To My Husband on New Year's 2008

I always, in my mind, reflect on the previous year's experiences on New Year's Eve. And we sure have had some memories, haven't we? And as the struggles come our way time and time again, and others ponder why I manage to stick it out, I cannot seem to put it into words.
But tonight is the night I live for. The chance for us to have a fresh start, remembering the lessons that we have learned as the old year unfolded before our eyes.
This year is difficult. It is hard to say if it is more difficult than it has been on previous New Years. I have no idea how 2008 will unfold. I do not know if you will be permitted to reenlist. I do not know if and when the day will come when we will have to say goodbye temporarily as you place yourself in harm's way. I cannot say with certainty that you will be here on the earth next year. But I can hope, and I can certainly pray.
I do not remember the exact point in time that your eyes began to crinkle when you smile. I wish I did. That I had memeorized every single moment in this life we have been blessed with together. I just know that as each year passes, we grow and change just a little.Sometimes, when time changes people, they find they are no longer compatible with each other. They look at each other and say "You have become someone I do not know." I will never say that to you. I can honestly say that I love you now as the time weathers you, even more than I did on the day we married.
I hope that 2008 will keep you safe. That wherever you may be throughout the year, whether it be home with me, or on sands of Iraq, that you know just how loved you are. That no matter what changes continue to come our way, this will never change. I will be here, by your side, even if it is miles away, full of blind faith in the man I have decided to spend my life with. While you have the power to disappoint me like no other, know that this is simply because I hold you with such high regard. That whether you are working in a factory somewhere or whether you are off defending all we Americans hold dear, you always have and always will be my hero. That you complete me in a way I will never be able to complete on my own.
I love you, John. Maybe, just maybe, this year will bring more smiles than hardship. That is all we can hope for, after all.

The Lament of the New Year's Baby

I honestly do not know what it is about New Year's that gets me in this mood every year. I get weepy and emotional. At the stroke of midnight with each new year, I cry. When I hear Auld Lang Syne, I cry. I have theories as to why this happens, but no definite answers.
I can think of only one person who may read this who actually remembers my mother. All of the others have no idea what they are missing out on. And I don't know how many realize that I am a New Year's Baby,but I am. So on New Year's Eve, each and every year, I miss Mom. Every year, I would get birthday gifts held over from Christmas, and they would come wrapped in Christmas paper. Not a big deal as an adult, but as a kid, this took my big day and lumped it with Christmas, as if my birthday, aside from being a national holiday, were not special at all. I could never have a birthday party, as all of my little friends were at sitters' houses while their parents got drunk. And on New Year's Day, which is actually my birthday, everyone was hung over. But there was one who never forgot. Who would wrap my gifts in the brightest birthday paper she could find, complete with big pink bows. And my sisters never knew, but I got two cakes each year. At the strike of midnight, as we were sitting in pajamas watching Dick Clark, as everyone on Times Square was kissing and singing Auld Lang Syne, Mom would be belting out "Happy Birthday" as the flames on the candles flickered. And we would eat the cake and ice cream while I opened the heap of gifts from my parents. The next day, I would sleep in from my late night, and wake up to a get-together with all of my grown-up siblings, complete with the second cake.
I haven't celebrated my birthday in God-Knows-when. It is just another day, which happens to fall on a holiday that everyone celebrates. This doesn't bother me in the slightest bit, because the biggest, most lavish fete could not hold a candle to the late-night private parties between mother and daughter, as we celebrated the time she brought me into the world. As a mother, I see the appropriateness of that. It truly was our moment.
So this year, like always, I will stay home and watch Dick Clark in my pajamas. As they count down, I will start to get misty-eyed. I will remember all of the events of the past year like a kaleidoscope of images, some of them completely life-altering, and I will secretly make a little birthday wish that all will be better for us in the next year. And as the Ball touches down, and John says "Happy Birthday" instead of the normal "Happy New Year", the tears will be flowing and I will be thinking of the woman who brought me into this world, and the vast and unfillable void she left in my life the day she died.

You'll Shoot Yer Eye Out, Kid!

