The Moment I Knew

I'm taking part in e.p.t.'s "Moment I knew" blog tour.

Just thinking about that moment when I first learned I was pregnant (we'd later find out it was with not one, but two babies) makes me grin like a big idiot (a happy idiot, though).

With our first pregnancy, we were ttc (trying to conceive) when my husband was sent away. We tried to plan visits around my cycle, but with no luck. Every month, my cycle got longer and longer, so every month, I took a pregnancy test only to be greeted with a great big honking evil BFN (big fat negative). I was heartbroken.

Then September 11th happened. My husband was away and I had just found out, yet again, that I wasn't pregnant (I visited him a few weeks prior in an attempt to catch ovulation). My lmp (last menstrual period) was September 8, 2001. During the awful chaos of the 9-11 attacks, I was thrilled that I wasn't pregnant and it made me question whether I even wanted to have children given all the uncertainty in the world. Dh and I discussed it in depth and decided we still did. We took comfort in the fact that maybe we could raise children who could counteract such hatred.

It was good that we came to that agreement because, when I visited him 3 weeks later, it finally worked. He came home for good (well, as "for good" as you can get in the military) a week after that and I kept joking that I was pregnant (Would you grab an extra piece of chocolate? Oh, it's not for me. The baby wants it.), but we just didn't know. I didn't have any of the usual symptoms. In that time, the military had given us orders to move almost immediately. So we planned one last trip to visit family in the area before we were sent across the country.

While visiting, we stopped to pick up an e.p.t. I tucked it away and we went to bed. In the morning, I woke up before Dh and took the test. I refused to even look at the test until a full 5 minutes had gone by. I was terrified that it would be yet another negative.

When I looked at the test, I was shocked. TWO LINES. I had never seen two lines before. I stared at it for a while trying to believe it. Then, when I was fairly certain this was really happening, I went back into Dh who was still sleeping. I shook him and whispered, "It worked." It took him a second, but suddenly he sat up straight and I handed him the test. He saw it too.

We decided not to tell the family right away, but we had a family dinner that night. We just about floated through that dinner. We were SO happy. Giddy as can be, we had to keep our news to ourselves and pass the potatoes. We couldn't hide our excitement, though. There are pictures of us at that dinner and you can see these huge goofy grins our faces in every single one.

I still have that test. I tucked it away and everywhere the military sent us, that test came too. Nothing in the world will ever compare to the early morning when I first saw two lines.

I wrote this review while participating in a blog tour campaign by Mom Central on behalf of e.p.t and received an e.p.t. keepsake case and a $20 gift card to JustGive.org to facilitate my review.

You can find out more about e.p.t. products (including a keepsake bag which would have been ideal for toting my first test around the country) at testaccurately.com.

Dancing Naked Men

I have a chance to see dancing naked men tonight. I, however, am passing up that opportunity and instead will stay home with the family.

I want a freaking metal!

I know there are people out there who complain that the male body is ugly. I am not one of those people. In my opinion, the male body is gorgeous and worthy of longing stares.

But no! There will be no happy staring at swinging bits dancing men for yours truly.

My husband had better appreciate my sacrifice.

I can also think of a few other things he had better do.

FYI: I just created a "Dancing naked men" label for this post. How have I blogged for 4 years and not yet created such a label?

EDITED TO ADD: Here's my giggle for the day. I'm wading through my archives and I just found this post: Sexually Deprived For Your Freedom. I guess some things never change. Some things don't change one single bit. ;-)

About that weight loss thing...

In case you haven't guessed by my complete and utter lack of any updates about that whole weight loss thing, I am failing miserably.

I fell off the wagon a while ago when life got super crazy. I stopped counting points and my days were far too hectic to get any exercising in.

I've been able to maintain for the most part, but I'm not losing at all and I'm feeling pretty low about it.

I saw video of myself last week and wow, what a shock! I didn't realize I was that big. Yeah, yeah, yeah, the camera adds 10 pounds, I know. If you told me it added 50 lbs, then I might be comforted.

I'm close to cancelling my WW online membership. I haven't had time to track points.

I know I need to get my motivation back. I know I need to start exercising again. I had plans to run in the evening after Dh got home, so of course he's working late and getting home at nightfall. I'm hoping he'll get back into his usual work routine soon, but until then, I'm just feeling stuck.

In case you can't tell, I'm heaving a big sigh over here.

