Seehere is offering 100 free prints and free shipping to new users. I ordered cards from them, but haven't received them yet, so I can't yet give you my opinion on their prints or service. I'm hearing good things about them on the interwebs from others who have already received their cards, though.
In the Target dollar aisle (aka my nirvana), I found some calendars with spots for a 4x6 photo on each month. I saw "My family," and "My grandchildren," ones. We grabbed two of the grandchildren ones for both sets of grandparents. I plan to order my free prints and put them in the calendars.
It's an easy, quick and super cheap gift. When the year is over, the grandparents still have 12 prints too.
And then they woke up and EVERY BRILLIANT IDEA WAS GONE.
Why oh why does this happen? Lately, when I can't fall asleep, I have visions of future post ideas dancing in my head. I've had 3 or 4 that I thought were great and wanted to file away to work on this month. Yet, every single time, when I wake up, they're gone. I remember the gist of some of them, but not the specific ideas about which I had planned to write.
Why oh why does my brain do this to me? I needed those ideas, damn it! Give them back!
I guess I failed at this blog every day thing. I've gone a few days without blogging, without publishing at least. I actually did start entries, but didn't finish them and didn't publish them.
Now what? Do I write extra posts to make up for the missed days? Do I just give up and go back to only blogging once in a blue moon? I have no idea where to go from here.
Phyllis over there at Ima On (and Off) the Bima posted a Jewish Meme. I'll play along.
One menorah, or several?
Before we had kids, we had two--the beautiful silver one we picked out together after we were married and the electric one Bubbe gave us which we display in the window (see above). It doesn't fulfill the mitzvah, but the bulbs never die and it looks pretty in the window.
Then we had kids and those kids started attending religious school where, every year, they make new chanukiyot. They're cute enough, but they're unending.
Do you buy your children gifts for every night of Chanukah?
No, although they do get gifts for every night. Those gifts are just often provided by grandparents, aunts, uncles and friends. Oh and we prefer not to buy gifts at all. I love makingas much as I can.
Do you and your spouse/partner or any other adults in your life exchange gifts?
We usually get gifts for our parents and we typically get a few things for each other. While that usually involves one fairly substantial gift, it often involves a few little things.
Special family chanukah traditions?
I don't know that we do anything particularly new or different.
Chanukah is one of the rare times the kids can have chocolate. They do so love chocolate gelt. So they get even more excited every Chanukah (and Purim which is another time they're allowed some of that lovely chocolately goodness) because they're allowed to have that. We light the plastic menorah in the window, but so do many others. We hang up whatever hand-made decorations have survived. We have a pretty cloth hanging that my oldest sister gave us which we always put up on the front door. Like I said, nothing very new/different.
Latkes or sufganiyot? If latkes, sour cream or applesauce?
Both, but I'm a bigger fan of latkes, but with nothing extra. No sour cream or applesauce for me, thankyouverymuch.
Favorite chanukah book?
One that does NOT play, "I have a little dreidle."
I can't find the book and I can't remember what holiday it was about, so it could be Chanukah, but I'm not certain. It's a children's book about a little Jewish girl in the city at a big party and there's a room where the adults can privately take or donate money. I really like that book.
As far as books whose titles I CAN remember and which I'm absolutely certain are actually about the correct holiday, I'd go with, "It's a Miracle! A Hanukkah Storybook" by Stephanie Spinner.
EDITED TO ADD:
I just remembered a book about the Shoah and a survivor and a potato that a friend got for my kids and I can never make it through that book without tearing up. Ugh. I can't find the book and searching online is proving to be useless. In the story, the grandmother (Rose?) is a survivor and each year, she repeats how she celebrated in the camps--she hollows out a potato and adds oil and string and lights it for Chanukah.
Do you actually play dreidl? If so, what do you use for counters?
Yes we do. At home, we usually use animal crackers or pretzels. At the synagogue, they use M&Ms.
What relationship, if any, do you have with Christmas and all things Christmas-y?