My in-laws are country people. There has been a sort of constant ribbing since they met me, about how I am a city girl. To get a rise out of me, my sister-in-law's husband (does this make him my brother in law, or is that only if he were married to my sister or my was husband's brother?) has always told me he is going to buy the Kid a gun as soon as he was big enough to hold one in his own little hands. You must understand something here. I do not hunt. I do not know anyone who has hunted anything in my life, unless it is a rare designer garment or something of the sort. That is not us. Subsequently, I will not touch meat from any wild animal. I prefer to purchase such items from a grocery store where I know they have cleanliness standards. I know, I know...I'm strange! Yeah, I get it! But that is just me. Anyhow, here I am married into a family where even the female members of the family hunt. The very first Christmas I spent with them, my sister-and-law recieved a pair of camo waders. I kid you not!
I guess I always assumed that the gun issue was a joke. It was not. Here we all are on Christmas Day. The Kid has a heap of presents in front of him that renders him unable to see over them. He is feverishly tearing the wrapping paper from the packages. Then he gets to this long, slender box. He just barely tears a teensy corner of the paper before we hear "Wait! Wait! Stop!" It would have seemed that this gift required a soothing introduction. Oh No!
"Now Andrea, Evan is getting older." Uh-Huh. "It is time for him to have some big-boy toys." Ummmm, okay, sure. "Anything , really, can be dangerous if not used properly." Oh crap. "The trick is to be careful about how you handle it, and to train him to be safe." As in looking both ways before crossing the street???
The sound of wrapping paper tearing follows, then the sound of little Evan doing the quick intake of breath in excitement. Oh. Oh Shit. It is a BB GUN. I ask them if this is a toy, to which they reply that it is not. I give John the Look, but it is obvious that he is more eager to get outside with it than The Kid is. I am outnumbered. I reluctantly agree.
I could not help but think of A Christmas Story, where Ralphie wants a Red Ryder BB gun for Christmas, and everyone tells him the same line. Only I do not picture Evan's glasses flying off and getting stepped on (is this because Evan does not wear glasses?), but instead picture, oh I don't know...maybe his spleen full of BB's as we rush him to the hospital. I am not thrilled with the present. No, I just plain do not like it at all. I am worried about my baby. But I am worried that I am more worried about the fact that my baby really is old enough for this, and that somehow I missed it. The men in the house were talking about it. They looked at John's dad and asked him what kind he got. It was like a milestone or Rite of Passage they had all gone through at one point. I just wanted to scream, as I do now, that they are mistaken. Just a few months ago, he was colicky and I was pacing the floor with him in my arms throughout the night. He got his first tooth and said his first word. I cried along with him when he got his immunizations. Just yesterday he took his first step. This is not possible. All of his toys are supposed to come complete with a Fisher Price logo. The little boy that walks up to me with outstretched arms saying "Mommy, dance with me" in the middle of the kitchen after school is simply not old enough to play with BB guns. But I bet when John's mom looks at him, she doesn't think her baby is old enough to play with M-16's. I guess they never truly grow up in our eyes.

Yes, I Do Indeed Suck!

Time has this way of getting away from you, doesn't it? I have so much to write about that it is pathetic. I could not possibly keep it all in one little post, so I guess I will have to break it up by topic. Hopefully after a few days back, I will have covered everything.

My Holiday Season

In case you need to know where I will be:

• December 17th: Work/ Pack
• December 18th: Pack
• December 19th: Pack/ On-Call 7pm-7am
• December 20th: Move/ On-Call 7pm-7am
• December 21st: Work 7pm-7am
• December 22nd: Work 7pm-7am
• December 23rd: Work 7pm-7am
• December 24th: Work 3pm-11pm, Our Wedding Anniversary
• December 25th: Travel to Kentucky, Christmas with In-laws
• December 26th: Return trip from Kentucky, On-Call 7pm-7am
• December 27th: Off, Nothing planned
• December 28th: Work 7pm-7am
• December 29th: Work 7 pm-7 am
• December 30th: Work 7 pm-7am
• December 31st: New Year's Eve
• January 1st: New Year's Day/ My Birthday

Old, Old, Old Picture!

John's boot camp picture. Haha! I know it looks like "Bert joins the Marine Corps", but this is my baby. Trust me, the unibrow is gone! Funny thing is, he looks like this again, without the unibrow and with broader shoulders added!

Hey, It's the Kid!

Sure, he looks innocent. I can assure you he is not!

Too close, but look at those brown eyes! He uses them to his advantage like some sort of tool when he is introuble!

No, No he was not singing the National Anthem. He was playing in the backyard, and I tried to quickly snap a picture. When I wanted a little boy, this is what I wanted. Rough and Tumble. Little jerseys and Nikes. Football. This is my baby.

This had to be the easiest costume I have ever made! I think it took about twenty minutes. He ended up winning concert tickets for this one.

Kindergarten, 2008. I burned my hand trying to iron this tiny shirt, and he ended up doing God-knows-what in it, and so it ended up wrinked again! Kids!

Randomness= The State of Being Random

Warning: Long, boring post of miscellaneous crap!

We started the process of searching for an apartment several days ago. I was very upset by the entire process. Every apartment in a 50 mile radius around our house is based on income. So I would call these places, only to be laughed at because my income is too great. So what do people do? I would think that substantial income would be desirable in a prospective tenant.

So when all was said and done, the last place I called had no income guidelines. We ended up securing a 3 bedroom townhouse right down the street from where I work at the hospital.

The moving process is going to be high on the suckage scale. With the exception of two days, and of Christmas Day, I have no days completely off. Christmas Day will be spent with John's family in Kentucky, so that is out the window. Some of those nights, I am only on call. However, when I am on call, I am pretty much grounded to my house. The wrath of my boss would be upon me if I was needed and could not be reached.