Letters From the PastTucked Inside the Closet

Yesterday, while getting ready for bed, Girl2 came to me and said, "There's an envelope taped to the wall inside our closet. Should I take it down?" She did and I opened it.

In the envelope was a letter from the girl who last lived in this house. I knew there was a young teenage girl here, but we never met her. Based on the handwriting and the letter itself, she was about 12 or 13 at the time.

She wrote about how this house had a lot of happy memories for her and a lot of bad as well. She wrote about how she hoped the new owners would enjoy it and how she hoped we would take care of her house.

This absolutely made my daughters' weekend. I thought it was pretty neat too. We've lived in this house for 8 years. How have we managed to miss that all this time? I'm glad we did, though. I'm glad it was my daughters who found it when they were old enough to appreciate it. How neat is that! This is the stuff of those sappy pre-teen novels.

Although, I must say, that note from a little girl written nearly a decade ago has me wandering our halls looking at our home with new eyes.

We planned to move years ago, but weren't able to for various reasons. Then, we were supposed to be gone this past summer, but the economy made that impossible. We find ourselves complaining about how we can't wait to move out. We have a long list of things we want (more than one bathroom would be phenomenal). We have wander-lust. We want out. We're anxious to move on. This house has become a relic from our past to which we're shackled long after it has outgrown its usefulness.

Since reading that letter, though, I find myself walking the halls and wondering if that little girl, now a woman, would recognize anything in this house. We've put so much work, so much time, so much love into this place. This was our first home.

All of our children took their first steps in this house. My children's heights are marked on the inside of the foyer closet door. My youngest was born in this house. A big "Welcome Home," banner was stuck in this front yard when Dh returned from his deployments. Hell, it was in the back office of this house where I started this blog 4 years ago.

Being a military family, we never felt at home. We moved from rental to rental, but those places were never, "Home." Some of them weren't even comfortable. This place, though, this has always felt like home. That's a huge deal, particularly to someone who lived for 20 years in the same house where four generations of her family had lived. There was never any doubt that that house was home and ever since I left, I found myself searching in vain for somewhere else that would have that same comfortable quality. This place was exactly that.

I want to thank that little girl for her note, not only because it excited my children, but also because it made me look at this house with new eyes. We're still ready to move on, but I can better appreciate that this house has a soul all its own. It was here before us. It was here for us and hopefully, it will prove to be not just a house, but a home for someone in the future.

Breast Milk, Feeding Choice, Deep Thoughts, Cancer and My Husband

I have ranted about this in the past, but recent events and The Feminist Breeder's podcast on Formula Falsehoods (to which I'm listening right now) have compelled me to write about this yet again.

When my husband's father was diagnosed with cancer, I wrote "What was that about feeding choice?" Since then, Dh has lost another close family member.

So I have already fought my way down this dark road. And it is a very very dark one.

We knew my husband had an increased risk of cancer because of the fact that he was formula fed. Now, that risk is even greater. There was another death in his family last week. Now, every single male on his father's side has been diagnosed with cancer. All but one has lost that battle.

This absolutely terrifies me.

As Gina pointed out on her podcast, there are benefits for mothers who breastfeed. I've always taken comfort in the fact that I have decreased my risks for various forms of cancer (including Ovarian cancer which killed my favorite aunt when she was only a few years older than I am). Even those women who did not receive the protections of receiving breastmilk as babies can still get some benefits from breastfeeding their children. I was breastfed and I have breastfed my children, so I have been blessed by the fact that we've avoided many of the dangers of formula-feeding.

My husband was never breastfed and obviously, he doesn't have the options afforded to me in regards to breastfeeding.

Really, you should just go read that original article. I made all the points I wanted to there. This is far too much for me to wrap my mind around. Things have just become a bit more bleak for us in the face of yet another victory for cancer and loss in Dh's family.

In that feeding choice post, I wrote this which sums it up quite well,

If you were to frame the discussion by explaining, "You can do X and increase your child's risks of illness and death for the rest of his life," do you think ANY mother would willingly take that option? What kind of a choice is that?

Our World Is Shaken.

Dh's co-worker attempted suicide last week. He survived, but barely. The bullet traveled from one temple to the other. It has left him blind and brain damaged. He's in critical condition.

The man was in an unhappy marriage. They have three children. The kids were just told today about their father. The five-year-old daughter just keeps asking, "Where's Daddy?"

I never met the man. My husband didn't particularly like this man. Still, the more I hear, the more my world is shaken.

