sunday stroll for God's sake. 

I have witnessed an old man walk right out in front of me while I'm driving, knowing I have a green light (since that's what he's looking at), 2 car-lengths away from a crosswalk.  Just to walk past where he could have legally made his way over the by-way.  I of course, being the Good Samaritan that I am, screamed at the top of my lungs that he needed to use the crosswalk or meet a perilous demise. 

It's one of my biggest pet peeves.  If you don't use a crosswalk and you walk out in front of me, I will speed up.  If there is a crosswalk 4 feet from you, don't be a lazy slug, use it.  That's what our government dollars are being used for.  Either that, or don't bitch about how your money is spent. And you had better not be a huge hypocrite and refuse to use a crosswalk, but then drive down the road and yell at others who are following your lead. 

But as it turns out, crosswalks seem to be my demise.  (I have another story I need to tell you that happened on my hiatus.  But that's for a different time.)

My latest epic crosswalk failure happened Friday evening.  After driving home from a very long day at work, I took my usual route.  I drive through this super-rich neighborhood and day-dream every day.  In this neighborhood is an uber-rich country club/golf course.  I look at all the people out there enjoying a round.  I watch as the high school golf team practices for an upcoming match on the links.  I love that drive.  And I love to look at that golf course.

Until Friday.

On this ride home, there is a randomly marked crosswalk in the middle of the road.  No street lights, just a marked crosswalk from one side of the street to the other for the large number of pedestrian traffic in the area. 

Because of my passion for crosswalk usage, if I see someone in a crosswalk, I will stop traffic to let them cross.  And actually, in the Commonwealth of Virginia, that's the law.  ***IF**** in a crosswalk (such as the random one I described), the pedestrian really does have the right of way and you're supposed to stop. 

So a teenage kid, out on his afternoon run, was waiting patiently for a break in the heavy traffic.  Seeing this, I stopped and signaled for him to cross.  And as he made is way halfway through the street I saw with my mommy-eyes something white headed straight at me. (Mommy-eyes are eyes that catch every little detail about things… You can see flying objects coming from miles away, you can see through walls to catch your kid eating dog food, and you can catch the fact that your kid has mismatched socks on at home all way from your office desk chair.)

"OH SHIT!!!!!!"

THUD!

(notice the impact mark at the top of the glass.  The cracks streak all the way down to the bottom of the glass)

Yup, that was a random golf ball flying through the fence/tree line at the beloved country club straight at my car.  I ducked, worried it would impale me through the glass or hit me square in the head, Sir Newton style, through the sunroof. 

I got hit by a freakin' golf ball!  Right in the windshield!  I pull over and start freaking out.  What the hell do I do now?  I called Abby.

Do I turn back? Uh yeah, that would be the best plan of attack.  And as I turn around, there are the golfers, digging through the weeds at the fence, looking for their ball.

I roll down my window and shout, are you looking for a ball?  Uh yeah, why?  Well it just hit my freakin' car! 

OH.  Well, pull around and I'll meet you in the parking lot.

Turns out the guy is a Senior VP for a very large, well known bank.  He's in charge of the insurance department!

And as he said, it happens all the time!  Great, I'm glad I could be just another notch on your golf club buddy!!!

So now we're in the fun insurance claim phase.  Don't worry, he's filed a claim and it will be taken care of.  And honestly, if he tried to swindle me, you'd be the first to know!  $530.64 later, I need an all new windshield. 

Did I mention that I was planning on taking my car to the dealership on Saturday to trade it in for a new car?  Yeah, that kind of changed the value of my vehicle... so I guess I'll be waiting for the replacement before I trade in.

Oh, and did I also mention I'm leaving next weekend for a 9-week school in a different state?  I'll be home on weekends, but I don't really have time to mess around with waiting for the seal to set on a new windshield on one of my free weekends.

And did I also forget to mention that it's been raining half the weekend?  And the glass is leaking a bit?  No biggie, since I left my sunroof open (again) in the rain and now my seats are soaked through. 

I'm pretty sure my Jeep doesn't want to be sold.  And I'm pretty sure I need a glass of wine.  Scratch that, I need the whole damn bottle!

Come hang out with me!

Lasting impression

There's no doubt I'm leaving a lasting impression on my kid.  Isn't that the whole point as a parent?  To teach your kid important things so they grow up to be self-sufficient, well-rounded, and overall good citizens.  Even if you suck as a parent, you’re leaving a lasting impression.  If you give your child up for adoption, that's still leaving him/her with a lasting impression.  You leave an impression even if you're never around.  It's not a great impression, but nonetheless, it's an impression that'll last with a person forever.

Every day I worry about what kind of things I'm teaching Elly and what life skills she's learning.  This morning, for example, I taught her that that when mumma is trying to get dressed in the morning and you don't want to keep sleeping, you can entertain yourself with a cupboard full of pads, tampons and toilet paper.

