Again, Life Has Changed

On June 7Th 2009 my car was packed to the brim. There was not a single inch left that was not occupied by some life necessity. Pots, dishes, socks, pants, a few books, blankets, and a single small TV. I was ready. Today, is the last day I'll live in this humid hell. The tank was full, and the C.D's were burned. The last thing to do, the only real people I needed to say Goodbye to slept like wee little rocks. I approached them individually.

Ava first. My tiny, tiny princess. The sweetest, most dramatic, most perfect little girl. I leaned down and kissed her forehead. Her soft blond hair tickled my nose, and her sweet scent hit me hard. I whispered to her some things I needed her to remember, and touched her tiny hands. I told her to behave, and that "brudder" would not leave her side. "Trust me, little girl, We'll be okay."

Next, Luca. My big handsome guy. So smart, so witty. He is wise beyond his years. Truly, an amazing boy. I ran my hand through his short hair, careful not to wake him. I ran my hand down his chipmunk cheek. I told him what he needed to know. I told him to ensure "Viva" was OK, to look after her. "I'll be gone only a little while big guy, don't worry."

I took a few steps and caught my breath. There was a rock the size of my car in my throat. I felt my chest heaving with the knowledge of the task ahead; Move cross country while the kids stay here. I kept reassuring myself that it's what is best for them... they idolize their father. They will be fine. Besides, it will not be an easy drive. Things would not be good for them. They are OK.

I hit highway 70... holding my breath for the first hour. I did fine. I did not shed a single tear. My roommate, Mary, made some jokes to lighten the mood. She told me to quit being a "girl", which is the term we use when someone is overreacting.... however, she was feeling it too.

I jumped on Interstate 95 which took us straight down to South Carolina. Excitement crept up: We were on our way! To a better life! To brighter days!

In Sumter, South Carolina we stopped at a gas station for food and a pee break. Sadly, we were so tight on money our meals consisted of convenience store snacks and cheap sodas. I went to the restroom to pee. I stood looking in the mirror, and my heart broke. My eyes... Luca has them. The shape of my mouth... is Ava's. I broke down in the bathroom. I was one state away from everything that holds me together. Eventually, I pulled it together and left the single toilet room. There was a line formed. I mumbled something about the damn sodas and full bladders and went outside. I tried to call them.... no answer.



A few hours later we crossed into Georgia. There was major construction through Atlanta, and I was certain I was about to meet my untimely death. For several miles, there was a high concrete wall that was positioned directly on the left guide line of the road. Same for the other side. One minor error, and a major crash would occur. I gripped the wheel so tight that blisters formed on my hands. Just past the Georgia Wall of Death, a monumental flashing sign informed drivers that it was ok to drive on the median! Go for it! Never mind the silly traffic laws you learned! Live a little!

Shit. No.

I certainly was not about to get on that median. Unless I could see solid proof that after driving on that median I'd exit with a perfect rack chiseled by the hands of God and a firmer ass, I was not getting on that median. That would have to be one mother fucking riveting median. Gladly, I didn't. Two miles later even larger, brighter, more demanding signs said GET OFF THE MEDIA FOOLS! Needless to say, I did not like Georgia.

Finally we passed a sign: Welcome to Alabama! Ah the deep south. So much history, plenty of athletics, and oh! The creepy pick up trucks with toothless drivers. (READ: I was concerned.) The sign for Birmingham was a welcome sight. We were only twenty miles away when the navigator we were using on our cell phones began to die... We really drained that battery! This lead to the great LG Dare Massacre of 2009. Had to be done.



We stayed in downtown Birmingham, not only for the mass amounts of history it held but also because we could afford it! We wound up having to walk about 40 blocks to find food, uphill. That was somewhat less than pleasant, but well worth it. We walked right past the 16Th street church where in the 1960's an explosion took place killing four black little girls. We were walking the streets where the civil rights movement lead to change. Amazing.



I also may or may not have stalked the Bama campus... Yes, I'm a North Carolinian born and raised but I roll tide saucy... I love me some Bama Football.



We ate a quick dinner and headed back to the hotel only to find blisters on our heels from the humidity and long walk. Bummer! It was strange already being in a different time zone, and having driven through four states in one day was impressing. We set our alarms, and began to drift off.... Tomorrow, what will you hold for us? How many states can we cross? We'll see.....

Join My Fight

http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR?pg=team&fr_id=12875&team_id=387731

That's a powerful link right there.

It's a portal to my team site. We represent the Crystal Coast here in eastern NC.

We have been working hard to raise money for cancer research. We are lucky to be a part of the American Cancer Organization.

Please, join our fight.

Please help me raise money to fight this disease.

Just five dollars will make a HUGE difference in some one's life. I've committed 30 hours a week EVERY week to raising money for this cause. I will not quit until we find a way to stop this horrible disease. Almost everyone has been affected in some way by cancer. No one is immune to it, and sadly we have no control when it rips someone sacred from our lives.

I've worked so much, and fought so hard.

Our relay for life weekend is SOON, and my team is still short of our goal. PLEASE HELP US!

Just five dollars can CHANGE SOME ONE'S LIFE! Think about it: What's five dollars? ONE McDonalds meal? ONE cup of coffee at Starbucks? ONE beer at a club? We can all make that small sacrifice.

Just copy and paste the link above....

You can make an anonymous gift, or you can click any person's name on my team and make it in our honor.

We are all relaying because cancer has touched our lives.

HELP ME MAKE A DIFFERENCE! We can do this!

Visit cancer.org for more info.