So here I am, completely devoid of time, and have to pretty much just open up the front door of the new place and fling the boxes into the house. But the clencher is that we have had ice and snow, rain and sleet all weekend. Right now it is fifteen degrees out there, so there is no hope of anything thawing in the near future. I am going to have to move in ice skates, which is not cute. I am certainly not graceful enough for this.

All of this stuff that has been going on has kept me from the pool. And with my work schedule the way it is over the next couple of weeks, I do not foresee it getting any easier to make time in the water a part of my daily routine. I am debating on whether I should suspend swimming until after the New Year. After all, there is a lot going on, with John's struggle with reenlistment reaching a conclusion soon, the moving, the weather, my schedule. I am afraid that I am using all of this as an excuse.

Something With Sprinkles On It

First of all, this picture is not mine. I found it online with the caption "The worst birthday cake ever", but it seemed appropriate for this post, and made me laugh.
I have been off of work for nearly two weeks, barring the 3 hours I was required to go in to the hospital to recertify my basic life support. I have worked the past two nights. Nothing extreme--just my run-of-the-mill twelve hour shifts. But for some reason my poor feet are screaming. I am exhausted and stressed. I had a patient that was circling the drain all night last night. I came home this morning and went straight to bed as-is. Translation: I took off my coat at the door, kicked off my cute pink Crocs, and landed in the bed. I was still wearing my scrubs, my badge, and even still had my stethoscope around my neck, until I turned over in the bed and felt it tugging on me. I slept for the normal few hours, then woke up and transferred to the sofa. The house is a wreck and the Kid is running rampant, telling me he is hungry. The lunch provided by his father, while more than adequate, was not what he had in mind.
So here I am, wanting nothing more than an hour of peace. I want this hour so badly that I would willingly exchange my arsenal of expensive designer handbags for said hour. Instead, the kid is dancing around me in circles, chanting that he is hungry and he wants something "with sprinkles on it". I stagger to the kitchen and think for a moment, then brandish a Little Debbie cake. It is sweet and chocolate, and has the requisite sprinkles. This does not apease the Kid. He goes on to inform me that he wants the sprinkles that are in the cabinet. He is referring to the supplies I bought to make a chocolate cake while at the grocery store a few days ago. He wants me to bake a #$%^&* cake. He wants me to do this NOW.
The man has forbidden the baking of something with sprinkles on it, telling the Kid that Mommy is tired, that she has spent at least the past 48 hours taking care of cranky sick people, that she needs to relax and therefore is not going to bake a cake for him.
I tried to reason with the Kid, telling him that I will bake the cake while he is at school tomorrow afternoon, after I have recovered from another twelve hours. This is not acceptable to the Kid. He wants the cake now, and I am in Hell because I will not give in.
Why am I writing this? This is the standard struggle of the working mother. My poor child is deprived of a cake becasue I have a career. Nevermind that, without said career, there would be no money to purchase the ingredients for the now-infamous cake. This makes me wonder how other mothers do it. I think it is because for three days a week, I am out of comission for my family. During those three days, it does not matter if laundry is piled to the ceiling. I cannot do anything about it. The trade-off is that they have me for the other 4.5 days of the week. Undivided attention. Most mothers work a set shift 5 days a week, get to spend a few hours with their children daily, then have the weekend to do whatever they want. Instead, my family gets most of me. So why in the world could the Kid not want something with sprinkles between Monday and Friday???

The Home Stretch

It has been months. The topic has dropped from conversation in the home. What about the Marine Corps? John has just a few more pounds to lose before he reaches the goal weight the recruiters have set for him. He has worked so diligently. If it were not for the awesome fried chicken available across the street from our home, he would probably already be there. In the meantime, the paperwork has been completed and is ready to be sent off. The PFT has been done. So he has just these few pounds and a visit to MEPS standing in his way.
I am nervous still. I do not know if I will be able to adapt to the life of a military spouse. I hope that I am strong enough. I just know that I am so proud of this man of mine. He looks great. He is more confident. He has reverted back to the John I married many years ago. For this, all I can say is God Bless the United States Marine Corps!

See Ya January 7th, LSU!

Okay, it is now official and my boys will be playing LSU on January 7th. I cannot wait. For tomorrow's to do list, I have to remember to buy a stuffed tiger and rope for a noose. Time to get in the spirit of things. I really hope that they learned their lesson last year against Florida, and this will not result in a repeat of history. We need this. Game On!

The Title Shot

I realize i should have named this The Ohio State Chronicles, as that has been the subject of most of my blogging. But I cannot help it. This is my life okay? I'm a Buckeye. Football season has served as a healthy distraction to the crap storm that is my life at times. And my boys just made it to the Dance, so to speak!

