No Regrets

Last night, just before switching off the computer, I decided to put up a quick post with photos of my oldest son from this Christmas holiday here in England.

Only I didn't have any decent pictures of him.

The lighting in our house leaves something to be desired and for most of his stay, one or all of us have been in our pjs.

There are certainly no family portraits or even a family snapshot with all of us in it--ever. That was my one goal this Christmas.

There was one day when everyone felt well, but the littlest brother was at his friend's house for the day.
There was the trip to London to see a show, but the 2nd-oldest child stayed home with the flu.
Every day was bitterly cold or the thickest fog blanket. Fate was working against me.

As I sat staring at a blank blog post in the quiet of the night, I got really melancholy at the realization that I was out of time. Today would be his last day with us- his siblings had school and Dad was back at work, so there wouldn't be anymore opportunities to take a decent family photo.

Sleep works wonders and this morning, I was determined to have no regrets, regardless if it meant stressing myself out (trying to figure out how to juggle everyone, getting them all home before the 3.30 sunset). I worried about it all morning.  #1 Son and I did a quick trip to the seaside and shot some pictures of some nearby ruins, making it home by 1.00pm.

At 2.15 I headed out to begin the race against dusk...

and it began to tip down rain.

3.00, Husband headed straight home-- without passing Go to collect his $200.00.
3.25 I gathered the last child

3.40 We managed to have everyone in front of the house just as the light got difficult. We didn't worry about hair or whether our clothing had some uniformity. I told everyone NOT TO MOVE since I didn't want to have to resort to a flash.

Not bad for our very first full-family photo ever, huh? 

Look who moved. 

Classy all of the way. 

I should become a professional photographer specializing in family portraiture.

A Walk In My Shoes

It's that time again when things get "busy, busy, busy" (please say it like the magician from "Frosty the Snowman") and I begin to neglect my blog (begin?).
Because I am NOT above paying people to stick around despite my temporary absence, I have a gift...


Remember when there was a "family hour" on T.V.? 

You know, the safe time when kids could be in the room while the tube was on?
One didn't have to worry about language, inappropriate viewing or commercials of girls obscenely washing their hair.
Some of you may not remember good, clean shows. Sad. I do and I miss it.
I really miss how families used to be able to gather around on the weekend to watch a family show (without Dad holding the remote readied for a quick change when things get seedy).

This is why I was more than happy to review Walmart and P&G's new made-for-TV movie, "A Walk in My Shoes". They are heralding that, "family movie night is back". Hallelujah. It's about time.

I have a confession. Thanks to my ever-dependable military postal system, my viewing kit still hasn't arrived.  Chances are good that you will see it before I do, but I have seen trailers and I'm SO ready.



 Do yourself a favor, set your TIVO or whatever it is you're using for "family movie night" on December 3rd.
PLEASE show Hollyweird that we're ready for more entertainment geared for families. If you Tweet, FB or blog a tune-in message about this,
leave me a comment telling me how you spread the word and you will be entered to win this "A Walk in My Shoes" CD/DVD bundle for your very own!

oooooh, aaaaaaaah....

Winner will be announced on December 3rd.  THAT's a pretty nice gift for getting a few days reprieve from unnecessary eye strain, don't you think?

Closed Doors Build Good Families

My mother never closed the bathroom door when we were growing up.

Not for showers,
not for the deed.
We watched her apply lipstick, take spiky curlers from her hair (or spray the beehive), apply a sweet cloud of Chanel No 5 and told her our dreams while she relieved her bladder.

I didn't know this wasn't normal.

You can't really fault her. This was the woman who went into labor with her first child in a Kentucky outhouse and the door got stuck. Maybe she was traumatized by toilets and forever had to leave a door open.

Somehow, this little apple fell far away from that backwoods tree (and maybe even rolled down the hill a bit), because not only do I close the door to the bathroom, but every door leading to the bathroom. Unfortunately for me, all of these critters I'm rearing know how to open doors. (My attitude is, if you walk through a closed door in this house, the burned retinas are your problem not mine).

When one has children, there's some things one will tell them about their ancestry:

"Grandpa Gene once bowled a nearly perfect game, served in the Korean War and Budweiser was his religion".
"Did I ever tell you that your Great Grandfather died from serious burns when a pack of matches he was carrying in his pocket caught fire?"
"You're fortunate to be 'stuck' sitting around a dining table for supper. When I was a child, we rarely ate together".

You don't always think to tell them about the quirky traits:

"Aunt B always spits in her soda before putting it in the fridge so no one will drink out of it".
"Uncle Rob will forget his wallet every time he invites you out to dinner".

It may be fortunate that our memories are somewhat selective...
then again, maybe not.
I didn't think to tell my adult-aged son about my mother's open door policy.
He discovered it first hand the summer he stayed with her after leaving us here in England.

I don't know if his eyes will ever be the same.

Tell me, what quirky family traits have you closed the door on?

My Dad is Missing

If you've come for a giggle, today may be the day to go surfing by.

I'm answering a question on david mcmahon's blog: "What's the most important thing you've ever lost?" Some may think I instantly answered, "my mind" but my thoughts went immediately to my Dad.
It was over 30 years ago, so it surprised me that it was the first "lost" I could think of (I regularly lose keys, children, my temper and most recently-- the oil bill... not a good loss). So I've pondered it a bit and considered what I lost from his early death.