Our team name is Crystal Coast with the Most.
I'm the team captain, TaraLynn Lumley.

Visit us at Best Buy in Morehead City!
We are selling Chocolate as well.
We have luminary bags to remember loved ones lost.
I'm selling raffle tickets for *$450* worth of merchandise from our store.





PLEASE! Help me reach my goal!



TaraLynn Lumley
(910) 650-2070
tara.lumley@bestbuy.com

We're here. All day everyday. Fighting, until there's a cure.

Who Have I Become?

I wake up too early in the mornings lately. It seems I am always up before the sun. My tiny apartment seems to get smaller with each passing day. The walls look whiter and more somber every day. I'm the last one to bed, and the first one up. It's.......... lonely.

I take the kids to school each morning and resist the urge to call out of work and spend the day on the playground or in the sandbox with them. I laugh and smile, and pretend their tears and pleas of "Mommy... don't go" don't hurt me. When I leave their school, the hallways always appear a little too long, and a little too quiet. Generally the only sound is the clicking of my heels on the highly polished floor. Everything is lemon scented and brightly colored; just a little too quiet.

I go to work exhausted every day. No matter how much I've slept in the previous days, I'm always tired. I laugh and joke with my coworkers. I sell contract after contract to a variety of customers who don't give two shits about the effort we put forth to make the business work. I listen to employee complaints, because I'm the view point leader for the store. I push and push to raise money for the American Cancer Society, as I am also the captain for our relay for life team. I plan. I clean. I organize. I task manage. I say sorry. I argue. But I do not complain.

Everyday is the same. My hair is perfect, my clothes are clean. The ever-shrinking apartment is spotless. The kids are fed, bathed, in bed. My homework occupies my nights. Deciding to go into the medical field was advantageous, but it's rewarding.

I never hear thank you.

But am I making a difference?

I like to think so. I like to think that the change and dollars I scrape together for cancer research WILL make a difference in someones life. I choose to believe that the two jobs I work to pay my bills benefits me beyond the monetary standpoint. My children smile. They laugh. They're happy.

That's all I need to know. I do not regret the life I've chosen. I'm lonely, yes. But I'm okay.

So here you are folks. An update.

Now if you please, forget all this nonsense and view this ridiculously adorable photos while your heart melts. You're welcome.

Bathroom Watch 2008

Or, HOT CAKES. What Happened to the Shitter?

Or or, Farewell Ugly 70's Decor, I'd Say We Would Miss You, But We Won't. At All.

Eventually, this house will be flipped.

Eventually, this house will be sold.

I won't lie, I miss my home in Jacksonville. I'll be busting the proverbial nut there this week, cleaning it and redoing the gardens. The current tenant has been kicked out, and I'm on the prowl for a new one. (When I say I'm on the prowl, I mean Century 21 American Properties is on the prowl.)

It's awesome that the rent value has skyrocketed. Good ole Marine towns, I tell ya. That just means less hours I have to work while I complete Le Degree de Bachelor's. Indeed.

Anyways.

Bathroom. Demolished.

You don't believe me? Assholes.











Want to know how this turned out?


Tune in tomorrow, kids.

Just Another Day in Paradise!

Ring Ring.

Ring Ring

Me: "Hello? Huh? He has what now? How? Uh... what? Are you sure? Oh... what's that? Um. Okay. I'll be right there.

Click.

Ring Ring.

Ring Ring.

Me: Hey SgtDad. YES I KNOW THEY JUST CALLED AND THAT IS GROSS.

Click.

So Peanut has pink eye, properly known as conjunctivitis. Sick. I took him to the Express Care at the hospital in New Bern where it was confirmed. I've never known anyone with pink eye so I've been especially grossed out. We got a prescription for eye drops and walked out of there with the advice of washing our hands every 18 seconds.

I took the kid to Wal-Mart to fill the prescription. He kept pointing to his eye and declaring loudly "Mommy! Ouchie-booboo! Ouchie-booboo! MOMMY!"

So I did what any sane mother would do: I took him to the toy section to find a new fyefye truck. (For those of you who don't speak peanutese, that's a fire truck.) While meandering down the toy isle, peanut was eyeing the various fire trucks and police cars, muscle cars and monster trucks.

His final pick?

A bright purple PT Cruiser that plays Ricky Martin's "Living La Vida Loca" over and over again.

For the sake of his father, I tried to convince him that the 76 Chevelle painted bright orange was a much better choice.

No such luck.

We spent the the next half hour rocking out to a 90's pop star that I'm still not convinced isn't dead. I need to see some proof. Sigh.

BOO!

Let's say it's the final week of the summer semester at school.

Good.

Let's pretend the 12 page paper for English isn't intimidating, the two 6 page papers for history don't irritate me because WHAT'S THE POINT, and the in depth sociological study of the family structure paper isn't dull beyond all reason.

We will also pretend that the finals aren't a bitch either.

Generally, one of three things happen when I get stressed. I'll scrub every surface within a city block until the bleach erodes porcelain and walls alike. I will turn into Martha-Freakin-Stewart and bake the most delectable desserts and culinary delights your taste buds every encountered. (Of course then I'll scrub the shit out of those pans.) Or, I eat.

I like food. A lot.

Well it's safe to say I'm stressed this week. Between the end of the semester (YUCK) and trying to find a renter for my home in Jacksonville, and worrying about the renovations in my latest real estate purchase, and periodically freaking out because MY BACHELOR DEGREE IS TAKING GOT DANG DECADES TO GET, and the day care making me it's bitch, and the daily traumas associated with raising two toddlers, oh and the new job... did I mention I got a new job? Because yes. I did. A new job. So now you know.

