Harry Potter and the Simulated Sex Act

So Daniel Radcliffe (Harry Potter) is going to appear live on stage in the nude. Woah!

From what I've heard, he wants to show that he can do something different. Well, simulating a sex-act while astride a horse will certainly do that for ya.

FTR, Daniel Radcliffe never did really look the part as I imagined it. Then again, the German version of HP outright terrifies me. At least that's not the French version which makes the kids look like they'd be right at home with Miss Clavel.

And hey, did you know you can get Harry Potter on a kippah? Harry Potter and the Jewish Headcovering. I'm telling ya, it's in the works. Just give J.K. Rowling some time.

Dude, you should all convert. We have the best hats. Check this out:
You can also get a Rolling Stones one, a Super Man one, a pie, Gay/Jewish/American pride all in one, one for the kids, one for my sister, one for my sister's boyfriend to step on, one for a friend's son who isn't even Jewish, one for the girly girls, one for those who love binary code just a little too much (it's the Sh'ma in binary code), and let's not forget one for my husband.

Completely random, but here's the Peep version of Harry Potter. Apparently this site is old, but it's the first I've seen of it: Peeps in all sorts of interesting predicaments.

Wherein I take a stab at dream analysis

Irim took a stab at analyzing my dream. Thanks for that, but I'm not sure how true it rings.

First off, I'm a Pisces. I LOVE the ocean. It's not something frightening to me. In the dream, I wasn't afraid of the water. It was always calm and not very deep. I was afraid of the distance. I was afraid of being isolated from land. When the scary guy came, there was no way for me to get away.

My fear of the guy was because he was large and frightening. He had a creepy look on his face that only got worse when he smiled. Think of the Green Mile. The book description of the guy is actually better than the movie version. In the dream, the man coming at me was just like the physical appearance of that character, but without the gentleness. The man in the dream never spoke, but he always seemed really sinister.

Okay, here's what I think the dream is about: I think it's about my vulnerability in dh's absence.

One thing people don't realize is just how vulnerable military wives are when husbands are away. I'm not one who freaks out about everything that could go wrong, but I admit that I worry more in dh's absence.

It doesn't matter if he really could knock out an intruder. What matters is that as long as there's a male in the house, you're less likely to be a victim. People see him coming and going (particularly if he's coming and going in a military uniform) and there's the perception that there's someone there to protect you. I'm a Feminist and I don't like the idea of needing someone to protect me. I don't know that I really do, but the perception is there. If people know a man is in the house, I think people are less likely to mess with you.

Just a few nights ago, I came home from a friend's house and had to carry all the sleeping children inside one-by-one. I feel SO very vulnerable when I have to do that. I have to leave 2 children in the car while I carry in the first. Then leave another in the car while I carry in the next. Anyone who knows me at all knows that at any point in time, there is a child in that car alone while I'm doing this dance.

I can't tell many people that my husband is deployed. Then people know I'm alone and it makes me a big target for potential problems. We have lots of military pictures and memorabilia in the house, so plumbers/electricians/etc. know that my husband is military. When I have anyone in the house to do work, I have to make a point of saying my husband is "at work." We have new neighbors that I don't know. They constantly have new people over. If they have paid any attention at all to us, they know I'm alone with these kids.

So I think the dream had more to do with me feeling vulnerable both for myself and for my children.

I think the part where I easily go down the stairs, but then can't get back up may be about me feeling like I can't protect them in dh's absence. I wasn't able to get back to them. Now that I think about it, even the way I rushed down the steps and then turned around and quickly came back is similar to "Get the sleeping kids in the house" dance.

Okay, this may be REALLY random, but now that I think of it, the big man walking through the water towards me is kind of reminiscent of the images from Hurricane Katrina. I reacted horribly to Katrina. There were weeks when we didn't know if family members (who live in New Orleans) were alive. My family is from that area.

So what does that mean exactly?

As for the log he was carrying, I wasn't supposed to make it into a boat. I was supposed to ride it across as-is. In the dream, I knew I had walked through the water before, but my problem was that I couldn't get the kids across. When I saw the log, I tried to figure how I could get all 3 kids to sit on it to get across the water and I came to the conclusion that I couldn't.

As for the part where I wanted to call a friend and opted against it, I'm not quite sure what that means. Yeah, I do tend to not want to bother people, but I think that's warranted. This particular friend is one of my best friends, but she has TONS going on in her life right now. She's also pregnant, so I wonder if that doesn't someone tie into my issues surrounding pregnancy.

I'm going out on a limb here, but let's say she represents pregnancy. Maybe my brain is saying that I shouldn't even consider another pregnancy if I'm feeling unable to protect the 3 children I already have.

That's all I've got for ya for now.

Oh, as for the dh part, In the dream, part of me felt like I was saying, "Go away," just to make the person react. It was only when I said that that dh looked up. When he did come in, I was absolutely elated. I was actually really bothered when I woke up and realized he wasn't there.

Ooooohhhh, after writing that, I just realized something interesting. My mother's first husband was in the military. He was away when my brother was born. He didn't come home until my brother was 2. When he did, my brother wanted nothing to do with him. He actually told his father to, "Go away." It's interesting that I used the exact same phrase.

Hmmm...since that was immediately followed by dh's interaction with the baby, I wonder if it has to do with some unrealized concerns about how the baby will accept dh. In all honesty, I don't think I have any fears. I don't know that the baby will specifically remember dh, but I think The Boy will take to him right away. He's absolutely fascinated by men and he remembers something about dh since The Boy stares at anyone in camouflage. I think the reunion will be an easy one. But maybe there's a part of my subconscious that's worried.

Hmmm...certainly gives me something to think about.

Big thanks for the comment. It really made me take a look at the dream.

Note to self

If you're going to go through the effort of altering the sound system in the car so that the kids in the back can't hear it when you play Liz Phair, it's probably not a good idea to find yourself singing along...loudly.

Baby love, my baby love, I need you. Oh how I need you.

Sept. 3rd edit: Lots of people are finding their way to this post while searching for the lyrics I used in my title. So, to make this easier on you, here's a link to the lyrics to Baby Love by the Supremes.

I want another baby. I am not, however, having another baby.

After my son was born, we were smacked in the face with the reality that he would most-likely be our last (well, I was smacked in the face. Dh just had more fodder for his fire. I don't mean that to sound as bitter as it comes across).

Everyone around me is pregnant and honestly, it's killing me. I don't want to turn their happy news around into a story about me. I don't want to jump in every time they tell me something new about their pregnancy. I don't want them to stop sharing the joys of pregnancy with me. Honestly, I'm absolutely thrilled for them--all of them (and yes, it's quite a few folks. If you don't want a baby, please don't drink the water. Trust me, just don't do it. Use several forms of birth control if you're even going to LOOK at the water). For the most part, I stay focused on them, but then someone will say, "Next time you have a baby, you can do XYZ," and I have to remind them, there won't be a next time. Or someone will tell me how their baby is kicking and I think longingly back to my pregnancies. I hate to admit that I won't ever know that again.

There are days I think, "Just snip and let's be done," but honestly, I want to have another baby. I occasionally try to say/do/think things to force myself to not want another one, but I do.

At the end of my last pregnancy, dh said, "Maybe this will be the last one." I believe my exact response was, "Um...NO." I resisted the urge to smack him. Oh my word did I want to hit him. You just don't do that. You don't throw that on someone without warning. You don't ask them to change their vision of their life, of their family without time to process it. If we had discussed that prior to that pregnancy or even in the early stages of that pregnancy, it would have been a different story. I still wouldn't have been happy, but I would have been more open to the discussion. I need to know if this is going to be my last pregnancy. I needed time to consider what that means for all of us.

I LOVE being pregnant. I once told dh that I wanted to have 12 kids so I could be pregnant forever. I already had one potential pregnancy cancelled when our first two kids came as a matched set. So I already crossed off one of my 4 planned pregnancies. If you even want to discuss crossing not only another pregnancy off the list, but a WHOLE OTHER PERSON out of the picture I've always had for our family, then I REALLY need time to process that.

Well, that point is probably mute. I still need to go over my records with my fabulous, wonderful, awe-inspiring midwife (no, I'm not being sarcastic. SHE FREAKING ROCKS!), but it looks like the "care" I got when I had to transfer to the hospital probably left me unable to have more children. The trauma of it all left me unwilling to put myself in a hospital setting again. So even if I can get pregnant, I'm really terrified of what would happen should I need another hospital transfer.

And I have to qualify this because some people just don't get it: I adore my children. I realize how lucky I am to have them in our lives. I realize there are women who go through far more than we have to have children. I realize there are women who go through heart-wrenching loss and never have a full-term child much less three of them. I am not saying my pain is worse than anyone else's. I am not trying to deny anyone that pain. But at the same time, don't deny me my right to mourn.

I want another baby.

