It's so bizarre how our children grow up and we don't even see it coming. It should be obvious. Growing is what all living things do. It's common sense that our babies are going to grow up. We help them blow out an ever-increasing collection of birthday candles each year. We move them from our beds to their own. We complain when we realize those brand new pants that fit them just two weeks ago are now too short. We smile proudly when they learn to write their name, then sentences then page 200 of their 500 page autobiography.
So, the other night, when my kindergartener fell asleep in my lap, why was I shocked by how big he has become? I remember putting him to the breast for the very first time. I remember smiling at the toothless grin on that little boy who took to nursing so easily. That very first time, when he fell asleep at my breast, he fit in the crook of one arm. When he fell asleep in my lap a few nights ago, he took up half the couch.
In my experience, we see them grow up, but we often don't see them. I watch them grow, so there's rarely a big jump from one age to the next. It's not until I look back at old pictures that I realize how young they looked a year or two (or eight) ago.
My oldest daughters are no longer babies, but I find that particularly difficult to believe. They're the same age I was when I started wearing a bra. A BRA for goodness sakes! Oh. My. Stars! I can't even think about my first babies wearing bras. I swear they're still toddlers. I still think of them that way even though one is now working her way through all the Harry Potter books in record time and the other is plotting ways to start a business to raise money for a laptop.
I don't think anything prepares you for this. Before you have kids, you hear people marveling over how quickly it goes and you think they're just sentimental saps. When your baby hits his/her first birthday, you may marvel at how quickly it has gone or how much they have changed (unless you have preemies. Then, if you're anything like me, when you get to the one year mark, you think, "It's about damn time!"), but even that only gives you a glimpse into how much you will be absolutely shocked by how these children grow and everything they learn.
I wish there was some way to tell mom or dad up yet again, rocking a fussing baby to sleep at 2 am that in a much shorter time then they expect, they'll relish those moments when their baby is 30+ pounds bigger and, in a very rare event, falls asleep sprawled out across mom or dad's lap.
A friend of mine likes to say, "This moment is brief," in regards to parenting troubles. She then adds, "You can take that whatever way you want." Maybe you take that as a comfort that these difficult times will end soon. Maybe it serves as a reminder that all of these moments are far too brief and we'll find ourselves longing for them in the not-too-distant future.
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.
My twins have a shared e-mail address. They really only use it for a select few friends and family members. We monitor it.
Girl2 recently sent an e-mail to her grandparents (dh's parents) asking when she could see them again (they live far away). Their grandma responded that maybe they could fly out for Chanukah and ended with, "Ask your daddy if that's okay, but don't tell anyone else."
Does anyone else have a problem with this?
I have a pretty good relationship with my in-laws. We're not best buds, but we get along pretty well. I'm not the type who would pitch a fit and insist they couldn't come.
Dh thinks his mother probably meant not to tell MY parents. You see, my parents have this awful habit of insisting on being here every time my in-laws are. My mother must do everything bigger and better than everyone else.
Here's just one example that explains it perfectly. When my mother saw the check I was giving my husband's brother when he got married, she insisted on writing a larger one from her and my father. Mind you, my BIL is no relation to her at all, was in a very comfortable financial situation and that check was TRIPLE what she gave HER ELDEST DAUGHTER when she got married (and my sister was not nearly as comfortable financially when she got married. My mother's financial situation, was the same through both of those weddings). So my in-laws VERY rarely get time here without my parents coming along as well. Dh thinks that's probably what his mother had in mind.
I completely agree on that stance and would love for my in-laws to have some one-on-one time with the kids without the other set of grandparents interfering.
You remember, my FIL has been battling cancer. I want him to have as much time as possible with his grandchildren without interruption. He has NEVER seen his grandchildren without my parents also being here. So I would absolutely agree to an exclusive visit from my in-laws.
Even if that was her intention, I have a big issue with any adult asking a child to keep something secret from an adult. My MIL specifically told my daughter to ask her father--not her, "Parents." Which would imply that she wasn't to tell me. That bothers me not just because she might want to keep it from me, but because I don't think it's appropriate for a child to be told to keep something from a parent. It sets a frightening standard.