Things Were Not as I Thought....

I did as was planned. I went to the pool, and I swam. Let me tell you, it was sad! I cannot swim nearly what I used to be capable of swimming. I won't go into details in order to avoid public humiliation. But I will say that my endurance doubled the very next day. Maybe it will triple today, but who knows? Why must we get fat and old? Not fair!

Happy Thanksgiving!

I doubt I will be posting anything for a few days, so Happy Thanksgiving to everyone! The plan looks like this: tomorrow run errands in the morning, then pick Evan up from school, and head to Kentucky for the holiday. I will be back this Friday, as I have to work this weekend. No rest for the wicked!

For Me....

This is for me, and only me! It takes some convincing, though, and I don't think that should be the case at all. When John started this whole endeavor of reenlisting, we already had gym memberships. The problem was that the gym we were using had Nautilus equipment and nothing more. So while we are still paying for that membership, we found it justifiable to join our local YMCA. This way, we have access to all of the features that were offered at the old gym, but we can also add to the equation access to indoor and outdoor tracks for running, classes galore (aerobics, swimming, karate for the Kid, etc.). But the thing that got me the most excited was that there is this enormous heated indoor pool for my use! Why would a pool excite me? Requires some background info.

I was never athletic. I was always the nerd that did well in school. My junior year of high school, a friend persuaded me to join the swim team, and so I did. I have always loved the water. I kept it up the rest of my high school career. I was by no means going to win an olympic event, but I could do it. And it did things for me that I cannot easily explain. I felt better about myself. While I will always be on the larger end of the spectrum, everything was toned and taut. The smell of chlorine reminds me of that to this day!

So here I have access to these resources and have not used them once! My son has. My husband certainly has. But I have not. And I have this need to do something for myself for once, which is mingling with the fact that I am not happy with the way I look after seven years of marriage and motherhood. So this is a way of taking care of myself.

The first thing I have to do is locate a competition suit for fatties. If you have not had the joys of wearing any type of performance swimwear, then I need to elaborate. They are designed for comfort during workouts. Racer backs to keep the fabric off of your shoulders, preventing friction. High cut leg openings for the same purpose. And tight...very tight to make you all sleek and streamlined in the water. In other words, they hide NOTHING. I am not relishing this task. And for this purpose, they don't tend to make them for fatties. Swimmers are not usually fat, for one thing. But this swimmer is. I have located said suit. Plain black---yay! Black at least is slimming a little bit, though I doubt it will make a difference. It is on hold for me to pick up during my run-of-the-mill housewife errends tomorrow. If I add a cap and goggles to the equation I am set!

The problem is that I feel guilty. It is as if my doing this for myself will somehow subtract from how much is available to my overindulged child and spoiled husband. Heaven forbid I spend seventy bucks and a couple of hours a day on myself. Please don't be mistaken. John is all for it. He knows I need and want to do this. And as it is right now, we are mismatched. He is cute and fit now, and I am....well, NOT. So here I go. Maybe by the end of his first deployment, I will be as fit as I used to be.

Oh My God, Really????

Theiving Monkeys Out of Control? Breaking into homes and stealing soft drinks? Maybe they are thirsty! Sorry, folks, I know there are people getting hurt. But monkeys? Really?

http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20071117/wl_asia_afp/indiawildlifeanimalmonkeysoffbeat;_ylt=Al7FBoXi.bYaDXj2v881ij_9xg8F

Once Again......

My Buckeyes. Big Ten Champs again. Fourth straight victory in the saga that is Ohio State vs. Michigan.

But this year, I am sad. We were robbed of the championship when we lost last week, and it sucks. I still don't understand why we are being denied a chance at the title. Look at all of the other teams that have fallen. Why is LSU number one? Why is their one loss any less significant than ours? Because they are in the SEC? Who cares? That is just geography.

But regardless, I am a Buckeye. And there are now 365 days until we will see you again, Michigan! As for the rest? Meet ya in Pasadena!

Not Cool....

University of Michigan "The Victors"


Now for a cheer they are here, triumphant!
Here they come with banners flying,
In stalwart step they're nighing,
With shouts of vict'ry crying,
We hurrah, hurrah, we greet you now,
Hail! Far we their praises sing
For the glory and fame they've brought us
Loud let the bells them ring
For here they come with banners flying
Far we their praises tell
For the glory and fame they've brought us
Loud let the bells them ring
For here they come with banners flying
Here they come, Hurrah!
Hail! to the victors valiant
Hail! to the conqu'ring heroes
Hail! Hail! to Michigan The leaders and best!
Hail! to the victors valiant
Hail! to the conqu'ring heroes
Hail! Hail! to Michigan, The champions of the West!
We cheer them again
We cheer and cheer again
For Michigan, we cheer for Michigan
We cheer with might and main
We cheer, cheer, cheer
With might and main we cheer!
Hail! to the victors valiant
Hail! to the conqu'ring heroes
Hail! Hail! to Michigan, The champions of the West!