We pretty much try to avoid anything Xmas-related. We even try to avoid the malls and all that jazz.
I do like to scour the ornament sales after Xmas to find cute ones that don't look at all like Xmas, though. There's nothing Jesusy about a pink glittery ballet slipper, but it does look awfully cute in my daughters' bedroom.
Every once in a while, I start wondering if I could be a little less anonymous. I try hard to keep much of my identifying information to myself. Shhhh, it's a secret from the Blogosphere. I don't post pictures of my kids. I don't reveal names. You won't find our home state anywhere on this blog. I've never mentioned my husband's career or what branch of the military in which he served.
This, however, means that I must go to great lengths to keep my private life and my my little lovenest here in the blogosphere separate. Some days, I just want to tear those walls down and share with folks on both sides.
I think my kids are cute and I'd love to show you some of the adorable pictures I've taken of them over the years. I have video footage of my husband's homecoming that I wish I could post. I'd love to be able to make some videos for vlog posts. Heck, I'd like to be able to come out and say, "Yeah, that's me." I've skipped events for bloggers and twitter meetups because I'm fairly anonymous. I need to be careful so that the twitterverse and my personal life don't mix and that's very difficult to do.
Every once in a while, I go through a phase where I come *this* close to outing myself. Although, usually, when that happens, something smacks me in the face and reminds me exactly why I like my anonymity. My last outing phase came crashing down in flames when Gina at The Feminist Breeder had incidents with a stalker. That creep knew WAY too much about Gina and was harassing her. Well, that stomped all over my desire to let myself be known. Situations like that remind me exactly why I try so hard to keep my information private. On the internets, you just never know. This blog has gotten hits from all over the world. I find that both fascinating and frightening.
I can sense my inner pendulum swinging back the other way, though. I'm, once again, beginning to wonder about sharing more information.
What about you? How much information do you share? Have you ever regretted it? Has being known in the blogosphere ever helped you? Has it created problems?
I've found a previously unidentified use for this NaBloPoMo challenge. When one drinks far too much coffee in the evening and then tosses and turns in bed in a state that in no way resembles sleep, one can use that time to wrack one's brain for blog topics.
Through my mind last night raced various ideas--some I've been planning to blog about for months and some that just came to me in that moment where all I wanted was TO GET SOME FREAKING SLEEP.
Let's see if I have enough coffee left in the house so that I can counter-act that lack of sleep with enough energy to actually write those posts.
On weekday morning, my husband is up at the crack of dawn for work. He says his goodbyes and leaves. The kids get up to play and I try to sleep as long as they let me.
On Sunday mornings, dh usually gets up with the kids, so I can stay in bed a little bit. Still, I have to get out of bed at a reasonable hour so we can dash off to Sunday school.
On Shabbat mornings, though, everything is different.
This morning was absolutely perfect and I really needed that. I think we all did. TheBaby woke up, so I brought her to bed to nurse her. She noticed daddy was asleep next to her. After nursing for just a little while, she came off, smacked at him calling sweetly, "Dada, Dada, hi. Hi, Dada." He woke up smiling and held out his hand to her. While holding his finger, she went back to nursing for a little while. Then she came off again to smile at us both and crawl up to our faces where the chatting and smiling continued. The three of us stayed in bed like that for a while. It was so sweet and so calm.
It was exactly what we needed.
"More than the Jewish people have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jewish people "
My husband wants a new t.v. For those who have been following, you may remember that we don't have a television. We have what was once a television, but is now a glorified monitor. We cancelled cable to save money (and oh howdy, have we!) before the digital switch and, since then we've had nothing but blue screens. We weren't interested in a converter box because we fell out of the habit of watching television and we like it that way.
We do have game systems hooked up to there, though and my brilliant husband found PlayOn which allows us to stream Hulu and files saved on our computers through those game systems on to our t.v. which really isn't a t.v. anymore.
