Wordless Wednesday

Mrs. (Husband's Job)

SO not my title.

My husband entered his job as an enlisted grunt. He entered as someone who had earned an AA & an AS (in a CCF degree-- see below), graduating with a 4.0 (enabling him to wear all sorts of cool ribbons during graduation). THIS would make it easier for him to "cross over" to the "O" side when he was ready. It also helped him towards earning his work-related brownie points, so basically he was on the " Fast Track" for promoting (and supposedly gearing up to apply for O's Training School-- or OTS see below).
I started calculating our future pay.

One year passed.

"Um, dear, when do you start doing the stuff for the O thing?"

Years 2 through 5 went buzzing by before I realized this guy had no intention of crossing over. There were all sorts of reasons. One time he told me that if he became an O, there would be things expected of me as an O's wife.
"Huh, Wha....?" "EXPECTED of me? Have you ever seen my reaction when told I have to do something?"

My mom says I have always been this way, kind of rebellious, strong-willed with a "sure sense of self". I had always thought that was a compliment, but as I get older, I'm thinking maybe not so much so.
Anyway, the way I saw it, I didn't sign anything and his work's training instructor kept reminding the newbie's that "this job didn't issue you a wife!" so what do you mean, "expected" of me?

There's a certain amount of dedication that is required to be the happy, bubbly woman left commandeering an entire company sections' better halves, while smilingly supporting her guy in all that he does. She's got to look you in the eye and appear thrilled that you are having another Pampered Chef/Tupperware/Happy Homemaker party that you want her to attend. She will be the one calling you when your husband is away and handing you tissues while bouncing your snotty-nosed kid on her lap at the monthly dinners designed to get you out of the house-- that she helped organize. and baked for. and attends. every month. She will be required to participate happily in gathering funds for the parties, gifts, etc... regardless whether or not her kids schedules are killing her or she's just too blue to do it. She will look impeccably coifed at all times. Even at the gym. She will never be found standing in the post office queue with two children hanging from her leg while the baby in her arms is stretching her blouse out just so to show everyone how she should've bought that new bra... a year ago.

No thank you. Keep your pay.

Of course, there's not a handbook that says any of this.
Not that I'd be able to read it if there was.
The  Hub's company speaks a different language that I haven't quite mastered--I'm still trying not to sound daft speaking Britain-ese.
They speak in acronyms. Really.

A conversation could go something like this:

"T--- , have you prepared for your T--- to the N----?"
"Prepared, Sir?"
"Have you made sure your wife has a POA so that she can take care of your POV for your P--?"
"Uh..."
"C'Mon T---., she'll need it for T--- and F-- if you're going to make your NLD for this P--".
"Sir?"
"And she may need it in case anything goes wrong with your F--, B-- or O--, too bad you won't be getting any S-- on this one."
"Go by legal and get this taken care of ASAP. You know this P-- is going to be great for you, the C--- where you're O----- is high ...oh, and for this T--, don't forget to pack your P--"

To make things worse, my husband works in an area where they use initials.
Our first job location was an eye-opener for me. Someone rang the house asking for A---n Diaz". I told him there was no A---n Diaz there. Do you know how bad it is for an guy when his supervisor can't reach him because he's given them the wrong number? I felt so bad for the guy. I don't know when it finally occurred to me that they were calling my husband. DS.

So, Mrs (Husband's job) I am not.
I whine when I'm sad and I whine when I'm not. I begrudge him his extra time doing his "brownie point" duties and get a little resentful as he stacks his accolades. I would've sucked as an Os' wife, but maybe I'm ok as the regular guy's wife. The reason he didn't want to cross over?
He loves his job and wanted to do it as long as possible-- he would've been behind a desk as an O. I told him the pay didn't matter as long as he was happy in his job.
Although, that extra O-- and B-- would help me hire a M A I D......

President Gordon B Hinckley

A great man passed away last night. He was 97 years old.

I decided long ago to leave politics and religion out of my blog, because let's face it, even though I may be willing to hear and learn about other's points of view, I know there are many out there uninterested in seeing things from mine. And I'm ok with that.
But I would be dishonest if I blogged today and didn't acknowledge someone who has made such a great impact in my life.
All week long I have read posts about Heath Ledger, and sat stunned through news clips of a young life ended so soon. Today I feel the same.
Sure, Pres. Hinckley was 97 and had led a full and accomplished life, but his humor and Christ-like countenance will surely be missed by people all over the world.
I hope you take a little time from blog reading today to just find out who he was and what his life was about.