I've always told my kids that if an adult asks them to keep something from their parents, the adult is doing something wrong.
I'm interested in what the internetz think. Do you think my reaction is inappropriate? Do you see my point? Should something be said to my MIL?
Lately, my sister is complaining about the age of her children. She loved having a 7-year-old step-son when she had a baby (she also has a little girl sandwiched between the oldest and youngest), but she has just come to realize that means she'll have a 9-year-old boy when the baby hits the terrible twos (which is only a month away). You see, the oldest boy has been demonstrating some tween attitudes lately ("I don't wanna wear the hood. I'll look like a dork." So he slams the door and refuses to wear the hood in the rain only to come home complaining that his hair curled when it got wet and looked, "Stupid," for the rest of the day).
That made me think about how old our oldest girls will be when this youngest one is 2. It just occurred to me that they will probably be in the early stages of puberty. They will be the same age I was when I started wearing a bra. Please give me a moment while I pick my jaw up off the floor.
The thought of my teeny tiny baby girls--my first borns, in bras scares the hell out of me. It makes me want to hug them close, smooth their hair and insist they can't grow up.
For the first year of their lives, my premie twins were so tiny and so developmentally delayed. I wanted nothing more than for them to grow and do new things. As our children approached their first birthday, other moms got nostalgic and weepy insisting their babies were growing up too fast. Not me. I glared at them urging them to gain a few more pounds; catch up developmentally and just grow, damn it. At a year, my preemies were 14 and 15 lbs, couldn't stand unassisted and didn't crawl (although they did low crawl).
Now, we're standing at the edge of puberty and I find myself in a very different (which I just accidentially typed as "difficult," hmmm...maybe not so much of an accident) situation. It suddenly occured to me that my little girls will one day be women.
When we found out the twins were girls, my husband was so excited. He loved the idea of two little girls. He comes from a family of boys. I told him then, just you wait until they hit puberty. Just wait until you have two moody pre-teen girls getting their periods. He laughed at me and shook his head.
We have no idea what we're in for. I want to be one of those cool moms who respects her daughters' privacy (no big red balloons or party hats that say, "Yay, you got your period."), but at the same time, celebrates with them when they hit that milestone. I just don't see how I can when I'm a blubbering mess at the thought of it.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
The wee one took pity on me and decided enough was enough. No more torture for the mama. Instead, WE HAVE A BABY.
She (yes SHE) was born last week. It's a girl--a gorgeous chubby little girl with wisps of hair and bright blue eyes.
She was born at home. No cutting me open this time. My body did it on its own. I pushed her out myself (with the midwife's help) and then reached down and grabbed her to pull her up to my chest. That was something I desperately wanted--to have my baby on my chest. Every other time, my babies were whisked away from me either in a rush to the NICU or just to another room so I could be put back together. I have never even held my children in their first hours. In that time, I was always lying flat on a table while doctors sewed or stapled me back together. This time, I wanted to know what it was like to have the baby immediately come from inside me and rest on my chest from the outside. I got just that and it was amazing.
Dh cut the cord. That's something he has never done before and something I always hoped he would. This time, he did.
There were many recitations of the Shehecheyanu. I said it over and over again. I can't tell you how many times I said, "Oh thank G-d." As has been the case with all my children, the first words I spoke to my daughter were the first few verses of the Sh'ma.
When it was over, dh and I went to bed--OUR bed together, the same bed where our youngest was born. I was on my side, he on his, the baby sleeping between us and we held hands and stared at her completely fixated and in love (with her, with each other, with life).
Our baby is here. She is healthy. She had the best possible entrance into the world. She helped fullfill so many dreams and hopes.
In all my life, I have never felt so powerful. I have never felt so in awe. I have never felt so thankful. I have never felt so close to G-d.
A few days ago, my daughter got hurt and she screamed.
A few days ago, my daughter got hurt and she screamed IMMEDIATELY after I had just gone to the bathroom.