Standing in the kitchen today I was slicing cucumbers and strawberries to accompany the pancakes I made for the kids when I pretty much inhaled 6 huge strawberries. I moved on to a bowl of cheerios. I don't mean a standard bowl of cheerios either. I mean the beast of a bowl over flowing on the sides. The kind of bowl where you have to hold the cereal in with one hand while pouring the milk with the other. Sweet.

Shortly after that I was back in the kitchen gazing into the refrigerator longingly. Those bagels looked damn good. The string cheese had my name on it. Delicious granola bars were yelling my name, and let's just say it's serious when food begins speaking to you. The hot dogs looked tempting even though I only like hot dogs in blanketed pig form.


You sonofabitch pizza rolls aren't safe either.

I spent the day writing a shit ton of collegian papers. I'm not too sure why I'm writing now, or writing phrases like "shit ton". I need an outlet. I'm tired people! I should go eat something. Those enchiladas for dinner were bitchin'. I am in fact a culinary mastermind. Maybe I should look into why my 5 foot 6 inch frame only carries 118 pounds even though I eat like a fat man. Well, it's not like I lose weight easily. I just sure as hell don't gain it. Works out well I suppose, except when I'm pregnant. Then I am subjected to my OBGYN shoving hoagies and ho ho's down my throat and cold metallic instruments up my hoo-hahs. That sounds like a good time, no?

Screw this, I'll be in the kitchen.


FIN.

Bye Guido, Thanks for the Memories!

Guido, our dear 2007 Hyundai Sante Fe. Back in September, I drove you off the lot with a mere 12 miles on you. Your ice blue exterior shining in the sun, and your cream colored seats releasing the sweet smell that only a brand new car possesses. Your wood grain dashboard and glorious blue back lighting never bored me. I was always pleased when you hauled ass off the line at a stop light and left mustangs and chargers in your wake. You are a great and loyal crossover SUV.

I'm sorry we traded your ass in.

Dear Anton, you are our new Mazda. You match my other Mazda perfectly. You and Jacques, both French Mazda's purchased by yours truly, now live together in harmony in the driveway. After deep consideration, I've decided to marry you two. To be politically correct, it's a "commitment ceremony" seeing as gay marriage is not yet legal in the state of North Carolina. I just can't have you two slutting around after we go to bed. You are bright candy red; we've already had complaints about your color burning people's retinas. You have black interior... a challenge to stain for the wee toddlers who occupy your back seats. Your five gear manual transmission shifts smoothly and quietly. You too haul ass off the line. I love you already. Welcome to the family.

You should know that once I purchase a Mazda, I never. Ever. Ever. Let. It. Go. Look at your new significant other, Jacques. After nine years of faithful service, 160,000 miles, a duct tape air intake, two missing hubcaps, fours minor car accidents (NONE my fault!) and one new clutch, he is still my one true love. Basically, you too are now my bitch.

Well Then.

I interrupt your program to bring you the following newsflash:

Is it the fact that the temperature reached over 100 today?

Or maybe it's the Blue Angels that have been flying over my house for DAYS now rehearsing for this weekends big air show. (I'm able to overlook the abundance of civilians that will flock to this tiny military town)

Perhaps is that first bite of my spaghetti dinner. You know, the bite that has the most Parmesan cheese on it. I don't like to mix it in, I just eat the top layer of spaghetti and tend to filter the rest towards SgtDad's plate.

Could it be the wonderful feeling of wind in my hair as I race down the highway, windows down stereo up?

I think it's a possibility it's my college instructors.

What about the girl at Wal*Mart today that was diligently working on scanning the meat section, who smiled at me and commented on how unusually gorgeous my daughter was....

The thought has crossed my mind it could be a combination of all these things. At the end of the day when I crawl into my queen size pillow top mattress bed, one thought stands out in my my: I am damn proud to be an American. Moreover, I'm damn grateful.

If we step outside ourselves for one second and look at the big picture we would not complain about the minute annoyances that occur in our daily lives. There is civil war raging in Sudan. The people of Darfur haven't eaten this week. Tsunami and earth quake victims have lost everything; their families, belongings, and home.

I won't go on and on about the suffering of the world, I think if we all sat down and really thought through it all, my point would be clear.

We truly are the land of opportunities. We want to go to school? We go to school. We want a job? We can get one, even if it's only McDonald's. We have so many resources at our fingertips that folks in other parts of the globe can only imagine. Wow, how lucky are we?

Step 1: Realize your dream. Grasp it. Understand it. Don't manipulate it to fit someone else's desire, OWN IT.

Step 2: Find your path. The old saying rings true: Where there is a will, there IS a way.

Step 3: Remain stubborn at all cost. You will hit road blocks. You will get frustrated. You will feel like giving up. When you do? Think about how many millions of people would DIE so their mother, sister, or son could have the chance to do this.

Step 4: PRAISE GOD.

Step 5: Live, love, laugh. Think, thank, and thoroughly examine each day with critical eye.

Step 6: GIVE BACK. No matter what rung of society you are on, there is a way to give back to your community. There is a way to help someone. There is a way to better the world. Don't be fooled and think that whatever you do will be too small, too insignificant to make a difference. It will.

Step 7: Inspire others to pursue their dreams.

Right now, right this very second I am doing thing I never thought I could do. I've gained so much confidence and faith in myself. I've lost some supporters and naysayers along the way. Is it worth the cost of my independence? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it doesn't matter. I was put on this planet for a reason. I may spend my entire life searching for that reason, but I'm okay with that.