With dh gone, it hasn't been so bad. He's not around to discuss the topic. Since he hasn't been here, I haven't bothered to try to schedule an appointment to review my records. I want him there when we do that both as support (it's difficult for me to revisit what was done to me in the hospital) and also so we can make a decision together. I'm fairly certain that our decision will be that we're done, but there's a part of me that can't stop hoping. I don't want to be done.

I have no plans of having the baby discussion with him when he comes home. In fact, I'm planning on biting my tongue when the thought is bouncing around in my throat just trying to get out. I don't want to put that on him when he comes home. He needs to adjust without me dumping issues on him. And I just need to accept this issue is pretty much dead so I stop harassing him about it.

After The Boy was born, I often asked Dh if he thought he wanted another. His response has always been pretty much, "No, but let's not make anything permanent just yet." I didn't want to keep asking him, but I did. I guess part of me hoped one of those days he'd have something more to say. Honestly, my son's birth was one of the biggest events of my life. Afterwards, I wanted to talk about it ad-nauseum. Dh never did. When I tried to, he didn't have anything to add to the discussion. I got lucky and found a midwifery student friend of mine (who has a Psychology degree. How lucky is that?) who was willing to let me ramble and talk it over with me. She was a HUGE help, but I really wanted more of that help and validation from dh. Maybe that's part of the reason I kept asking.

What all this comes down to is that I'm not ready to give up on the wonder of another pregnancy. I'm not ready to give up on the hope to finally give birth. I'm not ready to adjust my image of family to include only three smiling faces (albeit 3 ADORABLE smiling faces), but I think I have to. I think this hope would be more accurately filed under "torture" rather than "reality."

What dreams may come

I had a dream last night, well, actually this morning. See, I haven't been sleeping well at all. I don't go to bed until late and then I wake up during the night and can't fall back to sleep.

This morning, I woke up at 6 am (in addition to waking several times during the night) and just couldn't fall back asleep. I finally did around 7:45 or so and that's when I had this dream. Please feel free to play armchair shrink. What do you think this dream means? I checked out the dream dictionary (see my link section), but their suggestions for stairs, window, and island don't really seem like they explain it all.

I'm living on a house on a tiny island. The island is just big enough for my house which is on stilts.

At one point, I realize I don't have a boat. I think, "I should call T. (a friend) and ask her to bring me a boat," but then I think, "She has enough to do." So I don't call her. Although, apparently I had crossed the water before without a boat, but in the dream, I can't figure out how I did it.

Then I see a rather large man (large as in muscular, not fat) walking through the water towards me. He's carrying a log which I somehow know I'm supposed to use as a boat. I feel threatened, but I don't know what to do. I have the thought, "I need to save the kids," but there's nowhere for the kids to go. I decide to try to stay out on the step and play the sly, I-don't-really-see-you card. You know what I mean. Like when you're out in public and don't want to acknowledge someone, so suddenly your child/your purse/that dead bug on the sidewalk is the most interesting thing in the world from which you cannot pull your attention. Then I realize that's stupid because he's obviously coming for me. I smile at him. He smiles back, but it creeps me out.

In another part, I run down the front steps. I don't know why, but I do quickly and with ease. Then I turned to walk back up the old rickety wooden steps and I realize there's a step missing. I know I just ran down without a problem, but now I can't get back up. The distance between the step I'm on and the next one seems to grow. I'm really uneasy and scared about it. I don't remember getting up the stairs. I just remember standing there feeling trapped.

Okay, here's the worst part of the dream; It's late and night and I'm awake in the house. I hear someone at the door. There's a high window on the door that's frosted in the center with a clear rim around the edge. I can see there's a man outside, but he's hunched over the door knob. I realize I'm alone with the kids. Do I grab a weapon? Nope. I stand there at the door and yell, "Go away." Then the man looks up and his eyes are level with the clear border of the window. It's dh. He somehow got home early and surprised me (although, in the dream, there was a part of me that knew it was him the whole time). I'm speechless for a while and then I ask, "Is this a dream?" He assures me it's not and I believe him (there have been occasions where I dreamed about being with him, but I knew it was a dream the whole time).

Moments later, The Boy starts fussing. Dh asks if he can go get him. I say, "Sure," but then I have a mild inner conflict with myself. I think, "I could just nurse the baby back to sleep. If dh picks him up, it'll be difficult to get the kid back to sleep." Although, then I remind myself he hasn't seen the baby in months and I can just deal. At this point, I seriously have the thought, "Well, if I'm having this kind of conversation with myself, it must be real."

I woke up shortly after that. It took me a while to realize it was a dream and dh wasn't home.

I. Hate. That.

"All alone! Whether you like it or not, alone is something you'll be quite a lot."

I'm lonely.

I know that doesn't make much sense given that I have twin tornados right next to me. I'm not alone. I'm never alone.

I know it doesn't make sense since my husband will be home in the not-too-distant future, but I am nonetheless.

Dh isn't here. So I'm alone inside my own head. At night, when I can't fall asleep, I'm alone there in the dark. When the kids are asleep and I use any excuse to avoid going to bed because I don't want to lay there in the empty silence, I'm alone.

I'm just lonely.

Let's rock the vote double X style.

I'm so glad I came across this blog entry: Lorelai Gilmore and Lynette Scavo Want You to Vote.

LOVE. LOVE. LOVE those PSAs. I'm trying to add one to my blog, but it's being a pest. So if it randomly shows up, you'll know why it's here. If it doesn't show up, make absolutely certain you follow the links at Parenting Pop Culture.

Crying, laughing, and more than a wee bit baffled.

What on earth is up with me lately? I randomly find myself either absolutely giddy over dh's impending return or devastated that he's not here.

Stomp through the wildnerness that is my mind with me while I analyze myself.

I think I must have shut down emotionally, just a wee bit, though. It wasn't intentional and it wasn't something I even noticed. This doesn't seem to have been a total shut down or anything like that. I think I just distanced myself a bit.

With dh's homecoming imminent, my subconscious seems to have torn down that wall. I didn't even notice there was a wall until I found myself staring at dh's picture a few nights ago in tears for the second time that week. Then I had to think to myself, "Wait. What on earth is going on?"

I think I was just spent emotionally after the hell that was August. Seems to me like I just needed a break from the constant flow of emotions. Kinda cliché metaphor, but from here, it seems like there was a river of fear that was just washing me away, so my subconscious put up a dam.

I didn't shut down completely. I just got a bit of a break.

Now the emotions are coming back. The slightest thing can make me cry. Memories of dh that were really just sort of blasé put a huge grin on my face. I feel like gathering all the people who have helped in any way shape or form and just hugging the stuffing out of them all.

I'm usually a very emotional person, but even I find myself thinking, "Woah, Dude, put the breaks on that already."

Sit right back and you'll hear a tale...

If you hang around here long enough, I swear I'm going to have this whole book typed out.

I'm very close to the end of Kristin Henderson's While They Are At War.

Yet again, today, while at the gym, I had to memorize page numbers so that I could share quotations with you.

"So a satellite television truck joined us in the hot, sunny parking lot where we families waited, beaming out to the rest of America close-ups of Marines hugging their girlfriends and wives and hoisting their toddlers. This is what people outside the military community see when the troops come home. Then the cameras switch off and to the outside world the homecoming appears to be over. In reality, the homecomings go on for months. In some ways, they go on for the rest of our lives." pg 225

That's something that always bothered me. There's so much focus on the going to and coming from "war," but there's rarely any coverage of the inbetween and after. I often hear, "I don't know how you do it." You know what? You really don't. If you're a civilian, you have no idea.

This isn't a game of one-up. I'm not saying military wives have it worse than anyone else. We do, however, have a very different experience than the vast majority of those around us.

One friend actually said to me, "My husband's a trucker. He's only home on the weekends. So I know exactly what you're going through. It's just like he's in the military--just like it. The only difference is he's not fighting."

Um...ah...what?

Please please please PLEASE know that I am NOT trying to take part in a pissing contest. It must be very difficult to live your life with a weekend husband. I am not trying to deny you the hardship with which you're dealing. Still, your life is not very similar to that of a military wife. Those weekends are a big difference. The fact that he's not now nor has he ever been in a combat zone is a HUGE, screaming, jumping, blinking difference.

If you think to yourself, "What is the likelihood my husband will be hit by an RPG while he's at work? While he's in bed? While he's trying to talk to me on the phone?" If the answer is, "Not gonna happen," or "What's an RPG," then, please never ever EVER tell a military wife you understand her plight. You can sympathize with it. You can feel for her. But you will never understand her ordeal and you most certainly do NOT know "exactly" what she's going through.

A large portion of the book deals with wives who have lost their husbands to various conflicts. One section even deals with anticipatory grief; the fear of losing one's spouse that leaves many spouses grieving as though they have already lost their partner even though he/she is still alive and fighting. I never realized it had a name. I never even realized other wives had those thoughts/fears.

