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.

Turn and face the strange cha cha changes.

Times they are a changing!

Lots of changes, minuscule, monumental and everything in between going on in my world and I wouldn't have it any other way.

We're making lots of changes around here. New phone number. New social media outlets. New pets. New career for the husband. And, as early as August, a new address for all of us. Wahhoo. Yippeee! Hallelujah! And other such exclamations of happiness.

Then, just today, a great new volunteer opportunity was presented to me. It's birth-related and you all know that's something that's near and dear to my heart.

Something that hasn't changed is my family. I'm still happily married (for over a decade) to my husband who rocks. Our kids are great. Girl2 finished the entire Harry Potter series in 7 weeks. She has since moved on to the Septimus Heap series. We have to take two of the books at a time out from the library because she finishes them so quickly. Girl1 prefers the Graphic Classics. Thus far, H.P. Lovecraft is her favorite. They both taught themselves to ride without training wheels this year. TheBoy loves math, Ponyo, BabyMouse, Franklin, the Hulk kids' comics and any sort of attention. This kid has a future in sales because oh boy is he a charmer! TheBaby celebrated her first birthday, but before that, she took off running and climbing. She can make it to the top bunk on her own (much to my dismay). This kid doesn't sit still. She now has a head full of blonde curls. Her smile is absolutely adorable. And what a lover! She runs over to us just to give lots of kisses. That sweet face of hers does sometimes remind me of what we're missing, but that smile and those hugs and kisses help me heal.

Now, for some less-than-thrilling news; I've been re-evaluating blogging. Obviously, this joint isn't as jumping as it once was. I tried NaBloPoMo in hopes of once again lighting my blogging fire, but it just didn't happen. While it did inspire me to do some writing of which I'm proud, it just didn't lure me back to the blog side. So I've decided to leave this place and ride off into the bloggy sunset (blogset?).

I won't be going anywhere just yet, but I'm going to wrap this blog up in the not-too-distant future. This place will remain, but I'll be movin' on. I've written quite a bit here about military life, veterans' issues, homebirth, midwifery, c-sections, breastfeeding, babies, Judaism, children, twins, and just life in general that I'd like to keep available in the blogosphere. I'll leave comments opened as well, but I'll leave the current settings--older posts have moderation enabled to thwart the spammers.

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.

Like leprechauns, only with kippot.

Proud to be an Irish Jew (Hello, Jim!)
Originally uploaded by Daniel Greene

Happy Saint Patrick's Day, everyone. Yes, we are Irish. Yes, we're Jewish. Yeah, we're a pretty rare breed, but we are not, however, alone.

Apparently, there are enough of us to warrant not only t-shirts, but even jewelery.

So, I wish a Happy St. Patrick's Day both to my fellow rare Jews of Irish decent as well as to those Irish not of the tribe. To those of you who aren't Irish, I wish a happy Wednesday.

In case you're wondering, my father's maternal grandmother was Irish. My husband, too, is Irish somewhere way down on his father's side, but we're not sure where.

Sometimes Realization Slaps You In the Face

I asked a friend for help in dealing with my mother. Mom is an odd one and even after 30+ years, I still can't figure her out.

That friend directed me here: Symptoms of an Adult Child of an Alcoholic and I am absolutely floored. So many of those fit my mother. My jaw is hanging open. Yes, her father was an alcoholic, but so too was my father's father and my dad is the complete opposite of my mom. My mom doesn't often (really ever) talk about her father (he died from liver cancer decades before I was born), so while we all know he was an alcoholic, the details of her life with him are largely unknown. I never even considered that it would play a part in her personality issues (aka acting like someone out of their ever-lovin' mind).

These are particularly shocking for me (and right on the mark)


8 . When someone gets angry at you, do you shrivel inside?


9 . Does personal criticism make you feel as though you're under attack?


11. When things go badly, do you feel like a victim?

OMG! OMG! Go read this and then reread this little ditty: You Say You Are a Superstar. Get Off the Cross We Need the Wood.

I'm floored! This explains SO much.

Although, I just wish it would explain how in the world I'm supposed to deal with her. If every little criticism is seen as an attack, how in the world am I supposed to ever disagree with her without her hopping on the drama llama?

Biology: Ur Doing It Rong

For your Bio 101 lesson of the day, I want to explain genetics.

The child's adorable little dimple is NOT from you Great Aunt Olga. You cannot attribute the brown hair to the child's mother's brother. Well, you could, but then you'd be wrong.

DNA comes from the parents. Dad's brother had nothing to do with the creation of this child (well, at least we all hope). So no, that little girl did NOT get her straight hair from Uncle Isaac (unless there's something we don't know). She and Uncle Isaac may very well have inherited the gene that determines hair type from the same source, though, but there is no possible way he passed it along to her SINCE HE PLAYED NO PART IN HER CONCEPTION.

Now that I have shared this information with the world, there will be no reason I will have to refrain from smacking someone the next time one of my father-in-law's sisters says something like, "Oh, she gets that dimple from her great aunt." Knowing, after all, is half the battle (the other half is BEATING SENSE INTO PEOPLE).