Need some ideas on how to give back? Sponsor a child in Africa. Five dollars a month means one less Taco Bell meal for us, and a shit ton of school supplies for them. Pick up trash at your local park. Volunteer at the animal shelter. Go to a retirement home and just sit, talk, and listen to the elders of our country weave nostalgic tales of better days.

Rah rah rah, go America.

You may now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

Nevada Journey Pt. Duex

I feel the need to note, CplDad is no longer CplDad. He is now SgtDad! He picked up E-5! In under 4 years! I could not be more proud of him. Congratulations to you, SgtDad. You amaze me more everyday!


So we landed in Reno at an ungodly hour and immediately sent out a search team for our checked bags since in theory, they should have arrive about 3 decades before us. We found them ten minutes before the US Airways office closed. We made our way to the Avis rental counter where they promptly overcharged us by a billion dollars and we had to keep reminding them that yes, we were active duty military and yes, we could prove it BC HERE ARE OUR IDs RIGHT HERE LADY. We got it straightened out and went to the parking deck to see our new whip. A 2008 Chevy Cobalt. The car? Crap. I? Will never buy it. However, we made that car look shit hot. We cruised on over to Carson City. I was terribly disappointed that is was dark outside. I could see the outline of the mountains against the sky. Somehow they looked formidable.

We slept like rocks that night. We were house guest of some old friends of SgtDad who were gracious enough to offer us their camper and let me just say, it was the mack daddy of campers. Awesome.

The next day we ventured to the historic mining town of Virginia City. The Comstock was huge here, and the historic buildings and breathtaking views were amazing. The boardwalk was incredibly uneven and rickety, and showing it's age of well over 120 years old. The Fourth Ward School still had students names etched into the railings, students who graduated a hundred years before I was born. SgtDad and I were able to ring the old school bell, it's crisp and clear sound bounced off the mountains around us and could be heard for miles, I'm sure.

On the way back to Carson Valley, we ate at Jack-n-the-Box, which was a first for me. I hate to say, I wasn't impressed. Sorry to all you loyal fans out there!

I'll leave you with a few pictures from the Historic Fourth Ward school in Virginia City, NV. I highly recommend it to anyone. It's an impressive sight!



The Fourth Ward School




Ring that bell!!!


It's like going back in time...


Impressive views!




Authentic graduation gown circa 1889

Nevada Journey Pt. 1

Yes, the Las Vegas Odessy. Indeed. The journey began at 4:03 in the morning, on the day we were scheduled to leave. It was US Airways informing us that our flight, scheduled to leave at 7:00 am, was delayed due to operational difficulties. (That just leaves a little too much to the imagination. Did they run out of the mini bag of pretzels they always skimp on? Did the “Occupied” sign on the lavatory stop working? DID THE FREAKING WING FALL OFF THE PLANE?!) So after we listened to the recorded voice on the other end repeat its message twice, we called US Airways. Our flight was moved to later that afternoon.
This should have been a preview to what our flight was going to be like for the rest of the trip. Foreshadowing is a bitch, ya’ll.
We got to the New Bern airport and checked in all excited-like. I was jumpy and nervous. For some reason it slipped my mind that while flying there is a lot of sitting done and also a lot of hurry-up-and-wait-ing. The plane took off without incident and we made the short flight to Charlotte-Douglas airport, where we realized they had graciously given us 17 minutes to get off that damn plane and haul major ass to the next one, which happened to be boarding at a gate sixteen miles from the gate we just left and oh my hell, that’s a long walk. We made the flight, but barely. The flight from Charlotte to Phoenix was slightly more awkward, as I was sitting between CplDad and an older fat man who kept sniffling loudly and smelled suspiciously like potatoes. His largeness also blocked my view of the window. Bastard.
It was no surprise when we hit major turbulence. The first time the plane jumped I nearly peed my pants. It was much more violent than any I had ever experienced. The engines roared, and then quieted. I was convinced the plane was making a free fall for the ground. A plump flight attendant made her way down the isle. With each step she took I could feel the floor vibrate, it was no doubt that the floor was about to give way and we would all plummet to our deaths.
I’m only a little nervous about flying. Heh.
We finally landed in Arizona and CplDad and I went straight for our next gate. The mass amounts of people standing around worried us, but not to the extent of panic. We went to get some ridiculously overpriced drinks and a snack, and came back. Ten minutes later, the flashing screen indicating the flight arrival/departure time had not changed.
Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot, mate?
We inquired at the nearest desk. “PFFT!” smirked the US Airways attendant. “Your flight left fifteen minutes ago. From a gate OVER THERE IN KENTUCKY!”
Assholes.
We rearranged out itinerary to accommodate for either US Airways or CplDad and me being idiots. Whoever was at fault made no difference: We were still stuck in Phoenix for several hours. We struck up a conversation with another airline employee who was very interested in CplDad, and the fact he had just returned from Iraq. He was pretty much a war hero people. When she asked to see our tickets, we didn’t argue. When she returned them to us, we found she had bumped us up to first class. OOO-RAH.
Let me tell you, there is nothing, I mean NOTHING, like flying first class.

Motivated

I'm guessing JellyBean is going to be my mentor on my journey to becoming a Marine.

Every morning at O'Dark-thirty, she is waking me up. Now if we lived on a farm and there were cows to be milked and fresh chicken eggs to be collected I'd be in luck. BUT SWEET SNEAKERS OF LOVE AVA I LIKE MY SLEEP SO STOP IT.