My Drug of Choice

I read on someone's blog how comments left on a post is her "crack". I wish I knew where I read it so I could give her credit for such an accurate comparison.
I can be having one of my moodiest mornings and with a quick check of the email -- VOILA! mood gone.
You know who you are... to see your name in my mailbox brightens my day. I love "getting to know" you through your stories of your children, the trials of a parent's illness, the sad passing of your beloved cat, your struggles and accomplishments.
Here's something silly about me you may (not) want to know:
I almost got to the point of hero worship of one blog. I lurked for weeks, eagerly clicking on the quick link I made in her honor, anticipating what was going to happen with the dawning of each brand new day. I was never disappointed... well maybe once when she made several jokes about Republicans (wait! Don't go away, I'm a good person, really!)(oh, and the jokes were hilarious). I loved her wit and admired her great writing style.
So imagine how silly I (should've) felt when I yelled from my cold, little computer room, "Hey! I have a comment from ____!"
I was beaming (She knows me! She knows who I am! She read my blog!).
My dear husband, who occasionally has that look on his face (the look of 'is-this-normal-or-is- she-about-to-fall-of-the-edge?) smiled... it didn't reach his eyes.
I just couldn't expect him to understand. He doesn't drink, smoke or do any kind of recreational drugs---come to think of it, with his job, he rarely does prescriptions--- so it would be hard for him to understand how the woman who just had a mouth-frothing tirade over a box of tea cakes being opened (meant for said woman's Mum in the States) could come out of the room with a silly little euphoric smile on her face--over a stranger's comment.

So comment away.
I do look you up and I usually discover that there's a reason we were drawn to one another's blog.
I should warn you though, that I am pretty hard to get rid of.

I once met a nice lady on Ebay whose daughter's love for Disney's The Little Mermaid almost matched mine (she was only 6, there was still time). She purchased a Tyco Ariel doll from me that I had 6 of (don't ask). We've been pen-pals for 7 1/2 years now. We send birthday cards, photos of the kids, Christmas letters and I can't even list all of the thoughtful things she has done for me. How great is the internet? And how great is blogging?!

Introductions Please!

I know it's still your Thursday, but it's almost my Friday -- and not to undervalue the importance of Bad Poetry Thursday, I am submitting my Friday post now (I have big dreams for Fridays).

I have never really introduced you to my family.

I hate writing in code (J1, J2 etc...). If no children were involved, I'd be putting out name, address, phone number, and inviting you over for a cuppa.

But as a military family, we have to practice OPSEC at all times.
So, all sickos, perverts and terrorists, please leave this blog now.

Ahhh, that's better, a little less crowded (there's 9 of you now).

Anyway, in order of appearance in my life:


There's J1 or Son #1 or 19-year old.

He's the proof that doctors don't know everything. His Dad and I were both told we would probably not make any chillin's. Anyway, J1 is here and his Dad went on to have two girls in another marriage and I, well, The Hubby and I are just short of a baseball team.
J1 is incredibly talented. He writes his own music and can play 40 different instruments. He's amazing on the trumpet, and equally impressive on the drums. He records his songs by playing every instrument and then mixing them. Someday, I will put one of his songs on here. He's amazing-- a little Tom Delong-ish He wants to be a Herpetologist. He lives with snakes. Um, that sounded bad because he's currently residing in my Mother's basement while waiting for his apartment application to be approved. I really meant the slithering, sometime poisonous things.

The Hubby.
He appeared after J1.

I was relieved that I now had someone to feel safe with. I could actually fall asleep and NOT listen for every little sound... until the night the dog vomited all over the carpet next to our bed and I cleaned it-- large with child, exhausted, crying and with the light on--right next to him and he never stirred. So much for feeling safe.
He's VERY romantic and an all around great guy, and a left-brainer (teetering on Nerdy). He spends just about every waking moment trying to make me happy... a little daunting and cool at the same time.

J2

10 years younger than J1. He's got deep chocolate-brown eyes that sparkle when he's happy and are also the first clues when he's coming down with something. He's a perfectionist and has to master anything he tries. He was a natural in baseball, but came to England and began obsessing with football. He's also pretty impressive with the trumpet. His older brother passed his down to him and the music director was so impressed with J2's musical abilities, he recommended an advanced group for him to play in once a week. This boy LOVES his sister!
J2's got a tender heart, but doesn't show his emotions. When he cries, I know something terrible is happening. He's got a girl. and he's 9.

A1

About the time J2 was born, I was blissfully hormonal and said, "Let's have another one!" So 18 months later, we did. Hubby's dad had made a comment, "What's with all the 'J's?" So this baby got an "A" name. I was flown off of an island in the Azores at 34 weeks pregnant and spent the next month alone in Maryland. During one of their worst winters. ever. Knowing NO ONE and not having a car. I had a red flag on my medical charts for depression during the pregnancy and yet was left alone.
"Stork Nesting" is another brilliant Air Force program that needs a little tweaking.
A1 is very sensitive. Loud sounds, bright lights, any angry talk would really upset him as a baby. He was hospitalized with severe jaundice on day 6, so had to undergo various tests as he got older to see if there was any damage. I have often wondered if maybe he has Aspergers. He ticks so many of the boxes. He has the kindest, sweetest soul, and he's a math whiz.

A2
Imp.