Okay. If OSU loses on Saturday, I have to dress up as a Michigan fan and sing this song on video as a payoff to a bet I made. Do you know about this rivalry? That it has been around for a century? I am from OHIO. I am a BUCKEYE. Read these words. I cannot bring myself to sing these lyrics. I will cry and be disowned by my people!

Domestic Hell

Picture this...You have a very stressful career where very ill people rely on you. You have a child who you swear is a male version of Veruca Salt of "Willy Wonka" fame. You have a husband you have to keep motivated on a daily basis, and just about every responsibility in the home rests on your shoulders. Do you have the mental image? Good!

Now picture this...Keeping in mind the above-mentioned lifestyle, you find yourself home alone. The male Veruca is safely in the hands of a competent child care service. The man has been successfully motivated for the day and has left for the gym. The largest of the day's tasks have been completed and checked off of the to-do list. So here is my question: What would you do???

I have candles lit, and thus the house smells like a freaking apple orchard. Other than the hum of laundry equipment, the house is silent. I have just started reading a great novel which I would love to pick up right now. I need to blog. So where is the problem?

The problem is that house is so messy that a stranger could possibly mistake it for an abandoned crackhouse! There are dishes piled on the counter, and a dishwasher full of clean dishes that are begging to be put in their place. My kid's playroom resembles a city dump. I have been off since Monday morning, so why is it like this? Better yet, my husband's only responsibility in life is to PT twice a day, period. Why hasn't he done this? The first question, I can answer by explaining that laundry has consumed my days and nights for three days. Yes, there was that much of it! about 15 loads! Now I have about 24 hours before my work week starts again (less if you figure that I must sleep at some point) and I am going to have to scramble and slave if I want to have a reasonably habitable home by the weekend. You see, I have taken a much-needed and well-deserved DAY OFF this Saturday for the big game. I refuse to be thinking about dirty dishes or laundry while I watch said game, or my neurotic self will be thinking about those things instead of how badly OSU is beating Michigan.

All of this has caused the gears in my brain to rotate clockwise or counterclockwise. I don't know which, as one should never have to figure how the cogs in my brain operate! And part of me, albeit teensy-tiny, makes me believe that I can lick the role of Military Spouse quite well. The only responsibilty the Man fulfills is of the seasonal variety, for which I can pay a neighborhood kid twenty bucks to perform---lawnwork for the chick who is allergic to grass and trees and anything that is green. As it is right now, I thrive on the moments when the Man and Kid are out of the house and I don't have to vacuum circles around them. It is hard to get the dust and lint off of sofa cushions and fluff said cushions when there is a 180-pound man laying on them. It is very difficult to get laundry finished when said Man returns from the gym, leaving a small heap of sweaty gym clothes and a wet towel on the floor next to an empty hamper. ( If you are a Man or know a Man, I do not have to explain this---it is beyond the capabilities of a Man to actually aim for the hamper!)

I know that it is inevitible that I will revisit this post months from now, when Man is likely to be deployed. And I will weep because he is nowhere to be found. I will miss the heap of sweaty clothes on the floor by the hamper or the imprint of his rearend on the sofa where he always sits. I will lament over my ability to watch a chick flick without a pop-up reminder flashing on the screen for some random Man entertainment like wrestling or Jerry Springer.

But as for me, right now, I am in my own little domestic Hell. So while Man is gone and Kid is gone, I will blare my chick music (of which I am not permitted to listen while Man or Kid is present) and I will clean their home. Then this weekend I will watch as my football team beats Man's football team to a pulp in a home that smells of Pine Sol and carpet freshener!

Should require no explanation.

Idiots are Everywhere!

Have I ever mentioned how appalled I am by stupidity? Tonight, John and I were watchibng some documentary on the War, and my heart was breaking for these guys who were telling their stories about how they were treated like heroes for their service, when inside they felt like monsters. I am worried about John going off to war, and that fear is based on the physical danger he will face. But underneath that fear is the fear that my husband will come back as somebody different, that he will be in emotional pieces that may not fit together so well after all is said and done.

So anyhow... We are watching this show, and these guys are telling these heart-wrenching accounts of what happened and the horrors of war, then they cut to this dumb kid who told about how he was promised that, if he joined the National Guard, he would stay stateside. Excuse me? Huh? We are at WAR, son! Do these people not realize that a recruiter's prime job is to sign up fresh meat? Did he not realize that he was signing up for the ARMY National Guard? Anyone with any lick of sense would see through the promise. Was it in a contract? I bet not.

Then there was this chick, crying about how she signed up for college monies. She never dreamed she would be sent to war. Heaven forbid she had to actually EARN the money for college. Did she really believe that she would be handed an education for nothing in return? Did her mother, unlike my mother, not teach her that nothing in life is free? That you don't get something for nothing? She was probably better suited to a scholarship program or federal student aid. After all, if you want college money, they will give you that, and you do not have to ship off or withstand gunfire to do it.