Never freaking fails!
Although, I have to tell you, that is one of the most sickening thing that can happen to you as a parent. You know a child is hurt, but you can't help. You can't do anything about it. You can't comfort them. You can't even get to them.
I flew out of the bathroom as fast as I could and found her right outside the door crying like crazy. She's the child we joke is built like a truck (she doesn't seem to feel pain as much as other kids), but she was screaming. I feared gushing blood, but luckily, didn't find that. She was bleeding and she had quite an injury, but we got through it (thanks to Bumps and Bruises tablets--these things are WONDERFUL, pain reliever, and a bucket of ice water for her to keep her hand in) and lots of hugs and kisses from her sister.
I was very impressed with Girl2. She was so motherly. She hugged her sister and whispered to her comfortingly. When Girl1 asked for her stuffed toy, Girl2 jumped up to go get it. When she couldn't find it, she brought back her own lovey and another favorite toy. Girl1 played gofer bringing toilet paper to Girl2 when she needed to blow her nose, running dirty tissues to the garbage and then repeating when asked (I eventually had her bring the bathroom garbage and a roll of toilet paper out with us to save the poor child from utter exhaustion).
All seems okay now, but those moments (and those screams) are absolutely horrifying and haunting.
This parenting thing doesn't get any easier. Just when you adapt to one stage, a whole new set of subtleties and considerations go into effect.
How do you balance it all? Last year, we took a break and didn't have any sport-related classes. In the past, they danced for two years and took a break from that to explore karate. We tried Softball a while ago, but I was really put off by the whole thing. I was there for my kids to learn the game and have fun. Everyone else was there to prep their kids for the Olympics. We learned very quickly that it wasn't for us and we ran far far away.
Starting very soon, the big kids will have Hebrew school on Mondays. They'll have Sunday school too. We don't do sports on Shabbat.
I'm not the type who wants my kids to play 5 different sports. I'd like them to do one or two things to stay active and to learn what they're capable of. At the same time, religion is very important to us. I didn't have the opportunity to learn Hebrew. Dh just learned enough to read from the Torah for his bar mitzvah portion and he immediately forgot it all. Our children will have better.
I danced every week day and had gymnastics on the weekend. Dh's parents are VERY involved in local sports (my MIL is in her town's sports hall of fame). So that drives us, but so too does the love of Judaism.
We had to pass up the dance school where I really wanted to send the girls because the class for their age group is the same day/time as Hebrew school. They want to take gymnastics too, but we can't do it. I'm not comfortable with them shoving so much into the evenings. If I can find a homeschool class that meets during the day, we can do that, but once you're out of that pre-k age, it's difficult to find much during daytime hours.
Gah! How do you find the right balance? How do you resist becoming a stereotype one way or another? I will not be the parent who confronts the Hebrew school teacher demanding to know, "How is he supposed to improve at baseball when you want him here during practices?" How do we teach our children to value their beliefs and heritage if we so obviously value the physical over all else? Although, I also refuse to raise a mensch with absolutely no appreciation for his physical ability. Can you truly appreciate G-d if you can't recognize the power in yourself?
I realize I'm probably the only one who finds this interesting. I'm terribly sorry for inflicting this upon you. Obviously, though, not sorry enough to stop.
Last night, TheBoy had a nightmare. Dh and I had already gone to bed, so I figured I'd bring the baby to bed with us. Problem was neither TheBoy nor I could sleep (dh was out like a light). So I put him back in his bed. He tried to stall. As soon as I did, he plead, "Go potty." So I sat him down and he went. Then he said, "Tee-ma." To which I replied, "We already said the Sh'ma when you went to bed the first time." Then he just asked, "Mama," in a sad and oh so tired tone. I said good night, kissed him and left. He called me softly one last time after I closed the door. When I didn't reply, he said, "Oh man." He fell right to sleep after that. I, however, kept giggling.