This is the one that I don't mind when he sneaks up to be in my bed. He loves to cuddle. He's a ham--very funny little guy. I spent the first year of his life worrying that something was wrong with him. His eyes are wider set than everybody else's and he just always had a "duh...." expression. I thought my "old eggs" had had an impact on the poor little fellow.
I quit worrying when I looked at some of his Dad's pictures and saw the same expression. He loves school and is well-liked by the other kids. He has a passive nature I think... well, sometimes. If a kid at school takes something from him, his expression is, "what the heck?" but then he'll turn and move on to something else. Not at home. He has the LOUDEST cry and can really throw a tantrum. We're gonna keep him anyway.

Miss Ky

Surprise! This is what God says to you when The Hubby says "Hey honey, we're moving to England and we'll want to travel a lot, so I think I'd better book the vasectomy".
Thank (Him) that He knows better than we do.
I hated comments like, "Will you try for a girl?" (as if my four boys were a disappointment). Even after her birth when people would say (in front of my other children) "Well, you finally got your girl! You must be so happy." I would cringe.
Yes, I finally got my girl that I didn't even know I wanted. I am enjoying her tremendously. Except when she's climbing, tearing things up, throwing important things away, pouring cereal on the floor...
She's a beautiful sleeper.
No really, this is the happiest baby I have ever had the privilege of knowing.

So, that's my family.
My pride and joy.
The demise of my lovely skin and
the cause of my greying hair.

Now maybe my stories will mean more to you.
Or maybe now you'll go join the others who left at the beginning.

Haiku Weds.. I mean bad poetry Thursday

So there are a lot of bloggers out there that do a Haiku Friday (or sat, mon.?-- whatever day it falls on) and I decided that I have some poetry to share.
I know you will soon discover why I chose to be a SAHM(onster) rather than write, but bear with me and try to feel the moment.
Lights down low?
Feelin' a good vibe?

Ode to the Commissary Bagger

Dear, dear boy as you handle the souvenirs from this lovely occasion,
could you spare a moment or two?
You see, I've noticed that you placed my bread on the bottom again
and by home it will be a glob of glue.

I don't usually mind these sorts of things,
but have really,
have really had a time.
I want to go home
savoring the tantrums, smashed crisps,
potty stops and leaky sippy cup,
Not be concerned about slime

from my tomatoes that sit under detergent
oozing their way into the flour
and did your mother ever tell you
that bananas hate frozen peas--
do you get paid by the hour?

I'll still give you your tip,
and I won't think bad things
(well, not overly mean)
when two weeks' pay-worth of goods
(placed in a tower that leans)
go crashing to the floor in a mangled heap.

You dear dear boy,
I know where you live,
you may want to keep
one eye open while you sleep.....

Photographer's Anonymous

I just picked up my prints at ASDA (your Walmart). I usually upload them via my Macbaby, but since it is a Mac and the general world is geared for Winbloze, I can only download ten at a time. So, to save time, we drove to Norwich.
I stood in front of the photo machine long enough for my husband to investigate the entire store, and then made friends with the elderly man behind me while we waited for the 4-foot long receipt to slowly print out.
It was a little embarrassing. Not that I had 928 prints made (and very few duplicates), but that I could only say that these were photos from December and what has passed of January.

Yes, I have a problem.

That's the first step, admitting it, right? Is there a 12-step program to weaning myself from documenting EVERY single moment in my life? Doesn't everyone have a camera on them at all times? Normal people may run into a house fire to save their cat-- I would save my photos, and hope the cat was a good runner (save your PETA-mail, we don't have a cat) (I do now have 928 new prints).

It was a little funny when I handed the clerk my ticket and she opened the puny little drawer to discover my order wasn't in there and then walked to a corner of the room to pick up this massive carrier bag (have you ever held 928 photos at once?). She smiled and said, "Just a few photos today?" What do you say to that?

"Wait 'till you see NEXT month's!"

My husband said, "maybe buying you that bigger disk wasn't a good idea." (nor was the extra SLR, a telephoto lens that can cook your breakfast, the newer iPhoto and extra hard drive to store everything on...) I love you honey!

The Love Affair Continues...

I don't know how many women would actually take the Hubby to meet their new love, but believe it or not, I did (shoot me now).
With my first extra-marital diversion, I should've learned when he wouldn't let me name baby #3 Liam. For some reason he didn't want me naming our child after Liam Neeson (oh, and you should've seen the joy on his and J1's faces when they came back from Star Wars Episode I--"Mom, your sweet heart dies!").
I should've taken the hint in Venice (my distraction #2) when I was forced to hold my video camera above my head, video-ing the shops (filled with glistening Murano glass) we were whizzing by as I desperately tried to keep a view of Hubby's back in the pressing crowds. "But you said you wanted to see the Rialto Bridge..." "Yes, and maybe a few things in between there the train station!" (We sometimes don't have the same opinion of how to travel).
But, I don't learn. I am afraid I am heading down the path of my Grandmother, who currently remembers very little of her life after she had children except in rare instances. She is living in her blissful years of girlhood with dear friends who have long since passed away. I keep scrap books because I know there will come a day when I will need them. I have an amazing memory for birthdays, your favorite chocolate or what you like to drink by the pool, but my memory is very selective about everything else.