He made lots of trade-ins and sales on Craig's List so that he could afford a PS3. Now, he's dying for a new t.v. on which to play and watch movies. Our monitor which was once a t.v. is pretty old and very frill-less (which should be obvious from the fact that it wasn't capable of handling the digital switch). He's been doing his research and has found some great deals. When asked what we should do for each other for Chanukah, he informed me that all he really wants is a new t.v.
So, when I opened my mail and saw, "LCD TV Deals (TheLCDTVDeals) is now following your tweets on Twitter," I stuck my head out of the office and yelled, "This is YOUR fault." He was baffled and asked me, "How?" Honestly, I have no freaking clue, but this has to be his fault somehow. My best guess is that he's somehow controlling Twitter WITH HIS MIND.
That's it. That's gotta be it. There really is no other explanation, right? Who's with me? Anyone?
After yesterday's heavy post, I had no idea what to write. I don't want anything quite that heavy because, honestly, I'm STILL exhausted from writing yesterday's post. At the same time, I don't want to write about random funny things the kids said or product reviews or anything too frivolous.
That song, however, is one I listened to quite a bit during dh's deployments, so I'm using it as inspiration.
Yes, I stayed with my husband through the hell that is PTSD. I've been very open about the fact that I nearly left once. Well, twice, really, but the first time was after his first deployment to the Middle East and I didn't have this blog then.
I really do miss the man my husband once was, but I love who he has become. Yes, I liked my husband more before he was forever altered, but I admire him more now.
Where are you going with your long face pulling down? Don’t hide away like an ocean But you can’t see, but you can smell And the sound waves crash down
There was a long time after he came home when he wasn't himself at all. He lived inside his head. He still does this far more than he used to before he deployed. No, I don't like that one bit. He dealt with the physical distance by distancing himself. It's what he needed to do to cope. You can't just snap out of that after months and months, though. He's been home for years and he hasn't completely come out of that.
Yes, it leaves me feeling lonely. I've known loneliness when my husband was a world away. It's a far different type of loneliness when he's lying beside you at night, but isn't really there. I've told him, "I miss you," to his face. That is absolutely crushing.
I am no superman I have no reasons you I am no hero, oh that’s for sure But I do know one thing for sure Is where you are is where I belong
Still, he is there beside me at night. He could have decided he had no desire to stay with someone who pestered him to get help. He could have decided he had enough stress over there and could do without any from me. Family life is stressful as hell. He could have walked away. He didn't. True, he is far less patient with the kids than he was before he deployed, but every evening, you can find him reading bedtime stories to them all on one of their beds.
He does what he can. We just have to adjust our expectations of what he can do.
And above all, this line still rings very true for me,
I do know, where you go, is where I want to be.
It's been frustrating for me (and I say, "Me," not "Us" because the children don't remember what he was like before. I find that both crushing and comforting), but I've just had to be a support. I just stand by and watch. He's the one who has had to do the searching. He's the one who took the misguided drugs prescribed by the military doctors. He's the one who had visceral reactions to noises that reminded him of the desert. He's the one who still suffers physical pain.
Where are you going, where do you go? Are you looking for answers to questions under the stars? If along the way you are growing weary, You can rest with me until a brighter day It's okay. You're okay.
No, he's not the same. He is better than he was in the months following his homecoming. Maybe some day he'll be more like the man I married over a decade ago. He's not the same, but he is "Okay." We're okay. Yes, I do mourn who he was and I feel lonely now and then, but I love that man! I love our life. Don't let my melancholy posts fool you. I love that man with so much intensity that it's overwhelming. We share a life. We share understanding. We share a deep love.
Tell me where are you going, where do you go? Where? Let's go.
I've always taken issue with the use of the phrase, "Happy Veterans' Day." There is no such thing!
I don't often let myself think about how being a veteran has changed my husband. On this day, though, there is no hiding from it. Last night was one of the rare nights when I let myself break down and cry about how becoming a veteran has changed him. He, however, didn't notice I was upset. He doesn't anymore. If he did, he didn't say anything about it. He doesn't do that either anymore.