Henderson writes,
"(Chaplain Watter) started calling around to other chaplains, who agreed they'd been seeing it, too, spouses exhibiting all the same symptoms, even the same physical symptoms, as those who were grieving an actual death...." p 82

Unless you have specifically looked out your front door in fear of men in dress uniforms bearing awful news, you do NOT know exactly what a military wife is going through. If your mind doesn't start racing to awful places when an unfamiliar car pulls in front of your house, you have no idea. If your husband doesn't call for a few days and you don't have to fight off the panic, then your life is nothing like mine.

I desperately want to get the point across that I'm not trying to compete. It's just been very obvious to me that civilians don't understand what wartime deployments are really like. Which is another major reason I want people to read this book. I'm not saying that civilians don't try. I have been blessed with so many wonderful people in my life who are not military members or military wives, but they have been very caring and understanding. It's just that no matter how sympathetic, civilians just can't grasp the full picture. Although, I will put in yet another plug for the book and say that I think reading Kristin Henderson's book is the best way for civilians to get a glimpse at that full picture.

I suppose now would be as good a time as ever to share what you should/shouldn't say to a military wife:

Never say:

• I'd kill to get rid of my husband for a few months.
• Will the military send my husband too?
• Oh, the time will be over before you know it.
• He'll be gone 4/6/8/12 months? That's not that bad at all.
• It must be nice to have all that time to yourself.
  
• He's not going to like that you've done that when he comes home.
• If my husband was gone that long, I would have lost all the baby weight/cleaned the house/painted the dining room/been shot out of a canon/saved the baby seals.
  
• Any sort of joking about him not coming home.

and of course

• My husband travels for business, so I know exactly how you feel.

Better suggestions:

• Oh, I'm so sorry.
• Let me bring you a meal on Monday if that's okay (Don't say, "Let me know what you need." Most military spouses will be too busy and/or feel too guilty to actually ask for help when they need it).
• So how often do you want me to mow your lawn while he's gone?
• What do you want me to grab for you at the store while I'm there.
• Let me come over and watch the kids for you so you can get a nap.
• Why don't we plan to meet for lunch?
• Come on over.
  
• Let me give you a hug.
• Here's a gift card to (favorite store/restaurant).
• Here's a drink.

or even better

• Here's a bottle of wine

better still

• Come share this box of wine with me. :-)

You'll be her best friend if you add

• and I'll make steak/your favorite vegetarian stirfry/your kids leave you the hell alone/cookies

My reality

I make no attempt to hide the fact that I'm a leftward-leaning Liberal. My military husband is actually more liberal than I am. That's a direct result of his time in the military.

We're both very politically minded. Previously, I have pointed out that for us, politics is not a series of ideals to debate. For us, this is our everyday lives. For us, politics and politicians are directly responsible for whether my children will be scooped up in their daddy's arms again or stand crying at his gravesite.

Here's a quotation on the topic from While They Are At War:

Kristin Henderson mentions an electrician who thought it was "Cool," that her husband was in Iraq.

"I think I was smiling. Behind my smile, I just wanted this nice man out of my house. To me, it was a matter of life and death. To him, it was a video game. We were living on different planets." pg 122

Reiza-Mara, this is your life.

Buy this book. Go right now and either buy it at your corner book store or order it from Amazon. If funds are tight, get it from the library (although, I'd really prefer you bought it so the author can make the money she deserves). Just make sure you read this book.

Kristin Henderson's While They Are At War is fabulous. She captured my life. I'm a little more than halfway through it and I'm in absolute awe. Someone I've never met managed to capture my life.

I actually wrote to her a bit before the book came out. She asked around for various military wives to interview. I answered some questions, but she wound up not going with my story. Fine with me, though, because I'm just about in love with the women she did choose to feature. Many of them are so very different from me, but I can see my story in theirs.

Whether you support this conflict or not, you need to read this book. Kristin Henderson features wives of all ages, races, and sides of the political debate.

Everything about this book if fantastic. Please please please get a copy and read it. I'm buying a copy for each of our mothers and my husband.

While I read through it, there were so many moments where I thought to myself, "YES. That's it exactly." She put into words so many things I haven't been able to explain. She put into words things I didn't know needed to be expressed until I read her book.

You will be hit over the head with lots of quotations from the book over the next few days. Let's start with this one:

A civilian reporter once asked me, "Does it ever bother your husband that you‘re..." He fumbled for the right words. "That you're writing about the wives instead of the real story?" The question itself speaks volumes.
pg 4

And I ADORE this quotation. I sent it to dh today:

…I asked myself more honestly than I ever had before, the same question many soldiers are asked when they apply for conscientious objector status: What would I do if someone broke into my house and threatened my nieces and nephews, the children I love? Could I kill that person? Others have told me they’re not sure they could, even if their children were in danger.

I knew, without a doubt, that I could and would.

Then I asked myself: even if my leaders have made mistakes that led others to attack us, am I willing to stand by and watch my little nieces and nephews die for those mistakes? In all honesty, no. War is always a calamity, yet sometimes when all you have are bad options, war may be the best one of the bunch. I’m glad there are Marines, and soldiers, and sailors and airmen who are willing to save us. But at the same time, I’m also glad there are people like the Quakers, who are willing to save us from our own worst selves.

pg 134

Now go forth and BUY THAT BOOK!

Sometimes they surprise you.

A friend invited us to homeschool show and tell last week. It's pretty much your standard show and tell. It's designed to help teach the kids public speaking as well as give them a chance to (oh no, I'm gonna use that awful word) socialize. Plus the parents get to chat.

As a Jewish-evolution-believing military wife, I was the odd mom out (although, the friend who invited me does believe in Evolution, but we may have been the only two). Some of the things that were said made me gasp quietly to myself, but everyone was very nice and the kids had fun.

When I agreed to do this, I figured my kids wouldn't really do anything. If Girl1 was having a good day, she might be willing to get up and talk, but definitely not Girl2. Mind you, both of my girls are extremely talkative and outgoing--until they find themselves in the presence of new folks. Then they clam up. After frequenting story time at the library for a few months, I had one librarian ask me, "Are they always this quiet?" I laughed loudly. A few weeks later, they started chatting with the librarians and and the girls haven't stopped since.

Girl1 decided to bring her costume from her first dance recital. Girl2 went with the first thing she saw. I have a dress hanging on their closet doorknob. She wanted that dress. It was mine when I was smaller and my girls wore it when they were babies.

We got there and my kids went last. Girl1 volunteered to go, but Girl2 wanted to go up too. So we all went up (they wanted me up there too). Girl1 then fell on the floor and absolutely refused to speak. So I gave Girl2 a chance. She needed some coaxing, but SHE DID IT and she handled herself quite well. When Girl1 still refused to go even after her sister, Girl2 then displayed the dance costume as well. She discussed it and answered questions.

I was so impressed. I LOVE when my kids surprise me (well, the good kind of surprise, not the "I can fit every single piece of Polly Pocket's clothing in my mouth at once," kind of surprise).

The Jewish dictionary

Jewfro: Jewish man's afro

See a sample here: The Rabbi Report: If I had a jewfro

Break my heart, why don't ya?

First and foremost, Tiffany didn't win. Boo. Hiss. Yeah yeah, it's PC to say everyone was talented (in all honesty, I don't think they were. Some of the work I saw from the top 10 was pretty plain. I've seen much better than those layouts in the galleries. I just wasn't impressed with some folks who were up for SOY) and that I'm glad CK honored Tiffany by nominating her (which is true). In all honesty, though, I think Tiffany was far and away the best in the running. I think she should have won hands down and I'm disappointed that she didn't.

In other disappointing news, no more ellptical for me. I do an hour on the elliptical every day at the gym and then do my weights and resistance for another hour. I was weighed and measured today. I mostly got great news. My weight is down lower than I expected. The woman at the desk who measured me said she'd kill to have my measurements. I'm back down to a 27 inch waist. The bad news, though, is that I GAINED 3 inches in my legs. I'm putting on too much muscle in my thighs as a result of my dearly beloved machine.

Here's my issue: I love that machine. It burns more calories than anything else in that gym. I can burn 700 calories in an hour. THAT ROCKS! The same time on the bike only burns about 250 calories. My friends use the same machine, so we can chat while we work out. It helps the time go by much faster. Plus on the elliptical, I can read magazines. The rule on the treadmill is no cell phones, no water bottles, no magazines (risk of injury if you're not paying attention).

Now I'm gonna have to either do the treadmill or the bike and I'm so not happy about that. I think I'll do the elliptical twice a week and split up the treadmill and bike for 1/2 an hour each for the other 4 days.

In other news, we're headed to the sukkah at shul tonight. This is the first time I'm going without dh. We go every year. Last year, I was hugely pregnant and it was very cold. This year, I'm skinnier and it's still pretty warm. Last year, it was a huge event whereas in years past, it was a pretty small gathering. I'm not sure what to expect this year, but I'm sure we'll have fun either way. The Boy will be sporting his brand new, "Rocking the Jew-fro" t-shirt. I suspect it will be a big hit.

Go, Tiffany!

No, not THAT Tiffany; Tiffany Tillman (check my links. The Sharper Edge blog is hers).

She and I once worked together on a creative team and she’s up for Scrapbooker of the Year over at Creating Keepsakes.