When another co-worker texted Dh with some gruesome details of his hospital visit, I ran to my husband and hugged him.

I'm constantly shocked by how many people around me are in miserable relationships. I've watched friends/family divorce. I've watched some fight and say horribly nasty things to each other. I've listened on the phone while some rant about what assholes their significant others are. I've been stunned at some of those stories, because, truly, their significant others are bigger assholes than I could ever imagine. I've had long discussions with friends who have just given up and insist they'll suck it up and go along because they promised "Forever" in their wedding vows.

Dh and I have our issues, but we're in such a different place. I'm not trying to hold our marriage up and say we're so much better than everyone else. We've had rough times too. But we've never been anywhere near with his co-worker is.

I just can't wrap my mind around it. The whole situation has absolutely shaken me. I find myself clinging to Dh and hugging him more than ever. I'm reminded of that Veteran's Day only days after he returned from his last deployment. When faced with the horror of what could have been, I hugged him and cried in his arms. This feels eerily similar to that.

That poor man! That poor family!

Fathers Say the Darnest Things.

Dh takes TheBoy to the bathroom every night before we go to bed. For those who don't have boys, I will explain that there's some penis tapping/shaking which occurs after such an event. The other night, I heard dh exclaim, "That's enough. It's not a guitar."

The next sound I heard was my own snorts of laughter.

Shabbat Mornings = Perfection

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 "

I swear, my husband controls Twitter WITH HIS MIND.

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?

"I am no superman. I have no answers for you. I am no hero oh that's for sure, but I do know one thing, where you are is where I belong."

My thanks are extended to @Kblogger for tweeting lyrics to Dave Matthews Band's "Where Are You Going."

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.

Veterans' Day: Every time we say, "Good bye," you're frozen in my mind as the child that you never will be again.

First and foremost, I present my previous ramblings about Veterans' Day.

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.

The title is from this song.

5 for 5

In search of blog inspiration, I found my way here where I found this prompt: List 5 people you know. Then describe each of them in 5 words.

• Dh
• 1. Quiet
• 2. Thoughtful
• 3 & 4 Easily over-whelmed
• 5. Misunderstood

• Girl1
• 1. Quirky
• 2 & 3 Free spirit
• 4. Twin
• 5. Outgoing

• Girl2
• 1. Stubborn
• 2 & 3 Loves reading
• 4. Twin
• 5. Talkative

• TheBoy
• 1 & 2. Loves attention
• 3. Sweet
• 4. Loving
• 5. Unique

• TheBaby
• 1. Chubby
• 2. Smiley
• 3 & 4 Gorgeous eyes
• 5. Determined

IMG_4419
Originally uploaded by Genna B

On my own, pretending he is beside me

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?

Under pressure.

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).

Not a good combination at all.


see more Lolcats and funny pictures

How TheBoy Became My Favorite

Today, dh joked with TheBoy about his hair.

"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."

Yet another fortune cookie of abstinence (aka: The Chinese Place Hates Me)

In addition to exclusively breastfeeding, we are now using condoms AND I'm temping in the morning in an effort to prevent pregnancy. Why are we going through all this trouble when getting pregnant has never been easy for us? Because a fortune cookie scared my husband. It could have been warning of a lottery-ticket-bearing Oompa Loompa*, but no, my husband feared it referred to a baby.

If you recall, there was a night last month (which turned into a whole freaking week because it terrified my husband so) where I didn't get any because of a stupid fortune cookie. At the time, I grumbled a little bit, but mostly laughed. Ha ha. That's funny how that can be interpreted to fit our current situation. By the end of that week, though, I wasn't laughing quite as loudly. It's just a freaking cookie. Get the hell over here!

A few days ago, we went to the same Chinese place and once again, we got fortunes. Girl1 and I both eyed the same fortune cookie, but she got it first. When she read the fortune out loud, my husband said, "Oh no. That one was meant for you."




Oh hell! So now, I'm beginning to seriously wonder if that restaurant has it out for me. Dude, WTF? And no, my husband has not touched me since that fortune.

Then, this morning, we opened the front door to find a box. It's yet another great big box o'WTF from my mom (see #9). It's a package, for my daughter--the one who actually opened that fortune cookie. Never in my life have I been so thrilled to get a random box of insane stuff that we neither want nor need. I don't know if that package will prove lucky for my daughter, but hopefully, it will for me. A big box of useless unnecessary stuff has fulfilled the pastry prophecy therefore leaving us free to enjoy some indoor sports. Game on!