I'm in the Purim play at shul (I'm Zeresh. I wanted Vashti, but I got sucked in at the last minute, so I had to take what was left). I brought the big kids with me to rehearsal today. Girl1 got to fill in and be one of the king's options for a new queen. The women walk up individually and then "prance" before the king. Girl1 got up there, skipped across the stage, jumped to her spot in front of the king and flashed him and the audience a big smile. It was so cute. I was so proud. She had such a good time. She looked so comfortable up there.
So this evening, dh and I were discussing it while Girl1 sat on my lap. I said, "Maybe we should get her more involved with drama." Then Girl1 added, "dary." It took me a second, but I caught on and then we both laughed. That kid is GOOD.
It may have seemed like a good idea, but I'm about ready to injure someone over at World Maths Day.
Both my big kids are signed up and ready to go. Problem is, I suspect the server is not prepared for the demand. We can't do anything. The games won't load. When we're finally able to get one to start, there's nothing there. A map pops up every once in a while, but then nothing happens. Occasionally, it kicks us out for a period of inactivity, but the only reason we're inactive is because THERE'S NOTHING THERE.
My kids were really excited to do this. The idea of joining people from all over the world playing math games was pretty cool. Now, though, that excitement is fading and I'm being met with questions like, "That's never going to work. May I watch Little House on the Prairie instead?"
So much for getting my kids excited about math.
Oh and I'm hanging my head in shame because after looking through the 100 top scores, I don't see a single American. Oy vey!
I've always thought my kids were cute. I'm their mom. I'm supposed to. It's natural.
Every once in a while, though, I'm struck by how stunningly beautiful they are.
There were times when I nursed TheBoy that I stared into his gorgeous eyes and just got lost. There I was nourishing his body, his soul and those wonderful trusting eyes stared up at me with such innocence and such love.
I had similar moments with my girls. Babies are at their most beautiful when they're at the breast. You see those sweet chubby cheeks bouncing and those big gorgeous eyes staring up at you brimming with contentment and love. With my twins, though, their first interactions with each other were at the breast. For the longest time, they didn't seem to realize they were separate beings. They never showed a conscious awareness of the other one. Then, one day, while I nursed them both on either side, one reached over and grabbed the other one's hand. Their gazes shifted from me to each other. While they continued to nurse, they flailed their little arms reaching out for the other.
Over the past few days, I've been overwhelmed by my children's beauty.
I recently got some pictures of them that I just adore. I looked at the photographs and was shocked by how gorgeous they are. I always thought they were cute, but I've gotten lost in those pictures and I've been left wondering, "When did you grow into such beautiful beings?"
Today, we went to story time and I was struck by it once again. The big kids made such a point of helping their little brother without ever being asked. They treated him so gently and so motherly. I have two sisters who have spent their entirely lives trying to physically injure each other, so I'm particularly thankful for and in awe of the connections I see between my children.
Earlier this morning, TheBoy took something that belongs to Girl1. I held my breath and waited for the eruption, but rather than scream at him, she spoke very sweetly to him and she let him have it without a fight.
I've made a point of pulling the big kids aside today to tell them how proud I am of them. And I am. They're absolutely gorgeous, both inside and out. I'm so very grateful for and so much in awe of them.
Why do I bother? Please explain my family to me. No, really, PLEASE explain them. I'm begging you.
If you read my blog at all, you know we're rebelling this year against excess, against contaminated toys and against a mutiny conducted entirely by crappy plastic toys. I'm making most of the kids' gifts. Some of my children have oral issues (which is a nice way to say that the kid chews on EVERYTHING). So this plethora of lead paint recalls has me more than a tad bit frightened.
When the family asked me for a wish list for the children, I spent days talking to them and doing research. I then spent hours putting together a list for the family. I went so far as to package it all together in one neat little wish list which actually removes the items as they are purchased (a lovely feature if you don't want to repeat the fiasco that occurs when one receives doubles of three different toys). I e-mailed the family three times--initially with a self-compiled wish list and then with the new fancy version. In every e-mail, I explained two things:
#1. Please do not feel obligated to buy our children anything. Money does not equal love (note to my mother). We don't expect gifts from anyone. We only sent the wish list as a courtesy for those who requested suggestions.