The winner was announced in Vegas over half an hour ago, but I can't find any reports either through CK directly or through any of the message boards.

Tiffany's work is absolutely fantastic. She very much deserves to win this and I'm biting my nails here in hopes that she does.

Sexually deprived for your freedomand vulgar for your entertainment

When dh is away, I tend to get very raunchy. I guess it’s my way of dealing with having to go without.

We have further proof that I've been deprived for way too long.

When a friend wrote and mentioned an acquaintance who couldn't swallow pills, I had this to say:

“If she can’t even get pills down her throat, how’d she ever get a guy to marry her?”

I'm glad my religion doesn't believe in a Hell because if it did, I would SO be going there.

Radio, radio romance

Title is from a Tiffany song. Yeah, I'm a dork. Please forgive me.

Back to the purpose of this post:

I was on the radio. My favorite local drive-time show was discussing vow renewals. One of the DJ's is having one, but he didn't understand the purpose of it. They asked for calls from people who have done it. I called explaining that dh and I are planning on having one when he comes home.

They put me on the air and were super sweet.

I shouldn't be star-struck. I'm used to the media. It's the field I worked in before I decided to stay home. I've been on t.v. I've been in the paper. I've been in magazines (and I don't mean that to sound as stuck up as I'm afraid it does). Still, I'm jazzed about the whole thing.

This guy's cool as hell.

Please pardon the bad pun in the title. It's not intentional.

The Geek Guide to Kosher Machines

Meet the hacker who makes your home appliances right with G-d.

And that concludes the high holidays' tour 5767.

Yom Kippur is over. It's the holiest of Jewish holidays and it marks the end of the high holidays. Sukkot is coming, but that's nothing. We eat in a box, basically, LOL. Well, we don't because I've never been able to build a freaking sukkah (not for lack of trying. About 6 years ago, I was in tears in the aisles of Lowe's because we couldn't figure what we'd need to build one or how we would manage to get the materials home in the little sports car). We will, however, eat at the one at shul on one evening.

Today was a fast day. I didn't make it. I ate two slices of bread and had some water. As a nursing mom, I get a "Get out of jail free" card when it comes to these things, though. Shove a boob in the baby's mouth and you get to shove some food in yours when everyone around you is salivating at the thought of food. Gotta love it.

Left the kids with my sister (long story there that I can't share right now, but I swear I will soon) and went to services last night (and again today, but they came with me today). What I want to discuss, though, isn't that I spent all day in the sanctuary or even that I came home yesterday to find my sister topless (that relates to the long story I'm not at liberty to fully discuss just yet).

What I want to discuss is the dress I wore last night. I bought it for dh's promotion ceremony 2 years ago--before my last pregnancy. I never wore it, though. It was a $60 dress (still had the tags on last night when I put it on), but I got it for $5 on clearance. Most importantly, though, it's a size 3/4. And it fit! Shock of all shock, I even had a pair of shoes that matched and aren't leather (I don't wear leather on Yom Kippur or jewlery for that matter).

Oh, oh, oh, and since I brought up jewlery, I wear two rings regularly--a wedding band and a 3-stone ring (which I got from dh for Chanukah 2 years ago. One of my top 3 favorite gifts EVER). I had them both sized when I was at my thinnest. They are both a size 4. Yes, you can get a ring sized that small. Well, get this, they're too big. WTF? I'm still about 15 lbs heavier than I was at my lowest. So how on earth are they big? Do they size rings any smaller than 4? Am I gonna have to start buying kids' jewlery to go with my kids' shoes?

Not that I'm complaining. I super cute pair of sneakers the other day for 13 bucks 'cause they were on sale and they're kids'.

Am I alone here?

Am I the only person in the world who didn't realize that Fergie from the Black-eyed Peas was once the little blonde girl on Kids Incorporated (BEST. Kids'. Show. EVER)?

I knew Martika went on to fame (for a little while anyway) and I knew the two who played sisters (Fergie and Renee something) were in Wild Orchid together 5-10 years ago, but I had no clue that the chick with the Black-eyed Peas was sweet little Stacy from Kids Incorporated.

I only realized it recently when I happened to come across an article about her in a magazine at the gym.

Granted, I don't really listen to the BEP, but you'd think I would know such a basic thing. Alan-ASS Morisette was once on You Can't Do That on Television. Tori Amos was in a cornflake commercial. Baby Spice was a child model. These are things you just know regardless of whether or not you listen to the music.

I just feel like I've been so utterly clueless.

Tag, I'm it and I'm weird.

YES (fist pump), Tiffany tagged me.

Submitted for your reading pleasure are 5 Weird Things About Me


1. I can crack my ankles. It's an odd party trick and it freaks dh out. Years of dancing left me with strange ankles and toes. All I have to do is roll my feet and my ankles crack. My toes crack too if I just scrunch them up. Funny thing is, I can't crack my knuckles nor can I stand the sound of it when other people do. I have no problem with the noise my ankles and toes make, though.

2. I do not like going into a store if no one else is in there. I have no clue what's up with that, but I always get freaked out if I'm the only one there. It's not so much that I think I'm being watched by the employees (although sometimes, I am). It's just that I don't like to be the only one. Dh thinks I'm strange for that. Hell, I think I'm strange, but it's part of my "Secretly I'm timid" thing.

3. As a child, I was terrified that the Peculiar Purple Pieman of Purcupine Peak was going to appear in my bedroom window. I don't know why he would be there, but I had nightmares of his face popping up in my window. Dude, that guy is creepy as hell to begin with, but when you imagine him suddenly popping up with that scowl and that annoying "Rat a tat tat" thing he used to say, it's damn near enough to make a 4-year-old wet herself.

4. I am one of the heretics who eats Oreos like a normal human being. After years of taking them apart to lick out the cream and leave the cookies, I now just keep the cookie in one piece and take a bite. Yes, I know it's wrong, but I do it anyway. Although, I do try to eat around it so that I get the most cream possible in the last bite. Does that have any redeeming value?

5. My ability to speak/understand foreign languages increases based on the amount of alcohol I've consumed. Apparently, this isn't all that strange. I had friends in college who reported the same phenomenon. Ask me something in French and I'll stumble over my response. Give me a glass or two of wine, though, and I'm fluent as can be. I'll respond without having to give it a second thought. Hmm...should we give all high school foreign language students a swig of something strong before we force them to take one of those anxiety-inducing oral exams? I don't know that it would have helped my language skills back in the day, but it sure as hell would have made my obnoxious French teacher more bearable. :-)

And now I need to tag 5 people. Hmm...I'll e-mail/comment you all personally to be sure you're aware, but I'm gonna say Kamrin, Chris at Squeaky Weasel, dh, Giselle, and Jessi. Now go forth and share your weirdness with us all. If you feel comfortable with it, I'll link back to you.

And hey, huge thanks are extended to Tiffany for tagging me. You rock! :-) FTR, go visit her blog. It's there on the left. Click the link to Sharp Edge. Then again, maybe I shouldn't be near anything remotely sharp given my recent track record. :-)

Either I really hate myself or knives just adore me.

Over the weekend, I helped with the kids' Rosh Hashanah service. A friend was asked to lead it and he asked for my help. Part of that help was cutting up apples (we eat apples and honey on Rosh Hashanah in hopes of a sweet new year). I've used the Pampered Chef apple cutting thing (which I highly recommend), so I was sorely out of practice when it came to using a knife for the task. Add to the fact that the rabbi's wife gave me the great big giant Friday the 13th quasi-machete type knife. Yeah, you see where this is going.

I cut my left pointer finger. It's not bad at all. It's more of a papercut than anything else, but it bothered me for quite a while.

Today, I cut up some chicken. I picked up the knife and had it aiming toward me. I actually thought, "This is a bad idea," but apparently, I have (unjustified) faith in myself.

Well, again, you see where this is going. I cut the same finger. The new cut is less than an inch below the last one. Oy!

This one bled like crazy and HURT. Again, it's not bad, just annoying.

So yeah, I cut myself with knives twice in one week. Both times on the exact same finger.

Wait, what's the definition of insanity? Isn't it something like "Repeating the same behavior and expecting different results." Oh hell. Should I start building my tinfoil hat now? Probably not. I bet the sharp edges on the box would attack me.

Creating and Cat Power

I have the urge to create. Problem is, I don't know what exactly. My desk is completely cluttered with things I intend to use on creative endeavors (along with random paperwork), but I have no clue what to make. I have a collection of beads here that I planned to use on a gift for my niece years ago--two houses and a divorce ago (my sister's not mine. No, I haven't been keeping secrets).

Then again, I could do something completely digital and just print it out. Far less mess that way, but it won't use up this mess...um...er...I mean stash.

Today, I headed over to Jen Caputo's blog and I saw her 2 page layout under the "Just tickled" entry. It's awesome. That gave me some inspiration.