Memory (or lack of it) is NOT what I am blogging about. Well, not really anyway.

I took my Hubby and entire pack of wild animals to London, you know, my new love interest.
When my husband suggested we go see this fantastic place I keep blubbering about, somewhere back in the recesses of my shriveling mind a little red light seemed to be flashing....
It may have been the memories of the great holiday I planned for the last school break the boys would have before J1 moved back to the States: a stay in a Bed and Breakfast (that was an actual working farm) and hikes through the Peak District--surrounded by breathtaking scenery...
Those photos are filed on my desktop under "Trip From Hell".
Or it could have been the reminder of the family camping trip in Carlsbad Caverns in NM, hiking under a bright blue sky (what's that?!) and wading in crystal clear streams--the highlight for everybody was coming home early via McDonalds.
But I didn't understand the warning I was receiving from a previous me. I couldn't imagine why I wouldn't want to go into a city (with a population of NINE MILLION people that sprawls over 600 square miles) with 3 very active boys and a 14-month Destructonator.
"London! I love London! You'll love it too! It's gorgeous! The kids will have a great time, sure honey, let's go!"

It's still gorgeous, it's still exciting and breathtaking and fantastic, but I took my husband (who's idea of a great time is figuring out why the Camino won't 'Force Quit' and perusing the latest issue of Mac Format) and my circus act-- children that have to juggle, kick, dribble everything they come in contact with.
Now,
I really have to be honest, even if it does take the fun out of the post-- the kids were actually very good and amazingly well-behaved--and my husband, other than being driven to arrive there quicker than any other human being had ever entered the city, was well-behaved as well. But I wasn't.
I was a neurotic mess about getting separated from them and therefore snapping at them like a she-dog after her puppies. So sad.
The Hubby's first Tube ride, first view of beautiful London will be forever tainted by the nagging of the schizophrenic love-of-his-life (and unfortunately, I do mean forever--his mind is as sharp as my tongue).

Anyway, I saw Piccadilly Circus (with all of the Theatres!) this time and the British Museum was great :-}


See me and three of the four wild beasts? We're on the steps. The Hubby took this one. This photo shows you the complexity of the Greek and Roman Civilizations. They had psychic artists! This mosaic is of me--far into the artist's future-- taking her family to London. Beautiful Museum-- to the right,
to the left,
in the middle
...well, you get the idea.
Right now there's The Terra Cotta Warrior Exhibit from China, but the only tickets available are late in the evening and we have to rely on the Tube schedule and then another 3 hours' drive home.
But we did see the Rosetta Stone!

Monday's Mission

..and the nominees for the "Endurance Award" are:

J the Grockle (anyone looked that up yet?), for not totally wigging out when hubby decided to help her pick out tights. One of Oprah's tips on how not to look old is to stop wearing nylons and use leg paint or wear opaque tights. Well, all the opaqueness in the world is NOT hiding the fact that J is growing older....

The Hubby, for enduring his MLK day off with a wife who says, "I can't find any grey tights" and then bites his head off when he pulls out every other color and style there is to show her while Miss Ky tries out the new fingernail polish across the aisle.

J the Grockle was doubly nominated for enduring the 8-hour saturday scrap booking crop with only one other person in attendance-- the woman who hates Americans.

Monday Missions nomination idea from Painted Maypole.

I'm a Stranger Here Myself

It has got to be said, and today is as good as day as any.
There is a woman here who hates me, and she hates me (not "because I'm beautiful"--does that commercial still run?) solely because of my place of birth.

About a month after moving here to Norfolk, this woman came to my house, sat on my sofa and trashed my President (currently my husband's head honcho if you think about it), the school system from which my children came, my language etc. She did it all with a smile, so to be quite honest, it was two hours AFTER she left when I realized that I was agitated and couldn't put my finger on why. Then I realized I had been insulted. A lot.
Ok, so I am not the sharpest tool in the shed these days, and maybe that's good. I have this ability to accept just about every person from every walk of life and if you're nice to me, I will be your most loyal friend. If for some reason, I don't like you, I won't pretend I do and call you over for tea. You have to work really hard to offend me (mostly because I can be a little distracted and may miss subtle hints completely) and I kind of expect that in other people.

But never mind that. The damage she caused was that I believed what she said. She really was one of my very first visitors and had plainly told me that general British sentiment towards Americans is that we're greatly disliked.
So, I stood in the queues at play group and didn't speak to people for months (I didn't want to appear the pushy American). I walked on eggshells trying to make sure I never said something that would cause offense, and I did my best to just blend in.

So, with that stated.
After several months I figured out that this woman was really the exception. Most people are very warm towards us and on things we probably wouldn't agree about, they use that wonderful British humour.
My children attract kids who want to know more about the US and who like their accents. One friend loves to sit in my living room and listen to the Hubby and I talk because she loves the phrases we use.
In the meantime, I have heard about others' run-ins with the visiting meanie and pretty much decided her dislike for me is definitely not my problem. I have attended "crops" at her home (invited) and smiled through all of the little jabs-- I get a page or two done in my scrap books without Miss Ky pulling the table over, I don't care what the hostess feels about me.