Since CplDad got home things have been interesting. Well, he is already getting on my nerves and I wish he'd go back. Am kidding, by the way. Things are lovely and simple. I won't say things are normal, since he has been home he has had to work every day. I've been swamped by school finals and projects, and have had little time to actually spend with him. I won't lie though, it is a spectacular feeling knowing I have help with these dang kids.

I was sitting on the couch today and typing up a report when I realized the book I needed was on the complete oposite side of the house, in my bedroom. "Shit," I though. "Now I have to get my lazy ass up.....WAIT."

Snicker.

Giggle.

"CplDad! I loooooooooooooooove you. I mean, I looooooooove you like a fat kid loves cake. I looooooooove you like the lawn loves rain. I loooooooove you like Bobby and Whitney like to fight then make up....I.."

"What do you want?"

"Mah book. That really heavy one in the room."

"pfft, Chh."



Hells yea!!! I'm not alone anymore! Now the great debate is on over which Military Ocupational Specialty (MOS) I shall choose. I know what I want, and CplDad knows what he wants me to want. Right then.

Well, I'm out like a fat kid in dodgeball. I have so much ish to do around here, dear Lawd.

Welcome Home Tigers, Job Well Done.

I cried.

11 April 2008, we awoke at 0600. Having not slept the previous night, save for two measly hours, we were all groggy. Anxiety hung around me like a dark cloud. Repeatedly, I found it hard to breathe, as if someone were sitting on my chest. I received a call from CplDad around seven that morning, and he was in Maine. He was stateside.

I obsessively called the hot line set up for spouses to check that the arrival times had not changed. They bounced around, from 0900, to 1630. The final time was 1100. The squadron was decorated with American flags and Welcome Home banners. Food, drinks, and bounce houses occupied one side. The Marines had taped bubble wrap to the floor, and kids were running manically back and forth over it, laughing as it popped beneath their feet. The hangar doors were open, facing the flight line. Neighboring squadrons did not delay their work just because the Tigers were coming home. The loud Harrier engines could be heard above all else.

JellyBean and Peanut were wearing matching t-shirts, that proudly displayed a photo of them and CplDad, with the saying "For months he's been in Iraq, today I get my Daddy back!" Penguin made these shirts herself, and there were a hit. Everyone gushed over them, and wanted photos. Of course, Peanut did not let his "Daddy Hat" out of his sight either.

Rumors starting circulating that they had landed... People were talking... Questions were being asked. They finally announced, our Marines are on deck. They have landed safely. I cried.

We stood at the edge of the hangar door and watched the Tiger jets fly over head, with everyone cheering and waving their flags. The jets made it home. Everything was official.

The sun was hot, and was beating down on us from where we stood. A majority of the people kept wandering back into the hangar to escape the blistering sun, but I refused to move from my spot. I was not wavering in the heat, not until I saw my Marine.

They kept announcing the same thing, they will be here in five minutes. Ten more minutes. Just five more minutes. Five more. Twenty minutes. Five more minutes.

My stubborn tears kept escaping, even though I fought them every step of the way. I was holding my breath, and looking down at my shoes when I heard someone yell. Just twenty yards away, over the top of a couple storage containers you could see a red and yellow Marine Corps flag bobbing.... Our Marines were coming.

They marched past us in flawless formation as we rushed onto the flight line. Orders were called out, the Marines halted. I shielded my eyes from the sun, but try as I might I could not locate CplDad in the group.

The order was called for them to fall out, and everyone was running around me. Panic struck me, I couldn't see CplDad. Then from behind me, Penguin yells, "THERE HE IS!!!!" And he was.

I took off like a shot, dodging crying Mothers and laughing children. I literally dove into his arms, and as always, CplDad caught me. I'm not sure how long I clung to him sobbing, with my legs wrapped around him and my face buried in his neck, but I'll tell you this: It wasn't nearly long enough.

Peanut was all smiles, JellyBean was sleeping... but we woke her up to reintroduce her to her Daddy.

My Marine came home to me, just like he promised.


Enjoy.

Make video montages at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Things To Do When It's Time For Your Marine To Come Home

Presented to you in list form because I like lists.

1. Sit and stare at the wall for 42 minutes daydreaming about your Marine's face.

2. Search YouTube for videos of other peoples Homecoming's.

3. Vacuum, and re-vacuum the floor. Get frustrated when the kids mess up the perfect vacuum lanes in the carpet.

4. Realize you have gone 9 months without sex, and start thinking about.... well. Thinking About. Ha.

5. Switch to diet soda and rice cakes ASAP, because now you have mere DAYS to tone up.

6. Cross of number 5, and just stop eating completely.

7. Call all close friends randomly to babble about what to wear at Homecoming, should I take the stroller? I don't know what perfume to wear. Should I just go naked?

8. OHMYHELLICANTBELIEVEHEISCOMINGHOMEWTF

9. Decide you are NOT ready, call the Major and ask if they can leave him out in the desert for 2 more weeks.

10. Vacuum.

11. Decide to make Homecoming Banner. Drive around on base and look at everyone else's. Decide that theirs all suck, and your's is going to kick some hardcore ass.

12. Work on banner late at night, spell husband's name wrong. Pray he doesn't notice.

13. Get really, really stressed out. Let school, work, my fun vacation to Marine Corps boot camp, homecoming, current job, kids, and the fact that I have forgotten to take the trash to the road three weeks in a row get to you.

14. Cry. Then vacuum.

15. Decide that you are not ashamed you spelled your husbands name wrong, and think back to the days before you made the banner when everyone joked about how bad that would be. Feel tons better when your Martha Stewert-esk friend figures out how to fix it.