Problem is, I need to get the kids in bed before I can work on anything. :::sigh:::

Oh and file this under "odd." While at Jen's blog, I noticed she scrapped Cat Power. The vast majority of folks in the world have never heard of Cat Power. I, on the other hand, adore her. Right after I noticed that, I headed into the guest room in search of something (never did find it and so I have since forgotten what it was anyway). While there, I found the "You Are Free" CD by none other than Cat Power. I've never actually listened to that one, though. So out of the room it came and it's sitting here beside me waiting for the kids to go to sleep so I can grove to it while creating something.

Insanity and pictures

My parents are gone. They left today. Insert cricket noises here.

They were immensely helpful. They were baffling. They were insanity invoking. They were trying. They are gone.

I love my parents. I just love them better from a distance.

The very best news of all is that I got a picture of dh. Most of you have no idea just how amazing that is. Remember, I haven't seen my husband in five months. At the gym a few weeks back, I chatted with one woman about our husbands' weights. At one point, I had to say, "But I haven't seen him in four months, so I'm not sure what he weighs now." She couldn't understand why I hadn't seen him (um...Dude, this is a military town. You shouldn't be all that shocked). Most people realize deployments suck, but there are things they often just don't think about. As they climb into bed next to their husbands at night, they don't realize that we go months without ever getting a glimpse of our spouses.

FTR, I happen to think dh looks awfully hot in the picture. Of course I always think he does, but he really does look good in the picture. I'm not talking about "oh how sweet," good or "cute cuddly kitten" good. I'm talking about " Ranting at length about being sexually deprived for your freedom" good.

I have so much more to write about, but I should have been in bed hours ago. I'll give you all the news that's fit to print (or more precisely, blog) at a later date.

On Rosh Hashanah it is written. On Yom Kippur, it is sealed.

Rosh Hashanah has ended. This is my favorite of the religious holidays. Purim is my favorite for fun, but this is my favorite for religious significance.

In 2001, Rosh Hashanah fell just days after September 11th. I openly wept during that service. Ever since then, I get teary during certain portions of the service.

This tore at my heart back then and still does even today:

"We pause in terror before the human deed; The cloud of annihilation, the concentrations for death, The cruelly casual way of each to each. But in the stillness of this hour We find our way from darkness into light." (Gates of Repentance pg 118)

Today was no different. I found myself unable to finish reading aloud in several places. Here's one of the responses that choked me up because it made me think of dh:

"Holy is the sacrifice made for those we love; precious the pains they take for us." (pg 180)

as did this:

"Avinu, Malkeinu (our Father, our King), make an end to sickness, war, and famine." (190).

I choked on the word, "War." I have for the past 4 years.

Another portion that continues to resonate with me five years later is this:

"We pray for all who hold positions of leadership and responsibility in our national life. Let Your blessing rest upon them, and make them responsive to Your will, so that our nation may be to the world an example of justice and compassion.

Deepen our love for our country and our desire to serve it. Strengthen our power of self-sacrifice for our nation's welfare. Teach us to uphold its good name by our own right conduct.

Cause us to see clearly that the well being of our nation is in the hands of all its citizens: imbue us with zeal for the cause of liberty in our own land and in all lands; and help us always to keep our homes safe from affliction, strife, and war. Amen." (Gates of Repentance, Prayer For Our Nation and Its Rulers pgs 218-219)

Sorry to beat you over the head with the prayer book, but I always get reflective during the High Holidays. I'm doing it even more so with dh gone.

And so, on this Rosh Hashanah, I'll leave you all with another bit of wisdom from Gates of Repentence:

As we turn from thoughts of death to tasks of life, may we, like those who came before us, be builders of G-d's kingdom, a world of justice and joy.

Another WTF mom moment

I know I still need to tell you all the Target story, but unfortunately, there's not enough time right now. There is, however, enough time to share this little ditty with you:

On Monday, I happened to walk past the bathroom where I saw my mother and both of my daughters staring at the toilet. Further inspection showed it was about to over-flow. They all just stood there. I understand the kindergarteners not knowing what to do, but my mom? Come on! Mind you, a plunger is literally 2 feet away from her in plain view.

Then mom makes the brilliant announcement, "Back up. It might over-flow."

What she didn't realize was that IT HAD BEEN OVERFLOWING.

I bit back curses, grabbed the plunger, and fixed the problem.

WTF is wrong with my mom? Why the hell did she just stand there? She never grabbed the plunger. She never called for me. She never called for my dad. Even when I walked in to see why the three of them were gazing into the toilet bowl, she never said a word.

WHAT ON EARTH?

How many more days of this?

Very brief update

I love my husband. I miss him like crazy.

That is all.

No, really, that's all I have to say.

I'm about to head to bed alone and that always makes me think of him longingly (to be honest, lots of random things make me think of him longingly). I just thought I'd share that bit of information with you all.

As you were.

Save me from my mother.

We planned on buying a new lawn mower while my parents are out. So today, after we all went out for lunch, my mother suggests we head to Home Depot. I reminded her that my father and I need to go by ourselves because we need to put the seats down in the van. Mom then insists we'll go and buy paint instead. I tell her I think that's a waste because dad and I will still have to go back later.

Then mom got huffy. If you know my mom, you know EXACTLY what I mean. If you don't, there are just no words to explain it. Mom gets moody and irrational at times. And no, you can't blame it on "the change." She's 70. She went through "the change" when I was still in grade school.

I finally got her to tell me she wanted to get out of the house. So I suggested we go to the mall instead because the kids could play at the playground there and we would be out of the house. She turned up her nose at the idea and then sighed the sigh of a martyr and said in an acidic tone, "Just take me back. I'll take the girls out in the yard."

It was blatantly obvious that that was the last thing she wanted, but she just has to be the martyr. She's the queen of the guilt trip.

I was both baffled and furious. She tried to put the blame on me. It was my fault. I offered to go to the mall instead of wasting time. How is it MY fault? There's no sense in trying to understand it. This is my mom we're talking about. Guilt, she has down. Common sense, that's an entirely different story.

This is going to be a LONG visit.

I have a story to tell you all about being left in the bathroom at Target for half an hour with the baby and a pantsless child, but that's another story for another day.

G-d bless the internet.

I was randomly inspired to write. Yes, I'm writing again. Pick your jaw up off the floor. It hasn't really been that long since I last wrote anything. Okay, yeah, maybe it has been a while. Shock of all shocks, I'm actually writing fiction. I honestly don't remember when the last time was that I wrote anything ficticious. I've mainly written articles over the past few years. I'm pleasantly surprised to find fiction flowing from my fingertips.

I wrote a line that sounded familiar. It was similar to a line from a song. I could hear a small portion of the song along with a few notes in my head. I knew it was a 10,000 Maniacs song, but that's all I knew.

I googled, "10,000 Maniacs lyrics," and scanned through a few songs with no luck. This was driving me crazy. I'm the type of person who has an obsessive personality to begin with, but when you add my desire (no NEED) to have the answer, you get one frustrated woman. So I googled "10,000 Maniacs, " along with the portion of the line I remembered, ("just by feel." ). G-d bless the internet. I found my song.

The parents are coming. The parents are coming.

My parents will be arriving shortly. I may not have much time to blog with them around, but I promise I'll be back.

And Kamrin, I'm trying to find an answer to the question you posed (re: What can the average person do to show military members they care/appreciate them?). Let me ask around some and then I'll post a response here.

The Ground Truth

There's a new film available on DVD about veterans and PTSD. I'm fascinated. I plan to buy a copy.

I got this e-mail today and I had to share:

We wanted to share the following letter from Joyce and Kevin Lucey which they wrote following a screening "The Ground Truth" in Boston. After their letter is a review of the movie from the Boston Globe. For more information about where the movie is showing this weekend, go to www.thegroundtruth.net.


You can also order a dvd of the film at http://groundtruthstore.seenon.com/?pa=mfso.


In peace and solidarity
Charley Richardson and Nancy Lessin
for MFSO
www.mfso.org

The following letter is from Military Families Speak Out members Kevin and Joyce Lucey. Kevin and Joyce’s son, Cpl. Jeffrey Lucey, served in the Marine Reserves during the invasion of Iraq in spring and summer, 2003. He began showing symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder within six months of his return from Iraq. On June 22, 2004 his father found him hanging by a garden hose from the rafters in their basement.



Last night we had the honor and privilege of attending a screening of The Ground Truth in Boston, Massachusetts with several other members of Military Families Speak Out.

We are sure that each of us experienced the film in our own individual ways.

We would like to take just a moment to describe our experiences and reactions.

Watching The Ground Truth immersed us in all the realities of our son Jeffrey's story. At various points - as with the veterans in this film - we felt ourselves once again overwhelmed with the swirling chaos of frustration, anxiety, helplessness, powerlessness, anger, fear and darkness.

We watched as so many veterans became shrouded with the belief that no one else understands ... that no one cares ... that somehow they no longer felt connected or belonged in the world from which they left to go to War.

Having experienced all this to some degree, our minds flashed back to Jeffrey; our hearts embraced each and every veteran - many whom we have had the honor and privilege to meet personally.