The most recent said event was yesterday. Imagine my consternation when everyone I asked told me they weren't going. My heart sank when I pulled up and saw that I would be the only one there and it was an 8-hour crop!
Sometime around October-ish (during the wanderings of my husband) I went to something she hosted and came out determined never to attend another thing. I was beaten, I was tired and a little pissy to be perfectly honest. It was hard doing everything with my husband deployed and setting myself up for the constant verbal attacks was plain stupid. But, here I was. alone.

THAT my friends, is a die-hard scrap booker...

Yes, mingled in with the "I'm really pleased you came"s were, "We don't really get involved with football" (after her 12-year old commented on my husband and boys all attending a match while I cropped with, "Well, maybe your daughter won't like football so that you can have one intelligent person in your home" (did I mention the kid was playing video games almost the entire time I was there?).

But what I really wanted to share was today.

We really had a nice church service. We had lots of visitors and had a terrific feeling with us, ready to face the week with cheerfulness and optimism. As my husband was making his way towards the door, after several attempts to herd our bunch the same direction, I started walking behind him with my head down. I wasn't doing the submissive wife thing (wow, SO not me), I think I was watching my feet or looking at my bag, I don't know. But he stopped short, right after pushing the door open, and I almost slammed right into him.
That's when I looked up and realized it wasn't my husband (thank goodness I didn't pinch his rear). It was the husband of the visiting meanie--who also hates Americans.
I laughed and said, "Oh! I thought you were my husband!" To which he replied, "NOT a CHANCE!" and walked away.
Two points here.
These people consider themselves very educated.
They also consider themselves Christians.
ok, maybe there's actually three points.
Why did I let it agitate me the entire day? Any comments?

The down side of being a military wife

This morning, determined NOT to be addicted to blogging, I decided I would only pull in my email and then shut this Mac-baby down for the day. Things never quite work out how we plan, do they? (Yikes, I just did the British "question thing!" how funny).

Any who, I had an email from Heidi, of Muddy H2O.

I discovered MH2O through one of my favorite blog sites, Getinthecar! Jen was having a give-away for a Chocolate face mask and well, if there's anything with chocolate involved, you can count me in! I immediately went searching for a place to order.

Living overseas can really be a great experience. However, when you're longing for a taste of home or in need of something that you can't find here, things can get a bit frustrating. Few places will ship to an APO address. What APO means is, you post the item to me. It travels to NY where the military takes over and sees it to it's final destination. You don't pay any more than if you were shipping to your Grandma, but you do have to fill out a customs slip-- which is mostly a check-the-box-and-sign type of form. You don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure it out, but it does take extra effort. Many Ebay sellers won't ship to APO, Target has never shipped anything to APO, Amazon can't send electronics or gourmet items (so much for belonging to the "Hot Sauce of the Month" club) and I once spent an entire day uploading 600 pictures to Walmart only to be told at check-out that they wouldn't ship photos to an APO. You try to figure why.

So, when I contacted the MH2O company directly and asked how I could get my hands on a chocolate Muddy, Heidi told me she would ship it to me personally-- in support of my husband serving in the military.
Regardless how you feel about the war or anything else with the military, you need to know that on a regular basis, we are bombarded by negativity from total strangers. Once on an Amazon chat, I noticed some idiot taking a verbal punch at a Veteran and even though I normally don't get involved with chats, I felt like I needed to this time. Needless to say, he then attacked me with comments about how joining the military was our choice or rather maybe we didn't have a choice (inferring I had a lack of education). Whatever, Einstein.
We did choose the military for reasons I won't go into here, and it's not always easy. The 15 months we have lived here in England, my husband has been away in one place or another for more than half of it. He has missed several birthdays, 4th of July celebrations, Thanksgiving, "Firsts" (like first day of school for two kids, baby milestones for two babies, teenage 'firsts' etc...). He has been gone when the house needed repairs, the tires have gone flat, vehicular accidents and most recently, for the High School Graduation and overseas move of our teenager.
I am proud of him. He works hard, loves his family and loves his country. So I really like people like Heidi that recognize him and the sacrifice he makes in serving our country.

Today's email from Heidi went something like this:

"I mailed your box this afternoon. I ran into a little wrinkle when I attempted to ship the package. I naively believed that if I sent your package via an APO address and you were an American citizen then the package would not be considered "export merchandise". Hooooo Weeeeee..... " "I got from the clerk a big, fat "You can't send this, Lady!"
'So, instead. I sent your package as a gift. Your Visa number has been shredded and will never see the light of day again. Please accept this gift from Muddy H2O as our show of appreciation for your husband serving in our military and your hard work at being "Mom" and "Wife". You deserve a little chocolate pampering.' "

Wow. I almost cried. I immediately thought, "What can I do to repay this lady who has never met me or my husband?"
And then it came to me.
All six of you reading this blog, no pressure, but what I am hoping you will do is 1.) If you've EVER done a facial in your entire life, would you please support this company and try one of theirs? They even have single packets, so you don't have to break the bank with this. and 2.) Could you send the link to every warm-blooded being you know so that THEY will support this company? They have retailers all through the West (that will ship to the East, not sure about Canada though, Tara).
If you're not sold on this product, click here to read Jen's account. Her HUSBAND noticed.....