While we're on the topic of biology, let Professor Reiza tell you that, in the case of twins, the mother is the only one who determines that. Don't go patting dad on the back for doing anything spectacular. It was mom who either released two eggs or provided conditions in which a single egg could split. Also, you can save yourself the trouble of inquiring as to whether or not twins run in the dad's family. See above. Although, a father can pass down that genetic tendency to his daughters if his mother had fraternal twins. However, if his father's mother had twins, then nope, no deal.

My favorite response to, "Do twins run in your family," is, "Now they do."

Professor Reiza would also like to remind you that, when the answer to, "How far apart are they," is "One minute," chances are that they're twins. Please don't stare at the parents with your brow furrowed completely unable to comprehend that any children could possibly be a minute apart. Please don't follow that question up with, "Are they sisters/brothers/cousins/guinea pigs?" And in the case of flustered parents of twins of any age (particularly newborn), please refrain from distracting them to ask questions of any type (particularly stupid ones). Smile at them. Nod. Then GET THE HELL OUT OF THEIR WAY.

Now you know. Go forth and share your knowledge with the world. Class dismissed.

This is only a test

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 "

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

An open letter to the world in regards to this huge circus of people I call a family

Dear world,

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.

Ruby Tuesday: Valentines Past

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.

It's been called a, "Handful," but never an, "Honor."

I have four children. That's what we always wanted. During my last pregnancy, people apologized to me for the fact that I was having yet another one. Everyone wanted to tell me how rough it would be. People just love to ask, Have you figured out what causes that?" The most common phrase people use when they see us all out is, "You sure have your hands full!" They've been saying this ever since my twins were born and they were my first (and second) children. I usually bite my tongue because you never know what other people are going through, but I always think, "Better full than empty."

We don't consider our family to be all that large, but others seem to be absolutely shocked that we have oh so very many (insert eye roll) children.

So, on Simchat Torah, when we were HONORED for bringing the most children rather than ostracized for it, I felt wonderful.

I love Simchat Torah--love it. It's one of my very favorite holidays. This year, was probably the best yet. My oldest daughters did Israeli dancing with the adults and they sang with their Hebrew school (and did so wonderfully. My oldest daughter really surprised me with her poise and her knowledge). TheBaby fell asleep in my arms after nursing. She slept through all the singing and dancing, but I danced around with her in my arms anyway. TheBoy grabbed flags and ran and danced around with the others. My husband slunk back and tried to hide because he's not a big dancer and doesn't much like the spotlight (yes, it's true what they say about opposites attracting).

Before all the singing and dancing, though, the rabbi announced that the family with the most children in attendance would be called up to open the ark. That was us. So we all went up to do that. It was so nice to honored rather than pitied.

Parenting Dilema: What Would You Do?

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?

Sister Sunshine: 5. Common sense: 0

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Let's say you continuously harass your family and friends with stupid "Get rich" e-mails.
Let's say one such family member asks if those have ever worked.
Let's say your answer to the aforementioned question is, "Of course not."

Then please, PLEASE, explain to us WHY YOU KEEP DOING IT?

Common sense, Ur Doeng it rong!

Parenting and helplessness

We feel helpless at times when we have children. It's just part of the packaged deal. We do what we can, but there are things that are out of our hands. I expected that when I had children.

What I did not expect, however, was to feel so helpless in regards to my PARENTS. They are the adults. They are the ones who look out for me. Now, suddenly, it's the other way around and that's terrifying.

My parents are elderly and they are far away. My mother, however worked full-time until she lost her job fairly recently. My father still works full-time. They have never been the frail types that come to mind when one pictures an older couple.

So it was a particular shock when my mother had surgery recently and she found herself in a number of very dangerous situations--all of which could have been avoided if someone was there to help. If I could have been with her, there was so much I could have done for her. They live much too far away, though, so that wasn't an option.

My mother is making ridiculous decisions which are costing them a lot of money. No, she doesn't suffer from dementia of any sort. So I didn't expect it and don't understand it. She's wasting money due to stupid decisions. Yes, among other things, my mother fell prey to that stupid Acai berry scam. I thought everyone knew to avoid it. My mother, however, did not, and was charged several hundred dollars. She recently got it in her head that she MUST do something RIGHT NOW in a manner which would obviously waste money. I tried giving her suggestions for another way to go about it and she agreed I was right, but refused to change her plans. What I thought would waste a few hundred dollars wound up actually costing her THREE THOUSAND. She does NOT have the money to pull this.

I should pause here to offer my gratitude to decent people. She tried to hire someone to do something (that doesn't need to be done and will cost about $10,000). One person gave her a ridiculous bid. The next, though, came out and actually told her that doing what she wanted would be a waste of money. That meant that this man did NOT get an easy job where he could have bilked her for quite a bit of money. Instead, he was honest and put her welfare before his own income. She actually listened to him and canceled those costly plans. Thank you, kind sir. You will never know how much we appreciate what you've done.