To any who reads this, we can only ask you to see this film - not only with your eyes but also with your heart. We pray that you will understand how each number reported is so much more than a number - that number is a breathing, living American who is someone's son, daughter; father, mother; brother, sister; grandson, granddaughter; friend, neighbor - all with dreams, hopes, loves which for many have been shattered by the true ugly realities of war. They and their loved ones are left with broken dreams, broken spirits, broken lives,... Please though keep in mind the other casualties not officially counted, not officially acknowledged as our son and so many others.

This film, The Ground Truth, also brings to light another issue...that the people of this nation must force this and future administrations and governments to keep their word to the troops - that they will give the troops the best of care for answering their country's call to arms. For if we don't act, is it possible that we have become complicit - that we, like our government, have abandoned our troops once they have served their purpose, shattering what their lives could have been.

Regretfully, this has much too often been the case. It is time to shed the patriotic trappings of ribbons and car magnets. We all must step up and demand that our troops be given the best of care in this the world's greatest nation. It is not only owed to them; it is our legal and moral obligation.

We have lost our veteran..our son. We have no vested interest - it will make no difference to our son, for he now lies at Island Pond Cemetery. This should have never been.

We commit ourselves once more to bringing our troops home now from this war of choice! Let there be no more senseless tragedies like the stories of Jeff, Alex, Casey, Seth, Sherwood, Michael, TJ, Jason, Philip, Jeremy and all the other heroes - known or unknown, counted or uncounted. Let it truly be the legacy of our troops - especially of the fallen - that their fellow troops return home safely now and, once home, that they are given the best of care.

Proud parents of Jeffrey Michael Lucey




MOVIE REVIEW
'The Ground Truth' hurts, but it's necessary
By Ty Burr, Globe Staff | September 15, 2006

There are two moments in ``The Ground Truth" when the film's unforgiving spotlight suddenly shines out at the audience sitting in the dark. One is when former US Army specialist Robert Acosta, maimed in the leg and minus a hand, tells of conversations with civilians since his return to the States.

``How'd you lose your hand?" someone will ask. ``The war." ``What war?" ``Iraq." Pause. ``That still going on?"

The other sound bite is less damning, more of a personal challenge, and it comes when ex- US Army Reserve specialist Aidan Delgado simply says, ``Americans want to honor vets with yellow stickers rather than listening to them."

``The Ground Truth" listens. Directed by Patricia Foulkrod but really written by the men and women whose tours of duty it describes, this short, sharp documentary is not about George Bush or left/right politics or 9/11. It's not even really about the war in Iraq. It's about the US soldiers who are fighting that war: why they went, what they saw, how they feel when they come back.

Of all the recent films on the subject -- and they have been many and worthy -- this may be the most necessary to audiences at home. ``The Ground Truth" is the documentary any American with an opinion on our involvement in Iraq owes it to his or her conscience to see.

Foulkrod interviews more than a dozen veterans and structures the film chronologically. We hear why they enlisted -- Kelly Dougherty wanted help paying for school, Acosta wanted a future, Rob Sarra saw ``Top Gun" in eighth grade and fell in love with the military. The hypocrisies of the recruiting machinery are explored, as are the calculated humiliations of basic training; there's nothing particularly new here, although your heart may sink when someone recalls a march cadence about ``killing babies."

The purpose is to build ``a sustained desire to kill," in the words of one of the soldiers, and ``The Ground Truth" does offer the insight that video simulations have greatly increased training efficiency in the years since W orld W ar II and Vietnam. ``The software has changed dramatically," says one expert, which to one of the vets translates as ``You've seen the movie: You pull the trigger, the man drops."

Then they're shipped to Iraq, where the relevant contrasting quote would be one vet's muttered ``When you have to put a bullet in a woman and the woman's pregnant, it messes with you." This section is the core of ``The Ground Truth," and it is scalding. The video footage Foulkrod has gathered from in-country grips you from the start, and the violence is pitiless toward aggressors and victims on both sides. We watch an aerial heat-vision shot of a street crowd of Iraqis bombed into jelly, while an off-camera soldier says in shock and awe, ``Oh, dude."

``The Ground Truth" depicts a chaotic, undersupported American presence while giving the lie to assertions that Iraqi civilian deaths are minimal. ``You don't go to war in a country and not go to war with its people," says former US Marine Charles Anderson. Others talk of being shot at by unseen gunmen and taking out every local in sight in response. ``It works; it's efficient," says ex-Marine corporal Sean Huze. In the most harrowing anecdote, Sarra describes shooting an approaching woman and only afterward finding the white flag in her hand. No one wins: The woman loses her life, Sarra loses his soul.

In the film's final third, Foulkrod brings her warriors, mangled in mind and body, home to a country that doesn't want to know. The ex-soldiers speak eloquently of their battles with inner demons while wives, girlfriends, and family members talk of being on the outside of people they once knew intimately. The parents of Marine Reservist Jeffrey Lucey describe the changes in their son, who returned from Iraq in late 2003 and hung himself six months later. On his bed he left the dog tags of two unarmed Iraqi soldiers he said he had shot.

``As Vietnam was Agent Orange, this war will be psychological injury," says one voice here, and the fractures of post-traumatic stress disorder are everywhere in evidence -- except to the Department of Defense, which labels it a ``personality disorder" or a symptom of bipolarity. The film's indignation only rises as the men and women describe the Veteran Administration's bureaucratic stonewalling and denial. When Jimmy Massey, a 12-year Marine Corps veteran, expressed regret for killing people in Iraq, he was labeled a conscientious objector by a VA psychiatrist.

``The Ground Truth" is straightforward filmmaking, and it has no interest in art. Foulkrod gussies up her format with a few montages set to tunes by the Roots and Mos Def, but they're not needed. At a mere 74 minutes, the film is epic in scope and in dismay. The implicit challenge, of course, is to its audience: How do you feel about this? What, if anything, are you going to do about it? Hug a veteran? Buy another ribbon magnet for the minivan? Something more?

You could pretend that what ``The Ground Truth" shows and tells doesn't exist, but the film makes it extremely difficult. ``There is nothing honorable about what we did," says a returned National Guardsman. The issue isn't that some veterans feel that way. The issue is that even one does.

Ty Burr can be reached at tburr@globe.com.

Happy Happy Joy Joy (numero uno)

One of the many articles I read at the gym included the suggestion of keeping a "Joy Journal."

Hold on. Hop on the OT bus with me for just a moment. I swear we'll be back quickly.

Has anyone out there ever met anyone named Joy who actually was? I swear every one I've known has been the complete and utter opposite. I suppose it's like naming a child Chastity or Faith. It's done with the best of intentions, but Chastity will wind up pregnant before she's out of high school (or at least with an STD). Faith will undoubtedly turn out to be an atheist. Naming a child Joy condemns not the child, but the people around said child to a life of misery. Why is that an evil grin on my face? I do believe it is.

Okay, back from my tangent and back to the journal. I liked the idea. Instead of hauling all three "darlings" to the Dollar Tree in search of a journal only to find myself yelling at the elder two to keep their hands off (Why oh why must they touch EVERYTHING at that store?) while moving the youngest back and forth between the cart and the sling, I figured I'd just share my thankful/happy moments with you all. I'd like to do it every day, but I'm not putting any money on that.

Here are the things in my life that make me happy:

1. We just got digital cable for $2 less per month than what we had.
2. Since dh is deployed, a local lawn care company is taking care of our lawn (not mowing, though) for free for one full year (and oh boy does it need it. They probably saved us thousands of dollars)
3. I have fabulous friends who not only alerted me to the existence of GreenCare for Troops, but even filled out the application for me.
4. The lovely folks at my cell phone company gave me a $50 credit on a bill that was 4 times what we usually pay (all my fault).
5. I only got that credit because I have brilliant friends. The aforementioned fabulous friend of lawncare fame is the same one who suggested I try calling the phone company to see what they could do.
6. I'm down 16 lbs.
7. I worked up the nerve to force myself to use the freaky-looking machines at the gym.
8. "You ought to be thankful, a whole heaping lot, For the places and people you're lucky you're not." (Dr. Seuss, "Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are?") I'm SO lucky I'm not some of the women at the gym. One bragged about her breast implants, another has been to 5 funerals in 2 weeks, and yet another, after complaining loudly about how awful her husband is and how she doesn't love him at all, announced "As soon as the kids are older, I'm divorcing his ass." That leads us to my next happiness inspiring thought.
9. I adore my husband. It's not always sunshine and lollipops, but we both love each other very much and we're very much committed to making our marriage work.
10. I don't fit into any of my size 8's anymore and some of my size 6s are too big.
11. I ate at a friend's house tonight, so we had good food that was neither overly fattening nor expensive.
12. All of the kids fell asleep on the way home, so no nagging over bedtime.
13. I've actually gotten to do some scrapbooking lately.
14. My parents come to visit on Saturday which means I will get to see an honest-to-goodness movie in a real theatre with no children present (Little Miss Sunshine, here I come).
15. I'm very happy to find that I could sit here and do this all evening. I'll spare you my huge list, but I just keep thinking up more things for which to be thankful.