Winter in England

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
Joyce Kilmer, "Trees", 1914

The Rescue

I have so many things I'd like to post, but I keep finding the coolest things on other blogs (and since I am basically a monkey when it comes to coming up with my own ideas... I am doing this one too). Painted Maypole has a Monday Mission. You basically write a post in the form of a movie synopsis.


She thought her chances were long gone. She had resolved to living a life among a sink full of dishes hardened with the morning's half-eaten oatmeal, baskets of dirty football clothes caked with mud and undiscovered smashed bananas slowing turning to goo under the car seat.
She had given up everything: a college degree, childhood dreams of fame, her art--her passions--for this life and spent most of her time trying to remember why. Oil paints sat under the stairs collecting the dust that she so maniacally tried to keep from taking over her foyer, untouched and still in the box from two prior moves. They were probably not any good anymore, the oil having seeped out of the lids long ago, but she held on to them. It was the only thing she could control in the constantly changing life as a military wife.
But one dismally gray day changed it all. A life line, thrown out in hopes of saving anyone who could have survived, falls within her reach....


Alright, it was a package, but hey, I am desperate here. The post brought a Christmas gift from my friend today that was probably one of the best care packages I have ever received. The box was stuffed full and I kept pulling things out like it was Mary Poppin's bag (which can resemble Miss Ky's Diaper bag on any given day). She was so thoughtful-- there was everything from Green Chile Carmel Popcorn (don't knock it, green chile can do some amazing things to sweets!) to Eagle Ranch Pistachio turtles and scrap booking goodies (you know, for that rash of scrap booking I will accomplish when I am not busy reading blogs).
Despite the miserable way Christmas morning started this year, this Christmas was my best yet (Hey, "it was my best day ever"! I finally got to say it) and it just keeps coming.

A Tour of My Home

After my last entry, I thought you may be trying to imagine this place I live in, so I thought I'd include a picture or four. This is my kitchen I hang my herbs in. I also churn butter here while my husband kills pheasants for our evening stew. With four boys, I really don't need chairs. They might muffle the farting contests held regularly in my home (to my dismay).


This is my bed. Of course my husband has his own cot in his own room. The house is big enough to do that, you know. As you can see by the cradle, he doesn't always stay in his own side of the house.

And last, I don't know what all the whining about "free time" is about. I have never had to pay for a child minder and don't have the least trouble with my children.
But really. Here's a picture of our courtyard in a rare sun shining moment. The other pictures are from the Iceni Village nearby, taken last year sometime.

My Husband is Trying to Kill Me

I joke you not. I want you to watch for me and if a day or two passes without a new blog entry, I want you to contact the authorities. Fast.
I am not delusional, I have proof.
Today while frantically searching for the JC Penney card that I last saw in his hands when he was paying bills, I came upon a chilling discovery--- in my pajama drawer.
Why was I looking for a credit card in my pajama drawer? It's my stash-everything-in-here-quick-someone's-coming-over-drawer, and don't pretend you don't have one (or a closet, trunk, shower stall that you shove everything into when the doorbell rings).
And yes, people DO come into my bedroom. For some reason, everyone who graces our front step will ask for a tour of the house-- including the engineer who hooked up my hob and cooker (stove for you American-types). It could be because this place is massive. People will stand in our kitchen and look out the french doors across the courtyard, with the two ponds and connecting stream and ask, "Is that (pointing to the two-story bedroom side of the house) part of yours as well?"
One man who came to fetch J1 for a party we had shown up to without him (grumpy teenager, I didn't mind that he wanted to stay behind), returned to the festivities and all he could say was, "They live in the flippin' Pentagon!"

We were tremendously lucky in finding this place, but that's NOT what concerns me now. What I have thought about all day was what I found in my drawer.
In addition to a Pokemon ball, and a Creative Memories catalog, there's a box of German Truffles in a lovely gold box with a shiny blue ribbon. A gift from my husband when he returned from his vaca--I mean deployment. There's also a huge bar of some imported 70% cocoa, a monster Galaxy bar, and some British licorice mix. All brought to me at various times by my husband. My pancreas is screaming just thinking about it.
Out of curiosity, I went to my bedside table--yep, the sweets had found their way there as well.

Women who are swooning over such a thoughtful husband, please enlighten me. I don't think I have a romantic bone in my body (I might have had once, but all of my bones are tired these days and I can't make out which ones do what), I see it as his way of slowly poisoning me to get me out of the way so that he can have all of these kids (the crying, puking, peeing, pooping, mucous factories that they are) all to himself! I know it, and I fear for my life.
I'm afraid it won't be long now, he just came home from work and he brought me a life-sized Tootsie Roll! Help.