Then, there was this overall feeling of disdain for the military, about how they train "killers". They focused a lot on Marine Corps boot camp. Cut to a young recruit taking a bayonet to a dummy, chanting "KILL!" with each jab. How violent! How brutal! The veterans were talking about how they were trained to kill, to stare the enemy down and simply react, like a machine. They were complaining, and the whole time, I was thinking "Do you not realize that the training you received is probably why you are able to complain about it to a camera?" You signed up for the ARMED Forces of the U.S. Did you think you were going to go over there and hand out pamphlets? One has to wonder what the hell these kids were thinking they were getting into. When, not if, my husband goes over there, I actually want him to be a "killing machine", as they put it. This means he is likely to come back intact, physically and emotionally. He will be better able to do the job asked of him. And yes, it sucks that women and children get caught in the crossfire. They were telling about how a woman was approaching a humvee, and they had weapons drawn, telling her to stop, and waving emphatically. She didn't stop, and they had to shoot her. Afterwards, on her person, they found a white flag. Sad, but sorry to say, she was stupid. These men are in a place where the people who are the biggest threat blend in with the civilians. They could have a bomb rigged to themselves and all they have to do to take out many of our men is get near enough that the detonation of whatever they have on them will hit these guys. So if you are trying to surrender, and they have their weapons drawn and are telling you to stop, wouldn't you stop? Wouldn't you ensure that they knew you had no malicious intent? Dumb.....dumb, dumb, dumb. Now our men are in pieces because they had to take the moron out.

I am a normal and sane person, and I hate to see any innocent person hurt. But I do not expect our men to put themselves in danger because of someone's gender or age. Does anyone really believe that, should these people come over and start something on our homeland, that they would have any regard to whether I was a civilian or female? Hell no they wouldn't! And our guys are in a place where an empty Coke can on the side of the road in a ditch may be a bomb! Where the enemy may be driving alongside them in a car rigged to explode and kill them. There was a clip on You Tube showing our guys driving through Iraq in a humvee and they were in traffic. Instead of sitting in traffic, they nudged the bumper of each car that was in front of them, so the car would move and let them pass. The users were making comments about how asshole-ish this was, that it is no wonder that Americans are hated. My response to that is that I hope to hell they would NOT sit in traffic and wait for the asshole next to them to explode himself in his car. These hippie tree-hugging morons want the guys to be sitting ducks, awaiting their deaths.

So anyhow, I got pissed off in a serious way, as you can tell. I don't really get into the politics of any of it. All I need to know is that my people are over there, in harms way, and I am the girl who roots for the home team, so to speak. If the powers that be say to come home, they will, and if they say send more in, they will. The way I see it, my job, as an American is to say I do not care, but that I am in support of my brothers and sisters. But I do believe that all of this crap is putting even more spin on an issue that is already about to spiral out of control. And before people let themselves be influenced by the things being said, like how these kids were fooled, they need to stop and think about it. I am sure there are some legitimate complaints about this war and the treatment of our men and women that are returning from combat, but these idiotic non-issues are not them.

Sorry to be MIA for Awhile

Nothing is really going on here other than the monotonous drone of recruiters' mouths. A while back, we discovered that John will need a waiver to get back in. WAIVER...as in the potential deal-breaker variety. He has continued to lose weight and get into shape to the point that the I need to post an after picture to the after picture I posted before. Haha!

So anyhow, we never expected it to be this difficult for a Marine with an impeccable service record to get back into the military. We have had correspondence with US senators, congressman, and even our state's governor. Blah! I am tired of dealing with the military, and I am not even the one reenlisting.

In the meantime, I am getting more and more frightened by the minute. Just about the time they will tell John he is good to go, even more hell is going to unleash in the Middle East. It's bad enough with Iraq and Afghenistan. What in the blue hell is going on with Pakistan and Iran and Turkey??? I am still waiting for this to be renamed World War III. As my good friend Tony pointed out, there are already more nations involved in this than were involved in WWII. I was freaking out about the reenlistment issue when it was just Iraq and Afghanistan. Now I just wanna smack John on the back of the head and ask what he was even thinking!

Other than that, work is blah, my kid is still rotten to the core, and life is mundane. I will have more to report later, as John is meeting with a A Few Good Men today in Louisville, Kentucky to run through a PFT and figure out where we need to go from here.