16. Fuck number 6, and hit up Taco Bell.

17. Sit down with laptop, view all archived videos of your Marine, cry, look at photos from D-Day (deployment day) and revel in how much the kids have changed since the last time he saw them.

18. Curse. A lot. Curse like a Marine. Throw down that "F" word like there is no tomorrow. I'd punch the wall, but I don't want to break a nail.

19. Sit in your friend's bright red truck in the drive way, and sing, "He's coming home! yeah! yeah! yeah!" over and over, then realize your neighbors are sitting on their front porch, with their eyebrows raised.

20. Lug inside all the heavy trunks and boxes your Marine has mailed home.

21. Vacuum.

22. Recruit as many family members and friends to attend Homecoming, these Hero's need to know that THEY WERE MISSED.

23. Cry, then laugh. Then curse. It's recommended you cry some more after the cursing phase, but it's not mandatory.

24. Rush to get all final projects done for school, because you are going to be busy with..... stuff... when he gets home. You ain't guna wanna stop for no Homework.

25. Sleep tight, knowing that these Marines have your back.

26. Wake up, vacuum.

Fair winds and following seas, my Marine is coming home to me.

No matter how much I say it, it's still so ridiculously exciting. We are planning a trip to Nevada, in early May. CplDad has not been home since boot leave. We also just found out his Mother has an aggressive malignant tumor in her breast, and will be going in for surgery in two weeks. Just after that, CplDad and I will go and talk to the recruiters, and see about securing me a fair MOS in our beloved Marine Corps. I'll save details on that for another riveting post. For now, I will submit this to you: My Marine is coming home. This is on my mind constantly. It cheers me up, even when this penguin weather is bringing me down. I've honestly spent copious amounts of times vacuuming, and I'm not sure why. It's truly a losing battle, since my kids eat a lot of crackers and pop tarts, and their cracker trails would be more than suitable for Hansel or that slut Gretel. There is so much more I could be doing, like ripping down the rest of the wall paper in the kitchen, or picking up all the stray toys that are meandering around the house. I could scrub the bathrooms until my hands bleed. I could sweep of the sidewalk and driveway, and make it look neat and appealing, and welcoming for CplDad's big day. I could reorganize the the dressers, in our bedroom, to make room for his clothing. All of these seem so pointless, so I vacuum.

It just now occurred to me all the of "lasts" that have taken place. I've made the last mortgage payment. I've gone grocery shopping the last time alone. I've gone to church the last time without CplDad. I have purchased the last package of diapers I'll need before he comes home. I took the kids to the beach for the last time without their Daddy. This is huge. I'm obsessing hardcore about it, and now if you are unlucky enough to Google "CplDad" or "Crazy talking psycho wife who is about to join the corps and may be obsessed with vacuuming" and stumble upon this site. HAHA. Sucks for you.

The last time I took the kids to the beach, it was clear and warm. The wind coming off the ocean has a slight chill to it. Nothing to severe, just enough to warrant a light jacket. The air was thick with humidity. The smell of salt water engulfed us the second we stepped across the threshold of the dock. We sat on the sand. I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of the gulls and the waves crashing. We snacked on crackers. Well, JellyBean and I snacked on crackers. Peanut used his for a shovel and then fed them to the greedy gulls. Peanut got overly ambitious and made the executive decision to explore the sand dunes alone. I called out to him to come sit with us, but his two year old curiosity out weighed the threat of Mom. He was terribly interested in the broken shells he found up there. JellyBean was terribly interested in eating sand. She would shout her protests every time I caught her hand halfway to her mouth, her tiny fist clutching as much sand as it could. When I went to retrieve Peanut from his explorations, JellyBean decided to take off towards the large pieces of driftwood that had washed up in the most recent storm. I let her wander off a bit, since there was no one else around on the wide open beach. Peanut and I laid back on the sand, and I quickly realized how easy it would be to fall asleep. I know that if this happened, I would awake to JellyBean gnawing on a huge dark piece of driftwood. I could imagine myself yelling at her to stop, and her shouting back, "Too late woman! I already ate half of it!" When I opened my eyes again, she was still just five feet away, eyeing the gulls. When several of them landed withing ten feet of her she began yelling at them, and pointing. Then, she took off after them crawling as fast as her tiny legs would let her. When the gulls flew off, she let them know she was pissed. "Come back here you sonsabitches! I'm going to slobber on you!"

The point of this long winded story is, that was our last beach trip alone. The beach is a very special place to our family, and this was the last time we would have to go alone.

Why?

Because my Marine is coming home.

Finally.

I'm going to vacuum.

The Fewer, The Prouder.

Do I have what it takes to become a United States Marine?

Will my family and friends stand behind me and support me, or turn their backs on me because they don't approve?

A lot of you know I've had the dream of joining the military for years. I never had my chance. I don't want to look back on my life and regret not doing what I wanted.

I ask again, do I have what it takes?

No Cake Left Behind

Oh hi.

What?

The party?

Yes, it was a smashing success.

Am I sad?

Yes. I'm marginally depressed that my baby turned one. It's unreal. Unfathomable. She was supposed to be our littlest baby forever.

The cake? Is gone.

Yes, I ate most of it.

No I don't feel bad.

What's that?

Am I ready for another baby?

Well. You shut your dirty pirate hooker mouth right now.

No.

I SAID GOOD DAY SIR.



She needed assistance shoveling cake into her mouf, and since we didn't have a shovel handy and if was her birfday, I was happy to oblige.