*I'm borrowing the lottery-ticket-holding Oompa Loompa from someone on twitter, but I can't remember who said it. If you know, please post her name in the comments.

Husbands say the darnest thingsregarding our childhood animated heroes

My husband complained about our collection of kid videos (yes, VHS tapes. The DVD player is being fickle). He made some comment about the choices being terrible. To which, I replied, "Jem is NOT terrible." He then said, "I don't like her, even if she is truly outrageous."

I'm not getting any and it's all a fortune cookie's fault.

We went for Chinese tonight and, as is common in Chinese restaurants, we each got fortune cookies. I don't really like the taste of fortune cookies, but I do so love the fortune. I love everything about them. When my daughters each read their first ones by themselves, I took great delight. The ones that really resonate with me are kept and displayed. I got one in December that said, "Remember three months from this date. Good things are in store for you." My youngest daughter was born exactly 3 months and 1 day later. Sometimes they have bits of wisdom. Sometimes they're funny given current circumstances. Sometimes, they're freakishly true.

Today, my husband got this fortune:

Upon reading that, he screwed up his face, said, "Oh hell no," and then added, "I'm not touching you tonight."

Oh joy! I got a side order of abstinence with my moo goo gai pan. Dude, that was NOT on the menu.

The Whines of a Former Military Wife

I'm going to whine. Consider yourself warned.

(big sigh)
I miss my husband. Yes, he's here. I feel guilty making that statement when he isn't deployed. Hell, he's not even active anymore. Still, after working through PTSD (times two), he's not the man I married. We got through the worst of it, but it has changed him.

Lately, I've been painfully aware that there are small fleeting moments where the man I married would have hugged me, reached for my hand, or put an arm around me. The man he's become does none of these. He still loves me. He's still one of the rare good men out there. PTSD just stripped him of the more affectionate side.

I know I'm very blessed to have such a wonderful husband. He's smart. He's kind. He has moral standards. He doesn't see me as a cook/housekeeper. He's willing to work together with me.

It's just that, I miss him. I miss who he was. I love this new guy, but it's just not the same. In those brief moments where I still expect him to reach out, he doesn't and I'm painfully aware of what's missing.

I'm living in a zoo.

The whole dryer situation has me a bit overwhelmed right now. The washer and dryer aren't a luxury for us. They really are a necessity. We have 4 kids & 4 pets. We need a working washer and dryer.

I mentioned the 4 pets on twitter and that was a smack in the face. FOUR pets? When in the world did my house turn into a zoo? Well, one could argue that it always was.

When I remember how each of our fuzzy children found us, it doesn't seem quite so overwhelming. When you shove them all together and count them, though, yeah, that'll shock ya. That will probably injure you too since they don't get along together in a group setting. Yeah, that's putting it mildly.

Cat1 & Funnel Face were shelter rescues. We were newly married when we adopted Cat1 as a companion for a cat I brought into the marriage (who was the most wonderful pet in the world and has since passed away). Problem was, MyCat hated Cat1 with a passion. So, for dh's birthday the following year, we adopted teeny tiny Funnel Face as a companion for Cat1. They got along wonderfully.

Okay 2 cats. That's not bad. 2 cats isn't an insane number of animals.

Then we adopted a dog. The Nutless Wonder is a consequence of the "war" in Iraq. He was about 6 months old when his owner (a friend of dh's) was sent to Iraq. Unable to care for the dog, he gave him to us. This dog has given our family the gift of countless hours (and therefore posts) of funny dog-related comments.

2 cats and a dog is starting to be a bit much, but still within reason, isn't it? Particularly given the manner in which said dog found his way to our family.

The 4th addition to our family is PresidentCat. He is my sister's fault. Her husband drove home from work one evening and heard a baby crying. After some searching, they found that baby was actually an approximately 4 week old kitten that had ridden home in his engine. How he survived, I know not. Upon washing off the filth, my sister found the kitten looked similar to the then departed MyCat. The sister played foster mom for a short while and then he came to live with us. He is not my cat. He is my daughters' cat. He adores them and only them. He tollerates the rest of us.

When you look at them each individually and see how they came to us, it seems bearable. When you look at them en mass, though (and the havok they wreak in the process), it's almost enough to make you run screaming. Then again, maybe that's just me.