Our Heroes

You see everyone in this area knows about Eddie. He's a local kid. Wanted to be a Marine just about all of his life. Eddie went to Ramadi. He was just 21 years old, right between my two boys. He was on a rooftop when a bullet ripped through the frontal lobe of his brain and another through his chin. He was a sniper target in Ramadi. He's one of our own here.Some kids would have just let go and died. Eddie didn't. He's a fighter and always has been. For a very long time now, Eddie has been fighting all of the way. Everyone had pretty much given him up for dead, but he hung on. He has to struggle to talk. He has to struggle to walk , but he is doing it!Eddie could use some help along the way. He's getting the therapy he needs. Hospitals and Recouperation centers get lonely though, even with Mom there 24 hours a day. His sister comes as well and Dad is now coming right after work every day.... it's about a 2 to 2 and 1/2 hour drive depending on traffic, each way. The thing is, Eddie loves to hear from people. He loves to see pictures drawn by kids. Eddie loves to connect with people in this way.If you could send Eddie a card, a drawing by a child, a note, I'm sure he'd appreciate it! He loves getting mail!!!You can mail Eddi at this address:SGT. Eddie Ryan4A Room 12Helen Hayes Hospital Route 9WWest Haverstraw, NY10993If you'd like to go find out more about Eddie, please go to http://www.recordonline.com/God bless!A Mom in America



Found this on another website! Please take the time to write this brave Marine! The sad thing is, he is not the only one who has been struggling. They come from all of the branches, all walks of life. For those of us who sit at home in our cushy little worlds, the least we can do is tell them "Thank You", that we are thinking of them.
On that note: Hey Mark! Thank You, man! In all of the time when I was a teenager and you showed how talented you were at making my face turn ten shades of red, I never realized that I was dealing with a Hero! Charlotte, if you are reading this, send me his addy!

Hahahahaha!

Family Guy Army vs Marines

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Okay, the last part of this is wrong on so many levels, but I love the mother's comment!

The Conversation

On My Watch Tonight

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Finally, a real conversation regarding this decision John is making. It went like this:

"John, you have to promise me that nothing is going to happen to you over there. my life cannot take any more tragedy. I will end up in a mental institution."

"Then maybe I shouldn't go, because you know I cannot make that promise if I go off to war."

"But you don't understand what I am saying to you. You need to do this for YOU, not me or Evan. We are tough and resilient. I don't want you to do it for us, for the same reason I don't want you to NOT do it because of us. This is about you, and whatever you do, I will support 100%. I just need to know what you want so I know. What do you want?"

"Oooorah."

Just like that. Total absence of doubt. Fire in his eyes. He knows.

Back Home?

I attempted to blog about this on two separate occasions yesterday, and everytime I did, I stopped myself. John has gotten tired of the way that Navy recruiters have "handled" his reenlistment. So he has gone back to the Corps. It started as a few harmless calls and emails. It has ended up with his reenlistment to a reserve unit that will be deploying to Iraq in March of 2008. He will serve in a reserve unit for 1 year before being transferred to Active Duty, but most of that year he will be activated anyhow, due to the deployment.

I am so scared. I don't know why it makes such a difference that he will be a Marine instead of a Corpsman. I think it stems from the fact that Corpsmen are "non-combatant" whereas Marines are about as combatant as they come. Aside from that, as a Corpsman, it would have taken about a year for his training. Now I have about 5 and a half months now before he goes off to war. We were told that, should he join another unit that is not being deployed for a while longer, they will probably activate him and send him with a different unit, so there is no avoiding it. I have to let him go. My only other option is to throw a complete fit about the entire thing, and try to get him to not reenlist. I wouldn't do that though. After all, he belonged to the Corps long before he belonged to me.

For Sailors, Marines, Soldiers, Airmen....

My husband and I are in a phase where affected individuals need to be informed of his intentions. Family members, coworkers, and friends. I can wrap up most of the response with this: “Is he CRAZY?” One woman from my work even had some slight leakage from the orbitals when she heard the news. The more I ponder the reactions, the more I question the decision myself.

I was raised in an environment where military service was to be revered. My father served in the Army. Two brothers followed suit. As a matter of fact, one of my favorite childhood photos of myself was taken at my older brother’s boot camp graduation festivities. I am very small, about three years old, and I am sitting on his “rack”, wearing his “cover”. This is the same older brother who used his first paycheck after boot camp to purchase my very first bicycle, and subsequently hauled the purchase home from Fort Knox tied to the roof of a Ford Pinto. At that time in my history, a military career was a remarkable thing, something of which to be proud. A veteran of the United States Armed Forces was a precious thing, in demand of respect.

Fast forward many years later, and I find myself married to a veteran of the United States Marine Corps. While I will not even begin to speculate on the feelings of being a veteran, I can say emphatically, that the entire issue took on a different meaning for me. I am in awe of the uniforms hanging in my bedroom closet. I can run my hands over the fabric of the blood stripes that adorn the trousers and know that he earned those. I see the ribbons pinned on the chest and feel a swell of pride in my heart that this is my husband, my son’s father. To me, this is the fabric of our great nation.