I just realized

I entered my current weight (BELOW pre-pregnancy weight even though I've been eating out like crazy and I wasn't able to get to the gym for 3 days in a row) into my weight chart and found I've lost 16.2 pounds (I started losing some before I joined the gym). That's close to 20 lbs.

I'm stunned.

I'm stunned and THRILLED.

I still have about 20 lbs more to lose, but hey, that's 1/2 of what I had to lose just a few months ago.

Second chances are best served with Chinese and coffee.

That friend who added to my stress level called me last night to ask for my help. Her husband is leading the children's Rosh Hashanah service and they wanted my help planning it. We haven't spoken since the homeschool conversation, so I was a bit gunshy, but I wanted to help. So I agreed to get together.

Well, she took me out to lunch while her husband watched all the kids. We got good Chinese at a new place I've wanted to try. I got iced coffee (I live for iced coffee). She paid. When we got back to the house, she made me more iced coffee (which was AMAZING). We wound up staying there all day. There was much fun had by all. We left after 7 and at that point, all 3 kids fell asleep in the car on the way home. WOO HOO.

We may have a new kitten. This friend is cat-sitting an ADORABLE 7-week-old long-haired grey kitten for a friend. That friend is apparently allergic. She may be too allergic to keep the cat. If that's the case, the kitten is ours. She adores us. This cat attacks the other kids, but she loves my kids and she fawned all over me. Four times she fell asleep on my diaper bag. She curled up in my lap and fell asleep several times. The cat's owner really wants to keep her, but if she can't, we get yet another one.

Today was a pretty good day. The girls were very excited to get back to Sunday school. I got to hang out with friends all day. The kids stayed occupied all day. I got good Chinese and lots of coffee. Can't ask for much more than that.

Adventures in organized sports

Ours was a brief adventure. The girls went to 2 practices. They were the youngest ones on the team. They were completely clueless and just asking for a bonk on the head (they weren't paying attention AT ALL out there).

The cost is phenomenal and it's a bigger commitment then I realized. They would have to practice at least twice a week, sometimes 3, plus they'd have at least game a week in addition to practices. And every practice and game are planned either during The Boy's nap or after his bedtime. The two practices we went to were a hassle with him. I can't imagine doing that 3-4 times a week.

We're gonna plan on playing around with them to help them learn the basics (silly me sent my kids to practice thinking they'd learn the sport there. Instead, I find a bunch of 5 and 6-year-olds who are apparently training for the freaking Olympics. There's no time to actually teach two kids the game when everyone else on the team already excells at it). We'll try again next year.

The girls did say they had fun, though. I'm all about introducing them to new and diverse experiences, so hey, good for them.

A visit from the random bus (inspired by yesterday's post)

"If I'm not for myself, who will be for me? If I'm only for myself, what am I? If not now, if not now when?"--Hillel

Why I'm willing to put up with all this

Yeah, we've had issues fairly recently, but I'm reminded of one of the reasons I'm willing to schlep through PTSD again if need be.

The short anonymous version of the story is that someone did the right thing and is being harassed for it. My husband stood up for that person even though it was not easy for him to do so and it may cause him problems. He basically said that he knows he did the right thing and he doesn't care about the fall-out (although his version involved cursing).

And that is one of the reasons why I list dh among my heroes. Now it just has him listed with no explanation, but it actually used to also an explanation about how he's willing to stand up for what he believes is right even when it's not the popular opinion. And that's another reason I love him. He proved me right. :-)

If more men were like my dh, this world would be a hell of a lot better.

Just for the record, I must say, I ADORE MY HUSBAND.

Note to self

When dh is away, don’t watch the Primetime special about the babies born after Sept. 11th to fathers who died in the attacks.

Bad idea. Awful idea. Horrible tears streaming down the face trying not to make that really annoying cry squeak idea.

Those little faces that often look strikingly like the fathers they will never know just tear you apart. To hear these tiny voices speak about death and destruction is just awful. Sweet cheerful little voices sing, "A plane hit the building where my daddy worked and he died." At 4 years old, they know far too much about death, but at the same time, there's so very much they can't grasp. As parents, we try to protect our children from evil. These children will never know a world without evil because that's precisely what tore their families, their very identities apart.


Tomorrow marks the anniversary of the last time I peed on a stick and was disappointed before I got pregnant with the twins. We had been trying for a little while with no luck. Every month my cycle was a few days later. On September 8, my husband was in another state, I was alone, I was late, and I was so hopeful. I wound up horribly disappointed and bleeding (just an hour or so after a test had the nerve to only show me only one line).

I was still bleeding when the towers fell. Suddenly I was thrilled that I wasn't pregnant with all the uncertainty in the world. Only a few days later, though, I would find myself absolutely desperate to be pregnant. I didn't know where they would send my husband. I didn't know how long he'd be gone if he went. I didn't know if he'd come home. I didn't know if we'd have another chance.

I didn't know we'd get pregnant just about 3 weeks later. There was so much I didn't know. There was so much the entire world didn't know. And that scared the hell out of me.

My therapist broke up with me.

Lots of stuff has happened. I'll write more on it tomorrow, but for today, I wanted to recap my last therapist session. "Last," not only as in "previous," but also as in "final." She told me today she doesn't want to see me again. I don't need to. She says I'm more than fine. She actually said, "You're amazing."

Blink. Blink.

Um...what?

I got there a little late (more on that in another post) and of course, this is the one time she wasn't running late. We discussed some stuff from last time and some stuff that has happened with dh. She acknowledged that dh really is making an effort and she pointed out several times how much better things are. She reminded me of what I need to do. We talked a bit about other issues. She says they'll always be issues and they'll always affect me, but if I can recognize that and move on, I'll be fine. She pointed out that I've been doing exactly that on my own for years. I raised my issues with the kids. I'm not being the type of parent I want to be. I filled out a survey recently that asked if you'd make a good mother. My honest answer was that I'm not nearly as good as I thought I'd be. She really didn't give me too many tools to deal with that, but she reminded me that my kids are right on track and advanced developmentally (they came with me last week) and in a sense, she gave me permission to stand back when they need it and change plans when the need arises. She also pointed out some things she was impressed about that the kids did/didn't do.

At the end of the session (which ended early), she said I'm doing great. She said she definitely sees me going back to school in the future (I want my PhD) because I am so research-oriented. She said that serves me well. She said she definitely sees dh and me working through this, although she pointed out we may have more to deal with when he comes home. That's no surprise. I have 3 sessions left that my insurance will cover and she suggests saving them for sessions together once he comes home. I mentioned some of my volunteer work and she was impressed that I do a lot. All I kept thinking about that was, "My friends do three times what I do." She said I seem very competent and as though I can handle things that are thrown at me. Then she seriously said, "You're amazing." Woah! If I didn't have to pick my jaw up off the floor, I would have been happy dancing like crazy. It is, however, physically impossible to happy dance while your jaw is on the floor.

So today was a fabulous day. Lots more happened. Some of it is good, some really good, some scary. I'll write more later. But I'm very grateful for the propping up. I'm the type who didn't get much praise and still doesn't and so I'm thrilled to get it from everywhere and anywhere. Yes, I am a praise whore and I'm not afraid to admit it. :-)

Thank you, Sir, may I have another?

After I filed a police report about the stolen lawnmower, I called someone to jump-start dh's car (which has a dead battery). The rep from our insurance company was absolutely lovely (I highly recomend Geico. They've been fabulous). She got someone here within 10 minutes. He got the car started...and then the car died.

He suspects it's the alternator. He said it could be a bad battery, but he doubts it. I, however, don't. So when my parents come to visit next week, my dad's buying and installing a new battery for me. If that doesn't work, my insurance will pay to have it towed to a mechanic or I can just pay a friend's husband to work on the alternator.

Of course, that will be on top of having to pay for a new lawnmower.

Pardon me while I growl.

Give me my lawnmower back, bitch!

Someone stole the lawnmower.

Someone stole the NEW lawnmower.

Someone stole the new lawnmower out of our fenced in back yard.

Someone stole the new lawnmower that I needed to MOW THE FREAKING LAWN by myself since my husband is deployed right out from our back yard.

Someone needs to be beaten!

I’m sure whoever took it has one of those happy yellow ribbons on their car (or their parents’ car) too. SONOFABITCH! That is NOT how we support our troops. Stealing shit from their back yard is not supporting them. My husband joined the military because he believes in the ideals freedom and is willing to protect it. Some asshat abused that freedom by coming into our home and taking our property.

And so I repeat, SONOFABITCH!

(in my best Bob Barker voice) September, come on down

It's September. August is over. Another month gone. Another month closer to dh. I can live with that. According to my countdown on the bottom of this page, there are 83 days left until dh's expected homecoming. When I stop to think about it, that seems far too long. So I try not to stop and think about it.