This gift was from Popp, and it was on sale. Personally, I think it was a bargain.


JellyBean knows how to work it. Work it girlfriend! Hey girl hey!


One of the best gifts I have ever received. Do you think it's too late to exchange it? I think I've lost the reciept.... Damn.


You might be a big girl now, but you better believe I'm sneaking in my smooches!


"JellyBean, your delicate palette is not sophisticated enough to enjoy this pizza and beer. Please move along, and find your juvenile baba, or some such. By the way, I am confiscating these head bands, they match my new purse."

The Story of JellyBean

Shock, fear, and excitement took hold the day the pregnancy test showed two lines, indicating that we were pregnant. Our son, Peanut, was just over 6 months old. Our children would be born close in age, and would come to be known as "Irish Twins". The pregnancy was generally uneventful, I was sick constantly. The days would be fine, I would eat and maintain myself without showing any outward symptoms of being with child. When the sun would go down, and I would be ready for a good night of sleeping is when the sickness began. I quickly lost count of how many nights I spent on the bathroom floor, with CplDad coming in from work around 5 am and carrying me to bed. We thought nothing of it.

At 22 weeks, we knew she wasn't growing right. She was small. I didn't even look pregnant.

31 weeks came around, and another growth check showed she was at least 3 weeks behind in growth.

At 35 weeks, my skin started feeling tight all over my body. I felt thousands of tiny pin pricks constantly. Then I started to itch.

At 36 weeks, my blood work showed that there was unusually high levels of bile. Something was going on in my liver.

I remained close to the hospital, worried about what was happening. The diagnosis came back as Cholestasis of Pregnancy. More test and ultrasounds showed that she was far too small for her gestational age. They estimated she stopped growing around 32 weeks. The fetal heart monitor showed her heart rate struggling. A resident sat down next to my bed and explained to me the serious nature of the situation. Infants born to Mothers who suffer from Cholestasis have a high risk of still birth after 36 weeks. We were already into the danger zone.

At 37 weeks, my conidioned had worsened.

38 weeks, no improvement. JellyBean's heart was not going to hold out. She hadn't grown. My liver was shutting down. We wouldn't be going home.

At 5:56 pm, on March 29th 2007, exacty a week before her scheduled due date, she came into this world via emergency c-section. CplDad was not able to make it to the birth. She was tiny, and blue. I got a glimpse of her as the NICU team rushed in to take over. I heard a small kitten like squeek. I heard someone call out, "She's tiny. 4lbs. Call the NICU, apgar 3. Unresponsive."

Tears slid down my cheeks as I closed my eyes and prayed. Please God, don't take my baby.

The NICU was good to my baby. They were good to me.

She improved, my liver improved, and eventually, we left the hospital together.

Now, it's her first birthday. This is a milestone for us. This is a slap in the face to the doctors who had nothing to say to us but "I suggest you abort" and "fetal demise" . We have had issues with her eyes, and her weight. She will be one tomorrow, and she weighs almost 14lbs. She is almost in the 2nd percentile.

She is our tiny JellyBean.




Do you see what I see?

Spring Break 2008

WHOOOOOOOOO!!!! Spring Break 2008 is officially underway!!

Yes, it's true Peanut and I have been puking our guts out hardcore this week, to the point of totally losing our voices, but I think we are getting better!

No school!

No work!

I've got so much planned for this week, so much to do! Starting with Easter of course, but followed closely by booze, rockstars, loud music, tacos, booze, and a quick trip to Cancun! Also, some Mardi Gras beads! GAH I'm so awesome! I don't have an ego, I just really enjoy how awesome I am! Let's get this party started! It's time to get rowdy! Just wait til you see zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.......................

Official Monday Night Inquest

Thank you to everyone who submitted questions to entertain my restless mind. I believe I forgot to mention in the previous post, that I reserve the right to alter your question in any way I see fit. (Read: To make it more comical, to me.) Also, you can leave questions in the comment section, they don't have to be e-mailed to me. Ready for this? Let's go.

1. I'm pregnant. My boobs hurt. Advice?
Pfft. Chh. Kuhh. Pssh. When I got pregnant with Peanut, I was an average B cup. Within hours of his birth, I looked like Pamela Anderson on steroids. It was awesome. Then I got knocked up with JellyBean. I wasn't so lucky this time around, after she was born and I attempted to breastfeed, dear God. I don't think she got any boob juice, she just sucked out all the boob tissue. Because now? I have no boobs. I'm the proud owner of mosquito bites. So my advice to you to to enjoy those melons why you can, because they can't last forever. It pregnancy and hoover influenced newborns don't take care of them for you, then time will.

2. My husband and I argue. Should I learn how to work on our family car? I'm not mechanically inclined whatsoever.
Ahh... I wouldn't say go to Auto Mechanic school, or start applying at Goodyear, but I will submit this to you: Invest in a roll of duct tape, a flash light, and an emergency package of crackers. The flash light is pretty self explanatory. Every time my car has ever broken down and left me stranded, it's been at night. Also, it has been winter. Damn my luck. So far in my experience, I've yet to run into a problem that duct tape can't fix. Most recently, the air intake on my car just crumbled. A few Military Police officers later, I had a roll of duct tape in hand to make the repair. (Good as new!) Duct tape can also come in handy when your brother rear-ends you going 45 mph and you are completely stopped at a light. When he knocks your muffler off, and damages his own headlights, duct tape works wonders. When those cranky two year olds in the back seat won't quit sassing you, duct tape is a life saver. The crackers are just to snack on in case the duct tape fails, and you are stuck waiting on your husband or a tow truck. Happy taping!