#2. Due to the current recalls (Damn you, Mr. Kelly, my sophomore English teacher. I used the phrase, "Due to" to initiate a sentence and there's nothing you can do about it), we are very concerned about toys available in most retail stores. Please, if you buy something for the kids, please refrain from buying plastic toys.
I created the list specifically because my MIL asked me to (although other people had the same request later). I made the simple request that people not buy plastic toys. On the wish list, I included options that varied both in price and in function.
What did we get from my MIL today? A box chock full o'gifts. Said box contained nothing at all from the wish list. It did, however, contain lots of plastic toys.
I don't know if you'd consider me a good mom or an evil one, but I hid myself away from the kids, unwrapped all the gifts, and took away some of them. Some are going to be exchanged. Some are being donated.
And just FTR, I do NOT allow my children to wear clothing with anything written across the rear. This includes the otherwise absolutely adorable pants my MIL included with the shipment. I am far too skeeved by the idea of someone not only looking at my daughters' behinds, but doing so with the intensity required to read it. In addition, as I have mentioned previously, we're traditional Jews and while we personally don't subscribe to the long skirts/long sleeves fashion, we do prefer modesty. Dressing them in something which encourages staring at a child's behind is far from modest, IMHO.
GAH! I'm frustrated. Although, then I feel badly about that. I'm not ungrateful. I truly do appreciate the fact that they sent anything at all. They're family and I love them. I don't, however, love having to hide away the plastic crap that will most likely kill them in their sleep.
Oh and on a related note, does anyone out there think white corduroy pants are appropriate for younger children? Modesty has nothing to do with this. Laundry, however, does. Dh and my reactions when we saw them was, "Oh hell no. Those won't last a day before they're stained beyond repair."
Perhaps you've noticed the new image over there on the left. I'm all about handmade things lately. The recent toy recalls have frightened me and made me look around for handmade alternatives.
You'll notice I have added quite a few blogs from creative folks in the past few weeks. I'm being drawn deeper and deeper into the craft side. :-)
I'm planning on making gifts not only for my kids, but for friends' kids as well. Nothing will be show room quality, but they'll be cute in a folksy (aka: I still can't use a sewing machine and so everything is hand stitched and not always well) kind of way.
The good news is that I've heard reports that others are doing the same. I'm thrilled to report that my sister has ventured into making Waldorf dolls. I actually scoured the internet a month or two ago in an attempt to find some for the bigger kids. They're way beyond my level of craftiness and the prices were more than I was willing to spend. So when my sister told me she plans on making some for my kids, I could have kissed her.
I'm really looking forward to this holiday season. I love the idea of not only making things for my kids, but of getting handmade gifts as well. They really do mean so much more than the standard store bought plastic crap...um...er....toys.
you know it's never a good idea to say, "Why not add some jewels or something?"
My husband, however, never got that memo and made said comment to me today while I was creating Girl2's crown for Halloween (it was a welcome distraction from trying to get a flight for the funeral which I did, but at a huge chunk of change. _big sigh_).
I like sparkle, but when you make that comment to me, you're in for it. When you make that comment to me and my daughters, you get this gaudy (but completely recycled) little number.
First off, sorry I've been gone for so long. Rosh Hashanah started Wednesday night then we had Shabbat right after that. I've been thinking about blogging. I just haven't done it until now.
As for my offspring, some days, I want to drop kick them out the window. Some days are filled with whining and bickering and hair-pulling (that last part would be me in response to the first two). Other days, however, are like yesterday.
The Boy woke up from his nap while I was folding laundry. So Girl1 went in to him while Girl2 stayed out to help me. I heard Girl1 singing the ABC's. After a few rounds of that, she switched to "Twinkle Twinkle." Suddenly she stopped singing, the door opened and her head popped out. "He said 'ABC' when I started singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." I encouraged her to try to teach him his ABC's. The interactions that followed cracked me up.
She proudly announced when she got him to sing, "ABC," "EF," then "G" (repeatedly) and "L."