What can I say?  They're soft, colorful toys that kept her busy long enough for me to get dressed uninterrupted this morning.  (Mom fail.)

On the other hand, we've been teaching her sign language and trying hard to get her to talk.  Don't get me wrong, she talks, I just don't speak babble all that well.  I prefer English.  Again, I'm trying to teach her to assimilate!  She's picked up a couple more signs and knows when to tell us she wants to eat.  Which is every moment of the day. (Fatty!)

She knows the word up and I swear she was saying it as she climbed up the stairs.  Every step she climbed I said “up,” she said “yup.”  She knows the word no and doesn't say it yet (thank god).  But she knows what it means.  Which is good, because I'm pretty sure 90% of kids today don't hear that nearly enough.  Their impression of 'no' is to keep asking for it until you hear ‘yes.’  Basically they've learned the "wear them down" method.

So yes.  I'm leaving quite a few lasting impressions on her.  But the one that makes me cry every time I see it is the one I never intended. 

A couple weeks ago, she and I were playing/lounging on the couch.  She likes to run around on it like it's her personal obstacle course.  Well, she was about to slip and fall off of it.  So what do I do? Instantly grab her to brace her from the fall of course.  That's what good mothers do- save their kids from peril. 

But what did I really do? Instead, I gouged the crap out of her little arm with my extra long finger nail. (I clipped them down that night!)  I drew blood, she sobbed.  I cried harder and louder.  And once the blood and her tears stopped, my guilt started to bubble over.

Every day since then, I look at her little arm and want to cry. (I’m tearing up right now.)  There's still a small scar on her arm.  I want to try every scar cream and potion on the market to erase it.  I don’t want her to have something so lasting on her perfect little skin so soon in life.  I know she’ll fall down plenty in her life.  And I’ll be there to pick her up, but it’s too soon for her to feel that kind of pain.

Every time I look at it, I feel the guilt of not being fast enough to catch her.  Instead of saving her, I hurt her.  I pray it keeps fading.  I pray that the scar eventually goes away and doesn't stay with her forever.  Hurting her is not a lasting impression I'd like to make. 

Pass me a bottle...

I need a drink!  Seriously.  Wow.  I just got a major life jolt this morning.  And it sucks. 

You see, I'm plummeting head-first toward 30.  At first this wasn't a big deal to me.  And for the last few years I didn't even think it would phase me.  But the faster it approaches, the more insane I get.  I mean, I just feel old most days.

I've noticed I now listen to talk/news radio in the mornings rather than jamming to music.  I've realized that getting that bit of extra news, weather and traffic update in the morning is useful.  Listening to Fergie sing about her lumps isn't as much.

I crochet.  Which isn't a big deal.  But I do it to pass time and try and create warmer things in the house for winter time rather than spending lots of money on blankets.  It's just easier and cheaper to do make it myself.  (Plus then I'm not funding the damn Chinese take-over of America!)

I bake things from scratch like my great-grandmother did.  I complain about our country and its economy.  I try hard to be fiscally responsible because that's what adults are supposed to do.  I dread doing laundry and cleaning now because at the end of the day I'm drained.  Not because I don't like my job, but because it mentally zaps me. 

I complain about kids today.  I think and worry about investments and retirement plans.  I'm concerned about heart disease since it's a leading killer of women.  I think about how much fiber I get in my diet. 

I check my head every morning for gray hair.

I play BINGO on a Friday night.  I update my cell phone's operating software on a Saturday night. 

Clipping coupons is an exciting thing to do on Sunday morning.  And I get excited when I can match up a BOGO and store coupon on a product that's already on sale. 

I'm just flat out old!  This is how my mind works.  I never thought 10 years ago that this would be what excites me at 30.  I used to care more about what kind of car I would get to drive or what kind of glamorous parties I'd get to go to.  Not whether or not my clothes are easy to wash in case Elly splatters some crap on me at dinner.

The one thing I've always been able to hold onto through my fears of growing closer to senior citizenship was that at least I still had my hair.  And at least it wasn't gray... yet. 

Well this morning, during my morning beauty routine, I found it.  My very first gray hair.  Don't worry, I already tried to rationalize that it might be one of the few blond natural highlights I have in my medium-brown hair.  It's not. 

It's gray from the root to about two and a half inches up the shaft of the hair.  I was pretty rushed this morning, so I saved it on my vanity so I can look at it under a different light tonight when I get home.  Just to make sure. 

I haven't dyed my hair in about seven years.  I know that sounds crazy, but I really do like my natural hair color.  I've always said that I wasn't going to dye my hair until it got gray.  Well, it's about time to start thinking about what color I want.  Because by the end of the year I'll probably have a full head of salt-white hair.  I could probably go with a nice shade of blue to fit in with the BINGO crowd.  But that might be pushing it. 

One thing is for sure, I need a drink.  Just pass me a bottle.  It doesn't matter what it is, as long as it's a close match to my natural color!