Most people, however, are not like that. And so, here I sit, far away, wringing my hands and yelling into the phone when trying to talk sense into my mother doesn't work.

Nice people ROCK!

Dh's little cousin (who is all grown up now, but was about 10 years old when I first met her) is going through a rough time. I've been pretty open with you all about the difficulties we've had this year. Well, dh's cousin is facing her own troubles and on top of that, she's pregnant and expecting a little boy in October.

I've tried asking for help for her a few times and Twitter and while I got lots of RT's (retweets), I didn't get any offers to help, until recently.

Grudgemom has put together a nation-wide baby shower for dh's cousin. You can read more about what she's going through at that link.

If you can help in any way, please do. If you can afford to, please buy something from the registry. For all my beloved Etsy sellers, if you make children's items and would like to send one their way, please do. If you're not on Etsy, but you make children's clothes/items, we would greatly appreciate your help. If you would like to donate hand-me-down clothing, please do (just remember they're in Florida, so they don't have much need for snow suits). If you'd like to do something other than the registry, please contact me (comment here or send an e-mail) and I'll help you out. I'm sending her some books, a box of nursing pads, the few newborn diapers we have (we never had many), and some boys' clothing, but unfortunately, TheBoy's newborn clothing is almost all for cold weather. Our financial situation is improving, but there's not too much we can spend, so I'm trying to pass along what I can.

A huge THANK YOU to Grudgemom and RG Natural Babies. And a big thank you to everyone who can help in any way.

In my non-existant spare time,

I created this little rendition of my family:

Make your Stick Figure Family at FreeFlashToys.com

Home is...

This post is written in response to Twitter Moms' Away We Go Contest: Tell Us What Home Means To You and Get Prizes!

We were, until fairly recently, a military family. We have been moved around. Some of our things still have moving ID stickers from 2 moves ago. We have been dropped in areas where we have no family. We have had to split up our family for deployments and training. We have had to create our own definition of home.

Before dh and I married, home was the same house where I and 3 other generations of my family lived. If you look in my father's high school year book (the same high school I attended), you see the same address listed under his name as you find in the back of mine 37 years later. Home was the same town and house in which I had always lived and I had deep roots there (literally).

I had a difficult time feeling at home anywhere once I left that house. We moved into an apartment when we were first married and I liked it, but it wasn't home. It was exciting when we rented our first house, but I was never comfortable there. When the military moved us, that was the most awkward of all.

Before we had children, when my husband was away & we didn't know where the military would send us next, my husband told his friends, "Home is where the wife is."

We had children, the "War" started, and my husband left. He eventually came home to much older children who could do so much more than when he left. He came home to a house completely redecorated. He came home. He would leave again for training and not too long after, he left for yet another deployment. Each time, he was welcomed home.

Right now, "Home," for us is our house with our family. Home is the bedroom where our youngest daughter was born. Home is where our children took their first steps. Home is where we cuddle under the blankets and listen to the rain fall.

But take away this house and we know we'll still be able to find home. As a child, "Home," was that house. As an adult, a mother, and a military wife, I've come to realize that home is not always one specific place. Home is a feeling of comfort, familiarity and safety.

"Where we love is home--home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts."-Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

I've got all my sisters and me, but unfortunately, it appears one of us missed out on the common sense train.

For those keeping score:
Sister Sunshine: 3. Common Sense: 0

Yes, oh yes. I got ANOTHER theft or a religious idol in an attempt to gain wealth.

Oh yes. We've been here before.
Submitted for approval of the midnight society are exhibits one and two.

This e-mail contains a picture of the "Sacred Angel," (let me remind you, yet again: Me-Jewish. Sister Sunshine-Atheist) and promises

"If you have passed it on, your wish will come
True and money will come your way shortly. "

FTR, "Money" is highlighted in red in the forward. I didn't do that just to point out that, once again, we have an e-mail that bastardizes a figure from someone else's religion in the hopes of monetary gain.

I hope your wish isn't to keep your friends because forwarding crap like this will make them run screaming from you. I'm related to Sister Sunshine, so I don't have that luxury.

The chain mail urges you to

Send this to all your good friends online to show them
You are friends.

Sending this to all your good friends will not show them you are friends. It will show them that you are an asshole.

If you get this back from:
1 person - you are lonely
2 people - you have a couple friends, but not many
3 people - you have a few friends...
4 people - you have some friends...
5 people - you have several friends!!
6 people - you have many friends! !!
7 people - you are SOOOO loved!!!
Remember, no man or woman is a failure who has a friend!

You are, however, a failure, if you continue yanking the chain and send this thing on it's horridly lonely quest to Spamalot. If you get this back from 7 people, it's not proof that you are "SOOOO loved." It's proof that you are friends with idiots.

If I could sit on the porch with G-d, the first thing I would do is thank him for you....
Author unknown

If I could sit across the porch (from) you, I'd smack you and tell you to cut it out with the freaking chain letters already!