I overheard her actually reviewing the letters and their sounds with him. That made me smile.
Then I heard her tell him, "Listen, you spell dog D-O-G. Will you spell dog? Come on, you can do it." That made me giggle.
I'm so glad that they get along so well. I've been so blessed by the fact that my girls are fabulous with their brother. Yes, my twins bicker amongst themselves, but overall, they get along well together. But they've never known life without the other. I wondered how they would act/react when a new one came along. I have been absolutely floored by how sweet and loving they are with him. And his tenderness towards them shocks me too. He can be all boy. He tends to be much more aggressive and even more sinister than his sisters were. Yet, today, at the mall playground, I watched as he spotted one of his sisters, climbed down off the slide, ran over to her and hugged her out of nowhere.
His first steps were to his sisters. And they were quite content to stand there cheering him on for as long as he needed.
I want to know what I can do to foster this. Please don't think I'm playing super mom. Much of their interaction seems to be quite by luck. I don't know that I had much if anything to do with it. But I do want to find a way to help them continue to be friends. The love and understanding I see between them is absolutely amazing.
1. Daughters: I adore my girls. I consider myself very lucky to have not only my girls, but kids of both sexes. I have friends who desperately wanted a child of one sex, but wound up with 3, 4, or even 5 of the opposite. I'm blessed to know both sides of the coin. Although, I consider the opportunity to raise girls to be a great one. Aside from the stereotypical cute girl stuff, I get the chance to teach our girls that they can make a difference in the world. Granted, I plan to teach our son the same thing, but it's a whole different ball game with girls. I have been given the huge responsibility and privilege of raising daughters in a way where they hopefully feel confident in their own skin and can excel in whatever they choose.
2. Diary: This thing helps me sort things out. It forces me to continue writing. It allows me to look back and see things in a different light.
3. Dance: It was my escape for so many years. It lead me to some of the most wonderful people in the world. I was raised believing that everyone is a dancer at heart. Then I met my husband who has no sense of rhythm. So now I can better appreciate all those long hours and hard work I put into dancing. The ability to do that really is extraordinary. I will never be able to explain how much magic dance brought into my life.
4. Darkroom: My grandfather was a photographer. He had very little formal education, but he taught himself so much about his photography. His pictures of family members are some of the only portraits we have. Without his pictures, I would never have known what many of them looked like. His touching candid portraits of my grandmother (for whom I'm named, but who died long before I was born) introduced me to her long after she was gone. We had the remnants of his darkroom in my basement when I was a child. When I was in high school, I set foot in a working darkroom for the first time and I was in love. Not only was I better able to realize a life-long passion (I got my first camera at 6-year-old and never looked back), but in that darkroom, I found a connection to that grandfather.
5. Deodorant: I work out for 2 hours every day. 'Nuff said. :-)
6. Dessert: Chocolate. :::drool::: Once again, 'nuff said.
7. Determination: I'm not the type who believes people when they tell me I can't do something. I'm stubborn as hell which can be a problem sometimes, but once I make up my mind about something, it's gonna happen. "Don't start with me. You will not win." That about sums it up. :-)
8. Dictonary: I was voted the top student in my AP English class by my peers. My award was a penny (long story) and the biggest dictionary I had ever seen. That award meant SO much to me. I still have the penny (framed) and I still have that dictionary.
9. Dreams: I'm thankful for dreams for two reasons. #1. You can always have a goal. XY and Z may be wrong with your life, but if you have a dream to become something, you have something to work for. You have a light at the end of the tunnel. #2. I'm a daydreamer, so I love flight of fancy dreams. While my body may actually be stuck in the car behind a long line of other cars moving at roughly 3 miles per hour, my mind could be wandering damn near anywhere and I assure you it's much warmer and picturesque there plus it smells a lot better too.
10. Drinks: of the alcoholic variety. Not only the drinks, but the friends with whom you go drinking. Don't worry, I'm responsible about it, but I just love having a drink (or an entire bottle of wine) with friends. It's so nice to get out with friends, have a few drinks and chat.
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.