The changes in him caused by PTSD as a result of his deployments go by largely unnoticed. Every once in a while, though, I'm painfully aware of how very different he is. Last night was one of those nights.
When he deployed, I stood there in tears clutching small children watching as my husband filed onto a bus and pulled away for the airport on two different occasions. The first time, I fell to the ground screaming crying while I clutched two toddlers--each arm around one. A mother I had never met came up to me, said nothing, but hugged me tightly. I cried as my husband was taken away. I had no idea that I would never see that same man again. I worried that he would never come back alive. I had no idea he could return, but so very very changed.
I stood at the airport, not once, but twice and ran to him when he came home, but the arms that held me tentatively belonged to a man completely altered by war. Even after therapy and drugs, he's not the man I married. I can never express how grateful I am that he survived those deployments. I worry that some will think I'm being whiny and ungrateful. I am so very thankful that he is alive. I have Sheheyanu-ed many many times. Still, I mourn for the man he was.
I love this man. Despite the hell we went through, I love this man. I have a new respect for this man who came home and was willing to work through these problems not once, but twice. But you know what? I loved the man he was too. I liked that man far more.
I miss the man who would rub my back in bed. I miss the man who would randomly reach out and hold me. I miss the man who was more aware of the world around him. I miss the man whose main interaction with his children was talking to them or playing with them rather than screaming at them. I miss the man who had enough patience to deal playfully with his children.
When TheBaby was born earlier this year, I saw glimpses of just how sweet and gentle my husband once was. He cooed at her. He held her and refused to put her down saying, "The others had to be without me for so long. She doesn't have to, so I don't want to make her."
With the others, he has very little patience. Yes, he's a good father and he loves them dearly, but he can't deal with them the way he used to. The "War,"stomped all over anything remotely resembling patience that he once had. It takes very little to annoy him. I find myself pleading with the kids, "Please don't even ask Daddy. You know how he gets."
Our poor son has it the worst of all. Dh was gone for TheBoy's first year and you can absolutely see the detachment. They butt heads a lot and dh often has no idea how to parent him. TheBoy is a good kid. He's smart and sweet and very stubborn. Dh adored him as a baby, but by missing so much of our son's first year, it created a rift.
After the first war-time deployment, when dh came home to our twins, they were initially a bit timid, but in only a matter of moments, they excitedly, "Daddy! Daddy-ed," at him. With our son, I placed him in dh's arms and while TheBoy didn't fuss, he obviously didn't know who that man was. TheBoy was the only one of our children for whom "Dada,"wasn't one of the first words (it was both the twins' first word). When he did start saying it, it meant, "Telephone," because that's all he knew of his daddy.
I feel badly complaining because my husband is still a great man. He parents. He helps at home. He supports me in our decisions. He's generally a nice guy. But you know what? The man I married was even better. The man I married was gentle. This man is gruff. The man I married was sweet. This man ignores. The man I married wanted to be a more attached and loving parent than his parents were. This man calls his children, "pain in the ass" behind their backs and is more likely to yell AT them rather than talk WITH them.
This man is a veteran. The man I married is gone. I hate Veterans' Day because today, of all days, I'm thankful for my husband's sacrifice, but I'm painfully aware that I traded the wonderful man who was my husband for this man who is so very changed--this veteran.
Manic Monday asks (among other things), "What does it mean to you to have courage?"
I don't think I had a good working definition of "Courage" until I had children. When my twins were probably around 2 or 3, Girl1 was afraid of something or other. I can't remember specifically what it was, but I do remember that she was willing to try whatever it was that scared her despite that fear. I remember telling her, "Being brave doesn't mean you're not afraid. It means that you ARE afraid, but you're willing to try anyway." I then pointed out that she showed real courage in facing her fears.