Forty-Something

Recently I heard a man on BBC Radio mention that he was doing a lot of reminiscing, "You begin to do that when you reach your forties, don't you?".

We'll make today my "All Things British" day and point out that most sentences end in a question. "We all make mistakes like that, don't we?" "It's horrible how polar bears are losing their habitat, isn't it?" "You can't buy good clotted cream unless you're in Devon, can you?".
It goes along with their obliging, uber-polite nature, "I'm terribly sorry I hit your car when you pulled out in front of me nearly causing my child to lose all of her teeth on the dashboard".
I find it's almost like they are giving their statement the opportunity to be more of an inquiry in case you might be offended by it.
Anyway, we love it and we love all things British, don't we?

So, back to the radio comment.
Yes. I think you do (start reminiscing).

I cruise the Classmates page and wonder what people are doing (and then click on the "don't show my visit" button because I don't want to look as if I have no life and I am living in the past). I desperately sought (and found) the Christmas music I listened to as a kid and played it over and over and over.... not to mention the Koo Koo Choo Choo train that I had to have and paid antique prices for (and now won't let my kids play with it because it cost so much).
But I would say my biggest trip down (lack of ) Memory Lane is my quest for a doll's house. I never had one. I used to pathetically stack boxes on one another and fill them with anything I could gather from around the house.
So when I got here, I had to have a British doll's house.
You may not know this, but pathetic is something that you can wear, because one day this elderly man approached me at church and asked if I had a doll's house yet. I told him I didn't, but that I would get one before I left. He said, "Well, I am going to build you one" and did. He built one like he had built his wife (but got me the "proper" windows his wife tells me with a subtle glance towards her husband).

While it was being built, a dolls house showed up at my favorite auction house. I loved it. I hovered around it and nervously watched as the bids didn't make the reserve. I went back the following week thinking the reserve would be lowered, but it wasn't. I anxiously watched as the auctioneer rattled through bids on his book and maybe a lady in the back, but as the crowd moved towards the furniture, I looked at the tag and saw that it was still unsold! Third time I called my husband in Germany. From the car park. "Talk me out of this" I told him (he had already seen several pictures I sent with my camera phone). Something he said that got me was, "You need to ask yourself why you want it so bad. What need is this filling for you?" Wow. I didn't know....
So week four, I bought the darned thing. I couldn't bear to watch someone else take it away. It's like when the young man is asking if the young girl is right for him, and Mom says, "How would you feel if she walked out of your life tomorrow?" "I'd be devastated. I can't imagine my life without her in it." "Then I think you know the answer." (Real conversation, the couple marries on the 12th).
I still don't know what need the house is filling for me. I just know that when I look at it as I go up the landing, I want to hug it (and did the first couple of times).
Forty-something has been expensive for my husband, and unfortunately I plan to be in this age for a very long time.

I Have Definitely Lost It, or Delta has, or UPS.....

I've lost it. Whatever "it" is. Brain cells, common sense, anything associated with the thinking process.
Now that the hubby is home, we're back to the rotating schedule and today's lucky shift is a swing. That means anything I want to get done without a mini-person attached to my leg has to be done before noon. So today I left to pick up my custom-built Tudor dolls house. The man (that built it) and his wife invited me to stay for a root beer (where they got it, I have no idea--contraband!) and told me of their adventures in the U.S. They recently celebrated their 50th Wedding Anniversary, so I also got to look through special photographs and gifts they've received. I went totally alone, so you can imagine how I let the time get away from me. When I looked up at the clock, I realized that I had 5 minutes to get the doll's house loaded into my car and get to the place Hubby was going to meet me to drop off Miss Ky on his way to work.
I met him at the Watton Auction Rooms (my next favorite place to be) and spent the next half an hour visiting with the auction regulars-- remind me to tell you about these people sometime-- while Miss Ky babbled and waved at herself in a mirror. I could tell she was getting tired, so we came home. After putting her down in her cot, I got onto the computer to see how Son #1's luggage was getting on.
Yes, J1 not only got to have a nice visit with his family thousands of miles away, but his luggage was able to see the world. Thank you Delta. Unfortunately, that means his medication traveled as well.
I appreciate all of the strict guidelines for flying, I really do. I mean, I would rather be without my lip slick for a fourteen hour flight (yes, they did actually toss my makeup) than sit with a shiny pout next to a man with an exploding shoe. But if we're going to have to check our things, couldn't someone make sure our things follow us?

Before J1 got here I was getting calls from my mother, "He's got an in-grown toe nail that needs to be looked at" (so have him go to the doctor......). "I think J1 should have (this or that) checked". Basically, the woman sits in her home worrying about a healthy 19-year old and figures I don't have enough on my plate and that I should worry too. First of all, when I moved out of my mother's home and I needed medical attention, I went to the doctor. I don't see what's so hard about that. Well, she makes appointments for him without clearing it with him first, so then he makes her cancel them-- he can't miss work like she expects him too.
Anyway, while Hubby was gone and I was in over my eyeballs with life, she was hitting me with these things. So, the week he is to fly here, I get it all again, "You'll need to take him in to see someone about his foot..." Oh, sure. Ok, I am still not sure how I am going to to the dance around the school schedule to get him from Gatwick, but I'll be sure to get him a doct. appt. as well.