3. What's the worse pick up line you have ever heard? How do you handle that?
I've heard a lot of good lines in my day. A lot of lame ones too. I think the most appalling one I've ever heard was, "Can I buy you breakfast?" Which not only implied he wanted to take me home, but also told me he was too lazy to cook for me, and honestly? McDonald's breakfast isn't going to hack it. I handle situations like this with sarcastic humor. I handle almost every situation with humor. I believe my answer to him was, "Thanks, but I'm trying to quit." A quick snark like that, and then promptly walking away usually ends the situation. A close second to this one actually happened on the same night. A gentlemen walked by us, and stopped to ask my friend Pop, "Haven't I worked on your car?" Ha. Ha. Silly menfolk. This is super easy to handle, you just go psycho bitch on the. "Oh. Hell yes, I remember you. You ruined my transmission! I WANT ME MONEY BACK!" Throwing your drink in his face adds to the effect, but is not necessary.

4. My unborn baby kicks so hard, it hurts. What can I do?
Kick back. Oh, you think I'm joking? When that overgrown fetus you are lugging around starts pound on your cervix Mohammad Ali style, start poking whichever of his body parts that presents itself most conveniently for you. If his little butt is sticking up? Give it a jab. If you see a knee poking out of your side? Shove it. Let that fetus know who is boss. Don't get bossed around by your womb-mate.

5. I think I have a yeast infection.
Who are you?! Why would you ask me that? Are you sprouting muffins? I'm not a doctor, so I'm not going to offer up any medical advice, but I'll say this.... if you don't have any insurance, drop about 16 dollars on one of those at home test kits. It will let you know if you should see a doctor. Or just buy the damn Monistat 1 treatment. If you don't have an infection, it can't really hurt you........ again, I'm not a doctor!


This concludes this weeks Monday Night Inquest! Keep the inquiries coming! No question is too big or to small for the wondrous Mother of Beans to tackle! Now I'm off to find a snack.....

Monday Night Inquest

Well folks! It's that time of the week. Prepare yourself for what I am about to bestow upon you. We all know I'm a straight shooter, I tell it how I see it. I'm a fan of utter honesty, and I like to think I keep it real real. What I am about to offer to you is not for persons' of weak disposition. The Monday Night Inquest is an opportunity for you to ask me anything, and I mean anything, that's on your mind. I will tell you exactly what I think. I'll give you my honest opinion. For those of you who know how my mind works, this could get interesting. So whether you have a question about the military life, parenting, sex, God, love, tacos, the Backstreet Boys, or your dog snoopy, send it on in. Let me put my psychology minor into good use.

Bring it on bitches. Being it's already Saturday, you only have 36 hours(ish) to get these questions in. So, uh, yea. Get on that shit.

Also, a side note, potty training is a bitch. I sat Peanut down on his brand-spanking new potty seat last night. It's one of those soft plush seats that fits perfectly on top of the toilet. It's actually very luxurious looking, and I'm only slightly jealous. I've also considered losing about 20 pounds so I can sit on it. I figured if I stop eating, my body will eat my ass, then I'll be down to a slim 98 lbs and I too, can use this palatial toilet perch. Ah, I digress.

He sat on that seat for a good half an hour, just swinging his legs and talking in Peanutese. I'm only partially fluent in Peanutese, and some days I wish desperately for a translator. He chatted, I read. He sang a song, I sighed in desperation. Every couple minutes, I'd ask him if he had to pee pee yet. He would glance at me, exhale, and reply, "Nope."

I'd wait a few more minutes and ask him if he was done. The reply was the same.

Eventually, I commended him on a first-class attempt, and lifted him off the seat. I placed him on the floor and set about straightening the bathroom.

I felt something on my foot, and turned around just in time to see the last of his pee stream hit the tile on the floor. Sigh.

No one said the road to potty training would be an easy one, but damn. I haven't been peed on since his infancy days. I need to teach him that you can't just go around peeing on people, you have to at least buy them dinner first.

Well that's enough pee talk. I'm going to have to think on this one long and hard. Do I throw cheerios into the commode, and prompt Peanut to "sink" them? Do I run out and buy four different brands of Pull-Ups? Should I buy a bag of M&M's, and a colorful jar, and offer him a chocolate every time he squeezes out a drop of urine? Hmmmm. Ponder, ponder.

I'll keep you posted. Yes, I know dear Internet. Your day is not complete until you have heard about the daily spar with my potty training attempts. You're welcome.


(send in those questions all quick-like. Dear Abby ain't got nothin' on me.)

Fair Winds, and Following Seas

My Marine is coming home to me.

Joy of joys! I just got home from the official Homecoming Meeting. All kinds of pointless and remedial information was passed about, we all eyed each others shoes and hair, some compared horror stories of this most recent deployment, and others, like myself, sat there trying to distract their thoughts from the first time we will actually see our Marines. Tears kept creeping up, and threatening to spill themselves over my lashes. I made jokes and fidgeted, waiting for the Chaplain to finish his talk, knowing the Sergeant Major had the information we all so desperately desired.

We know the date.

In regards to OSPEC, and their wishes, I will not post the official date of the squadron's homecoming. But I will say this, we are down to double digit days. If the overwhelming sense of curiosity bugs you to no end, then e-mail me, and with proper security clearance, I will let you in. Maybe.

My lonely nights are almost through. My managing two kids under two in Wal-mart amidst toddler meltdowns alone, is over. My taking out that damned trash every Monday, is over.

My Marine is coming home.