I've used that definition quite a bit with all the kids. When my son insists, "I can't. I'm afraid," I have a two-fold answer for him. First off, my children are repeatedly told that there's nothing they can't do without help. Instead of, "I can't," they say, "I need help," or "I don't know if I can, but I'll try." Secondly, I remind him that it's okay to be afraid, but asking for help and trying shows courage. "I know you're afraid. I know you can be brave too."
My middle daughter has a fabulous story to explain the phenomenon of birds on wires. When she sees them lining up, she announces that they're waiting for fireworks. Apparently, birds have firework shows that only they can see. These are most likely to happen around dusk, but they can occur at any time. Our fine feathered friends line up before showtime to wait on fireworks. This information was first shared with us by our middle daughter one July fifth.
Apparently, birds line up for a variety of reasons, not just fireworks. Birds line up on wires for Hebrew school too. Of course, this information was shared with me by my eldest daughter while on her way to Hebrew school. I didn't think to ask if birds wear tiny kippot in their Hebrew school of wire.
I suspect we will learn about other reasons for birds on wires as we witness it more and more often on our way to other events.
One adult friend of mine swears they're alcoholics since she sees them lined up every morning on her way to work, not on wires, but on the sign for a liquor store. I think I'll keep that story under wraps for at least a few more years. :)
I love that! I love how my children can observe something seemingly mundane and can weave an elaborate tale around it--a tale which directly relates to their lives in a number of ways. I can't wait to hear their explanations for everything else they happen to observe.
And I love that my friends are smart asses too. :D
Yes, I know I have children. Yes, I know I have more than the 2.3 that has become the norm. Yes, I really do dare to step outside my home with said children. You've noticed. I know. What you may not have noticed, however, is we want, we adore and we are responsible for and with our children.
I'm sure you didn't notice that. How could you? You were far too busy gasping from shock at the sight of our gaggle of children. That sharp inhale of copious amounts of oxygen must have left you light-headed to the point where you missed that entirely. I realize the sight of four children is simply shocking. I apologize for not always having an extra person with me to catch the fainting folks who are so stunned at the sight of our gigantic reality-show-sized family.
I'll make you a deal. I'll try to be more considerate if you try to be less of a moron. What say you, world? Do we have a deal?
Sincerely, Reiza (and the huge family you think should be featured on TLC)
Photo courtesy of Awkward Family Photos. I suspect this is how my family appears to most folks.
Old friends have come barreling into my life lately at full-speed. Have you ever witnessed a high school football team run on to the field charing through paper barriers? Yeah, it's kind of like that.
I absolutely adore social media for this opportunity. I've been able to find people I considered best friends when I was younger. I've been able to find friends from dance class that I knew from the time I was a toddler. I've been able to reconnect with old neighbors who moved away. In some cases, I've been able to make friends of those I only considered acquaintances many years ago.
Just recently, an old friend rode the train of social media right back into my life. I've been searching for her for years with no luck. I always wondered what had become of her. I've wondered and worried. Many of us did. When she went off to college, she simply vanished. We never heard from her again. Now, many years later, I have found her and I'm thrilled. She's doing well, she looks very much like she used to and she has a little boy who shares the same distinctive eyes with his mama.
True, some people you find again only to discover that you've grown apart, but even then, just knowing that they're okay and getting a glimpse into their lives is so exciting and something we never dreamed of years ago. And then, there are those you rediscover and find you can pick up right where you left off.
A friend recently said something along the lines of, "I should be in single-mom mode all the time. It's the only way things get done. Leaving things for my husband to do hasn't worked at all, but if I do them, it's less stress because I know they'll get done."
My sister is headed out of town for a pretty stressful event. She has to leave early in the morning. She told me she had to make sure to make the kids' lunches before then. When I asked why her husband couldn't do it in the morning, she said he made lunch for the kids once and screwed it up. So now she has to do it all the time.
I find myself struggling with my husband more so recently in regards to housework. Still, he does a portion of the work around here. He did a larger portion in years past and I'd like to find a better balance, but he does some work regardless. This is his home too.