When my dad left on an out-of-town bowling trip, I never expected he wouldn't come back. I lost that invincible feeling all children should have.

When he left behind a grieving widow, I also lost my Mom. She worked two jobs and went through years of anger--at him for leaving her behind.

I lost the man who would let me ride my bike to work to see him. He worked at the Glen Canyon Dam, and amidst all of the turbines, dripping tunnels and bright yellow hard hats, I liked "his" snack machine the best.

There would be no more midnight drives talking on the CB radio when he bowled an amazing score.

As for driving, without him to drive, we no longer did our annual 3-day drive to Kentucky to see family.

I lost my privacy. It's not always good to tell a prepubescent girl that her daddy still watches over her all of the time. I hid myself while on the toilet, in the bathtub, while changing clothes.

I lost my immediate family (Mom, brother and sister). We all kind of just went separate ways--well, everyone else went their own way, I was 13, where was I going to go?

I went to drugs. When my dad died I lost my innocence. Swimming among kids who lived for the next high or shot of tequila, I lost sight of my dreams.

I lost 11 inches of hair on a party night. My dad would never let me cut my long, thick hair and since he was gone, I let a drunk cut it all off. I've only managed to let it get that long again once in 30 years-- but it wasn't thick and shiny. It was an older person's over-processed hair, so I never saw it pretty like that again.

When I found my way back to some normalcy (as normal as a 17 year-old girl basically raising herself can get-- Mom may have hit a mid-life crisis in here somewhere), my father wasn't at my theater productions, choir performances, High School Graduation, or when I graduated from college.

At my wedding, he wasn't there to give me away. A white Calla Lily sat on the chair that would've been his.

He has never held my children, never heard A2's infectious giggle, or marveled at A1's beautiful dimpled smile; heard J1 rock the house with his drums, seen J2 leap straight up in the air to block a goal or watch us all fall head-over-heals for a little mischievous baby girl.

I lost the ability to trust that we will see each other again tomorrow.
Which is a good thing, I think.

One night, during a terrible time with our oldest son, I spent the whole night worrying that he would take his life and leave this planet thinking we didn't love him. But I did love him. With all of my heart. I just wanted to ring his neck, not lose him forever.

I also gained a beautiful man as a step-father, and saw my Mom emerge again.

I would've never joined my church, met my husband (had these destructive Spring Breakers--I mean blessings!) and moved all over the world.

And because I wouldn't have moved away from my family and friends to a new country where I sat alone while my husband played in the sand in the Middle East, I may have never felt lonely enough to start blogging.

And I would've missed out on you.

The people whose comments make my heart smile and posts sometimes makes it cry.
And that, my friends, isn't a loss at all.

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.

My Prodigal Son

My Stardust counter IS counting down the release of the DVD (which has become my favourite movie to date) but it's also had another meaning (I hinted in an earlier blog).

Well, one week out and I am more excited than ever.
J1 is coming home for Christmas!
In one week I will own the dvd (hopefully, the BX could sell out) and will have my little boy(!) home. When he left in June (just a couple of days after graduation), we really didn't think we'd see him until our family Disney trip tentatively slated for September 2008. So, imagine how excited we were to hear that his job was giving him so much time off for Christmas!
Having one child grown and gone really makes me realize how quickly the others are growing up. When the house is at it's most chaotic, I try to stop and really look at these mini-people and see them for who they are. Like J2, who has already fallen for a girl and he's only 9! (It's mutual and has lasted for almost year... can you believe that?!); A1 who tries so hard to keep everyone in line for Mum's sanity; A2, the blissful little Nativity Skeleton (see blog below) and Miss Ky: Kidzilla, Destructor, Princess-climbs-a-lot, who grew into a toddler between naps. I cherish them all and am looking forward to our Christmas together.
P/S Don't breathe a word of this to my husband. When he calls to check on us, I tell him I can't stand another day of this... I don't want him too get to comfortable being gone on these deployments all the time-- he may start volunteering!

saturday in my part of the world

Today began with a phone call at 3:05 am. It wasn't one of those dreaded calls where your life changes forever, it was the welcomed call. My dad just arrived home after a four hour drive from the city where he had emergency surgery. He had suffered a heart attack while in the hospital for observation and was flown to Salt Lake City. I can't even begin to tell you what a nightmare this week was.
30 years ago, my mother came home alone from a bowling tournament my dad was competing in. She told me later that he had just bowled and when he turned around, he had the funniest (not as in "ha ha funny") look on his face and she knew something was wrong. He sat down beside her and she began to take his pulse. She said she knew something wasn't right so she called an ambulance. He was angry with her for doing so, and refused to get on the gurney. He made it to the door of the bowling alley when he collapsed. My dad died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital from a massive heart attack. He was 47. I was an adolescent.
So here we are 30-some years later and my step-father (who has been my father on this planet longer than my bio dad was able to be) returned home with my mom. It's amazing how quick a mind that can't keep track of soccer schedules (or parent conferences) can remember in vivid detail how the room looked when awakened to be told Dad wasn't coming home. I am sure in thirty years I will remember the relief I felt when my 'other' Dad called to say, "Are you sure you want to be called in the middle of the night just to hear I'm home?"