Well, J1 did see a doctor and they removed his toenail (YUCK) and gave him meds for that, for a double ear infection, and to clear his sinuses. Yes, I know, maybe he wasn't such a healthy 19-year old. But he was patched up and sent home.
Then they lost his luggage carrying his meds. And his Christmas presents.

Yesterday, I get this call from my mother (who must have some more down time on her hands) one notch down from hysterical because she's "called Delta and now, his bag that was promised to be shipped by UPS hasn't arrived and they now have no record of it!" She proceeds, "I can't understand the woman, she barely speaks English and I kept asking her to slow down..."
Can I just say, my mother barely speaks English. She sometimes goes so deep into hillbilly that I have a hard time understanding her.
So, Hubby begins calling the United States, ready to light into this company but finds out that they DID ship said bag, exactly when they said they would. Now it's in UPS's hands and it's up to them to explain how come it's taken four days for a Two-day Air shipment. To my mother, I sent a semi-scolding email that reminded her UPS had until 5 pm to deliver it, and maybe she should've waited before sharing her frenzy.

So back to the whole point of this blog (wow, you're still here?). I got home today and started the search again with UPS, eager to see the "delivered" so that I could snicker and shut the computer down. But, this is my life remember? The tracking information no longer says "scheduled for delivery Jan 7th", it now says "there's an exception to this delivery". Holy Cow. So I called the woman who drops me anxiety bombs on a regular basis. "Well?" I say. "Well?" she returns. "So, what do you hear?" I continue with my cryptic eloquence. Apparently she has been told (by UPS who she called yesterday-- before 5pm), that it should be there today, but she won't know until noon.
Oh, the sinking feeling that hit me at that moment. I looked up at my clock on my computer. I had lived my whole day already. I had started dinner, Miss Ky was down for her second nap, I had visited with friends, attended an auction and drank root beer from a coca cola glass.... and it was only 1:15 my time. Yes, Delta, UPS and I have a lot in common today and for my mom, "Y'all have a good sleep and let me know when ya get up of the morn".

Harry Potter and My new Love

my new love

Here's the rest of the photos I promised. I took 305, be glad that I am not putting them all on!

I love a parade.... This was so exciting (well, it was to me). We had taken the Tube from the Tower of London to The Clock Tower. I have to admit, between all of our anti-terror training we get as a military family and July 7 being etched into my brain, climbing out of the underground to the acrid smell we were greeted by made my heart flip. The exit was blocked by Bobbies who herded us like cattle to another exit. Outside, there was NO traffic on the street, but lots of people heading to my left.

Then I heard it:
Beautiful bells chiming and a parade commentator. I was off like a flash! Never mind that we were in downtown London with thousands of other people and J1 had no cell phone on him-- I had to see it!

Years of food service paid off as I wove in and out of people never losing sight of the area I had

the best chance of a good view. I climbed up onto a wrought-iron fence, held on with one hand and started snapping away. I did stop taking pictures long enough to call my husband to tell him to look for me on TV ("I'm on the fence!") (do you see the humor in this?). Anyway, Son #1 did manage to keep up with me but was NOT happy that we were watching a parade. "You can see a parade any time". (?!)

Funny thing is, he was wanting to get on with seeing Big Ben, and the tower was fenced inside the wrought-iron fortress I was holding on to.

Need I say more? And yes, I did pose for a shot pushing the trolley through the wall. (NERD ALERT!)

London on New Year's Day

"I think that I may go so far as to say, Watson, that I have not lived wholly in vain," he remarked. "If my record were closed to-night I could still survey it with equanimity. The air of London is the sweeter for my presence." --Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Ok, maybe the truth is, my presence is sweeter because of London's air. I adore cities. As I was trying to convey to Son #1 over a British Big Mac, I love being out in the country (having sheep for neighbors) but the city is my soul. I love the vibrancy. I inhale the electricity like the sweet smoke from a fine cigar. If I could live two lives, I'd live the one I have now and one of a painter in a room over a shop in a crowded, bustling city. Up until yesterday, that city would've been NYC. No offense New Yorkers, but I've fallen for another.
Pictures of London DON'T do it justice. Like those pictures you've always admired of Big Ben (which, by the way, is the bell inside the tall tower with a clock face on it, not the building itself), that's a big building right? No, actually it's HUGE (and for those of you trying to pick up a Norfolk accent, say "HOOge"). Absolutely massive.

I can't imagine keeping this post under the size of a novella and still share the awesome Mom and Son#1 day-trip experience (he's on his way back to the States today), so I will just put some pictures on for now.
I'm sure the Queen would've loved to have us in for a cuppa, but it was Mom & Son 'quality time'.
Harrods at night.
Please check back for pictures of Platform 9 3/4 (Harry Potter), Tower Bridge, and more :-) Happy New Year!