There is, however, a faint glimmer of hope that he could be home as soon as early November (that countdown is set for November 25th with the fear that it would be more like early December). Please cross EVERYTHING and say any and every prayer you know that could help make that a reality.

When things are bad between us, I can't see how I can survive another week alone much less a few more months. When they're good, though, I still think it's lonely to be stuck here without dh, but it's bearable. Days are lighter. Time moves faster. Things have been pretty good lately (yesterday was a bad day, but we all have bad days. Plus it ended on a good note). So while I still hate it, I can deal with it.

Although, if there's anyone out there who happens to have that particular super power that makes time go by faster, I'd appreciate you kicking that into over-drive just until November. If you can do that, I will repay you--in chocolate.

Positive spins and secret crushes

Now for the more positive aspects of my life. I read an article yesterday about how you need to focus on the positive in order to lead a happier life and overcome your fears.

That article started with the story of a woman who is absolutely terrified to speak in public. Upon reading that, I thought to myself, "I must be pretty amazing in that regard." I'm an odd mix. "Secretly I'm timid." There are times I don't want to go into a different situation or meet new people. I have this intense desire to be outgoing, but often times I'm just too timid to do it. Although, when it comes to speaking in public, I'm in my element. When I was in school, I was always the one who volunteered to go first for oral reports. I would live on stage if I could. Sure I get nervous, but I'm very comfortable speaking in public and in all honesty, I do so love to be the center of attention. :-)

I know that comfort is rare. My father is the friendliest person I know. There are no strangers to him, only friends he has yet to meet. A walk around the block with him takes two hours because he must stop and talk to everyone along the way. Yet my father refused to give speeches at my wedding or any of my siblings'. My mother tried to force him to make a speech at my sweet 16 party (yes, I'm one of those people) and he absolutely could not do it. He got the microphone in his hand, he stuttered, he turned red, and he handed the microphone off saying he just couldn't do it.

So, hey, I think it's pretty cool that I can do that with ease and I think in turn, I'm pretty cool. :-)

Another thing the article focused on was positive spin. Instead of saying, "I can't do XYZ," point out what you can do.

I tried looking at my body in that regard. There are lots of things I still can't wear. I don't know if I'll ever get back into my size 2 jeans, but when dh left, I was in a 10. Now I'm in some 8s, but mainly 6s. Before you rant about how that's so tiny, please remember I'm very short and I'm still 20 lbs over where I should be. I don't want to be model-thin. I just want to be healthy and I'm not at a healthy weight yet.

Some parts of my body may still be way too big for my liking, but I discovered recently that all my working out has given me back my calves. I've always been immensely proud of my calves. I was a dancer and had the calves to prove it. I didn't realize I lost them until I saw a recent picture my sister took. And there, low and behold, were those calves I do so adore. They're back. Woo hoo! I realize that picture looks awkward. I was sitting down with one out and one bent. Plus all identifying features have been cropped out, so it looks particularly strange. Sorry about that. Ignore the oddity of it and just celebrate the calves. :-)

I just recently changed my routine around a little. So I'll wait and see if that makes a difference. Until then, I'll be happy that I can now do 40 minutes on the elliptical machines. I've been doing an hour of cardio (instead of the suggested half hour) for the past few weeks. I usually do most of it on the bike and some on the elliptical. I realized I burn nearly twice as many calories on the elliptical, though, so this week, I did 40 minutes on that a few times. My first day at the gym, I thought I was going to die after 3 minutes on that machine. I didn't set foot on it again for weeks after that. I can now up the incline all the way and turn the intensity all the way up for 40 minutes.

I'm trying to keep my attention on what I can do now. I'm trying to focus my energy on working to do more rather than wallowing in the negative.

Now pardon me while I take a break from that to make a confession. My name is Reiza-Mara and I have a crush. I've never been one to fall for celebrities. When all my friends were absolutely in love with Patrick Swayze during the days of Dirty Dancing, I very much was not. I was the ONLY female in my class (teachers included) who was not gushing over him. It's very rare when I "fall" for a celebrity. So this is a big deal.

I have two new secret crushes. One is Gideon Yago. That's not so new. I've always been impressed by his work, but I only recently learned that #1. He's Jewish and #2. He has done far more than I ever realized. He actually spoke here a few months ago, but I wasn't able to go since I had nowhere to leave the kids. Everything about him plus the new-found facial hair has turned him into prime crush material.

This next one really is a secret. I haven't told anyone about this at all. My other secret crush is Evangeline Lilly. Watching her on Ellen, I was impressed with how cute, sweet, and down to earth she seemed. Lost doesn't do her justice. Nor do any of those stock photos that try to paint her as this gorgeous sex-pot. I thought she was absolutely GORGEOUS during her interview with Ellen. No, I don't "walk that path," but I can appreciate a beautiful woman. And so, Evangeline Lilly is yet another of my (no longer) secret crushes.

"I can't stand myself. I can't stand my life. I can't stand in these six-inch heels anymore."

Title is from the Comeandgetit version of Liz Phair's Hurricane Cindy. That song (although not neccesarily that line, but I do so love that part) pretty much sums up my mood for yesterday.

I had another therapist appointment on Thursday. It left me with a bad taste in my mouth. Something came up Wednesday evening with dh and a woman with which he works. It really wasn't anything at all and I wrote to dh about it. He wrote back. I understood it. I wasn't bothered. I brought the situation up with the therapist just to see if she thought I handled it well. She said I did, but then she told me she was worried about the situation. Even when I wrote to dh, I was bothered by something he did/didn't do. I was never concerned about his relationship with this woman. I went to the appointment feeling pretty good. Things with dh have been SO much better lately. I left the appointment feeling pretty mixed up.

I went to the gym yesterday and I just wound up with too much time with my own thoughts. The t.v. there is always on and Evangeline Lilly was on an old episode of Ellen (more on that in another post). At first, I marvelled at how CUTE she is. She was far cuter there than she ever is on Lost.

Then it hit me--she's younger than I am. I'm not at all concerned about age. If anything, I wish I was older. One of my sisters cried when she turned 30. I can't even imagine that. Anyway, I sat there, pedaling my heart out on the bike looking at this gorgeous skinny woman. Why are there always mirrors everywhere at gyms? Mine is no different, so I saw the contrast between myself and this gorgeous woman on t.v. I plummeted head first into feeling sorry for myself.

From the title song:

Put it on the stereo and play
All my life I've wanted them to say
A few things about me
I feel beautiful today
Lovely, I feel beautiful

I just don't feel attractive. I'm not getting the feedback I hoped for. So I continued to wander through the abyss that is my mind. It lead me to MySpace. You see, a few months ago, I got a random message from some guy I don't know. He was from my area. I think he was about 22. This was the message, "It's too bad you're married because you're gorgeous." I kept it for a while, then I felt guilty, so I deleted it. I never had any plans of responding to him (WTF need do I have for a 22 year old boy?), but I've never heard anything like that before. In all honesty, I can count on one hand the number of times dh has complimented my appearance. I've never been called, "Gorgeous" before.

Of course, that comment was made about a picture of me back when I was a size 1 (yes, I seriously did fit into a 1 a few years back. Actually, I had a pair of size 0 jeans, but they were always a bit snug. And no, I was not sickly thin. Yes, this was after having twins. I was thinner AFTER having the twins than I ever was before). So as I worked out in front of yet another mirror; I was disgusted at myself for being this size, I was let down that dh doesn't usually say anything about my appearance and I was mad at the world because I bust my butt at the gym all the time and I'm not seeing the results I want.

Lots of other little things happened that just piled on top of my existing mood. I just was not a happy camper.

Then dh called last night. I felt MUCH better about the "situation" with that woman. That relieved a lot of the stress. Still dealing with the size/appearance issues, but I feel like I can be a lot more productive about it now. I'll post more about that later. And I think after that phone call, I now need two hands to count the number of times he has complimented my appearance. In all honesty, I would like more than that, but hey, it's more than I had yesterday and while "more" may not be "insane amounts of gushing praise," it's still more. I can deal with that.

"We can't have them up there gallavanting like kangaroos."

No real reason for the subject. It's a line from Mary Poppins. I just watched that with the girls tonight. We're having a slumber party of our own. We're sleeping on the playroom floor, eating popcorn, and watching movies.

Well, we were. One girl is asleep (she fell asleep in my arms. That's something she hasn't done in the longest time. It was very sweet). The other is doing everything in her power to avoid sleep.

When I hopped on after the movie to check my mail, I found a message from Blogger saying the problems should be fixed and I should now have access to my blog. Low and behold, I do.

WOO HOO.

Lots to say, but I want to get back to the kids (at least the one who's still awake). The briefest of brief versions is this: Started seeing a counselor. Got great feedback and lots of ideas from her. Have since spoken to dh. We've been talking and e-mailing. Things are much better. I had a difficult day, but it's a long story. So I'll leave you with the promise of more details later.

The gym is closed through Monday, so I should have plenty of time to catch you all up on my goings on.

Yay. It's good to be back (in more ways than one).