My husband's lower level of help falls at "mildly annoying," on the "Giant Scale of Suckage." Sometimes, the refusal to help is absolutely vicious. A hugely pregnant friend's husband refused to do the one thing she needed help with around the house (and anything else for that matter. She did absolutely everything else), so after asking and then making it impossible for him to ignore, she had to do it herself (this was a big task and involved heavy moving/lifting) and wound up spotting in late pregnancy. She was fine and brushed it off, but I was absolutely furious. This was years ago, but it still makes my blood boil even now.
I don't mean to sound anti-male. I absolutely detest male bashing. It's just that many of my friends' husbands leave me ranging from baffled to absolutely fuming with their behavior. These are exhausted women who are busting their butts at home, with their kids, with various projects, with work outside the home, etc. So why do their husbands expect them to do it all alone? Why is it acceptable for their husbands to do so?
What on earth is going on? How is this acceptable?
I needed inspiration, so I found Ruby Tuesday. I then went on a brief hunt around the house and found those red hearts. They're on a Valentine's Day card my paternal grandfather gave my grandmother many moons ago (there's no date in the card, so I can't be certain of exactly how old it is).
That card sits on a shelf in my hallway. While my grandmother passed away long before I was born, I've been told I remind people of her. My mother swears my grandmother would have loved me.
My grandfather was an alcoholic. Both of them were actually. My mother's father drank himself to death (literally. He died of liver cancer alone in a pauper's hospital). My father's father straightened himself up and was sober for many years.
I've heard my mother rave about how my paternal grandmother suffered through her husband's alcoholism without a complaint. My mom always seemed to think this was ideal. I, however, never liked that one bit. My goal is to elicit change, not sit by placidly like a good little girl with my hands folded neatly in my lap.
Old photos of my grandmother show a lively spirit and quirky sense of humor that always spoke to me. I absolutely see myself in those examples. But the quiet little complacent wife? Not so much.
Then, my father (whose collection of family stories is unending) told me a tale that helped endear me to my grandmother more than ever before. Apparently, my grandfather and one of his brothers decided to play a trick on my grandmother. Quite some time after grandpa stopped drinking, he and my great uncle came staggering home pretending to be drunk. When my grandmother saw and heard them heading down the walk, she grabbed a baseball bat and chased them away, swearing the whole time and refusing to let them near the house if they'd been drinking.
Now THAT I can absolutely see myself doing. And I suspect that is a more accurate picture of my grandmother.
FTR, my grandparents were madly in love until the end. She saved some of her wedding flowers pressed in a memory book. She had a hope chest full of cards he had given her over the years. The first morning after they were married, he took a picture of the first meal she ever made for him. He photographed her often and in all those images, the love and awe he felt for her is obvious. More than 30 years after they were married, she suffered a heart attack while dancing in his arms and she died.
I'm tense. I have no idea why. It came out of nowhere. I was tired, but in a decent mood.
Then dh came home and he was distracted. I really just wanted him to take TheBaby, change her into jammies, and give me 10 minutes to rest, but he had to run back out again. So while he changed her diaper, he gave her right back. No rest for me. I nursed her and put her to bed and then did some other things around the house. At that point, I was in a pretty good mood.
Then dh came back and was snippy. When I asked him not to be snippy, he then got annoyed that I thought he was. Oh boy!
Dinner sucked. I'm exhausted. Husband's snippy (even if he is annoyed that I think so).
"You look like Spock," dh told TheBoy. "No I don't," he shot back. I told TheBoy, "You're gorgeous. Tell Daddy, 'I'm gorgeous.' Go on. Tell him." My son then announced, "Mommy's gorgeous."
I'm a former military wife (the wife part is current, it's only the military part that's former), trying to find out where we fit in the civilian world.
In While They're At War, Kristin Henderson compares military life with going to Mars. When you return to the civilian world, you step off the spaceship and return to Earth for good, only to find you're out of place. ****************** She's right and we're adjusting. Welcome to my Earth where we still dream in Martian and search desperately for our place in the world.