As people make comments about the decision my husband has made to re-enlist, I wonder why that awe is not present in them. I could extrapolate an enormous political conclusion about this. I am trying to refrain from that. And at first, I felt like I had to justify the decision to others. Now, as the next leg of John’s military career looms larger and larger in the future, I have gotten past that point. Instead, I hold my head high, with my chin forward and my shoulders back.
My husband, like all of you or your loved ones, was and still is brave enough to raise his hand and say, without hesitation, that he will fight for his country and her interests. He would willingly lay down his life if need be. For those who feel free to question the presence of sanity in the process of making this decision, his willingness (and yours) translates to the fact that they do not have to. They can sleep in a cozy and comfortable bed at night, with their loved ones a fingertip’s-reach away, safe from the world of which my family is on the brink of entering. The world my husband has already called his own once before. The world in which you live everyday.

I would love to conclude with a poetic and eloquent statement regarding the pride I feel in each of you, as a fellow American. I would love to express my gratitude satisfactorily. For the first time in my life, words fail me. For me, all of you are the United States. And should you ever be in the position we currently are, and others respond to your career choices with “Are you crazy?”, I would love for your response to be, “I may be a little crazy, but because I am, you don’t have to be.”

Quit Yer Whinin'!

I am sick, sick, sick and tired, tired, tired, tired of the crap! BCS standings are to be released on Monday, and being that my Buckeyes have yet to fall, the consensus is that they will be ranked number one again this year. Numeral Uno. But what does everyone have to say about this? "They haven't played a real schedule yet!" or "They would never make it in the SEC."

Whatever! When Ohio State lost the Big Game at the end of the 2006 season, I cried a little. No, let me correct myself: I wept. They played like sheer crap, so the loss would have been easier to handle had they brought their A Game. They did not, and thus Florida deserved to win. I did not start spewing garbage about how the matchup was unfair or give excuses for why my boys lost.

Now, in the tumultuous world of college football, with all of the top teams toppling, I am hearing an overabundance of this garbage from others. "They were at their weakest point." Blah, blah, blah. Your team lost, People! Get over it. Ohio State has been the most consistent team out there so far this year. No they have not completed their Big 10 games. I guess that makes them inadequate. How dare them to not have control over the way the season schedule falls! They must be inferior because they have to wait for the conference games.

Just wait! The Big 10 games are coming up. My Buckeyes are primed and ready, pumped by a thus far undefeated season. Ready to go! Get over yourselves and your team's inadequacy. Stop the whining. This is football, for crying out loud. Let the chips fall, then we will talk.

Attention, Please!

So my kid is in karate, right? We gave him a choice of activities, and this was his choice. We as parents thought "Sure, why not?" It will teach him discipline. So the process started.

The first week of class, a parent had to be present throughout the class. John wanted to go for his run, so I was elected by default. I watched, and it was so cute! Evan did well enough, I guess.

Fast Forward...One Week Later...John wanted to watch, as well. So we are sitting there, and little Evan has his back to us. They were expected to stand at attention in between exercises. We figured Evan could surely manage this. After all, he is the product of a Marine. Well, he couldn't! He fidgeted and giggled and moved, prompting the intervention of his Master many times. John's face was becoming more and more red, and the vein in his temple began to pulsate. He whispered to me, through gritted teeth, "I am so embarrassed!"

Needless, to say, when Evan got home that evening, John made him stand at attention for 15 minutes. Shouldn't be too bad, right? Wrong! Evan fidgeted and squirmed and whined through it, and the clock started over each time he did so. It was not a pleasant night for us. Who would have thought that a Marine's son could not stand at attention? Hahaha.

Business as Usual

Nothing new going on on the homefront. The man is still in the re-enlistment process, and has learned that he needs four waivers. Long story, y'all. (Ha! I DID retain some Kentuckyisms!) The kid is still rotten. I am still busy as all hell. School, work, exams, keeping the man encouraged. And I have been working on care packages for some of our men over there. Sorry, not much to report.

O-H.......

I-O! Once again I am proud of my boys sporting the scarlet and gray! Just had to throw that in there.

So, as anyone knows, TRUE Buckeyes are about as Anti-Michigan as they come. So I have a bet running with a friend from Corpsman.com. If Michigan wins the game this year, I have agreed to purchase and wear a Michigan jersey, paint my face with the Big M, and sport a blue Afro while singing the Michigan fight song on You Tube. If Ohio State wins, he has to dress like an OSU cheerleader (including full make-up) and sing the "We Don't Give a Damn......" Song that we Buckeyes know and love so very much. He has to netcast his video.

I guess the moral of the story is to tune in on November 17.

Freak-Out Mode

The pic has nothing to do with anything, other than the fact that I am sustained by caffeine and nicotine at the moment. I'm actually freaking out! The start of October has marked the start of the new fiscal year for the Navy, and John has continued to drop weight like mad! So next week, he is supposed to negotiate the nitty gritty with the recruiter and plan a date for MEPS.

As for me, I cannot get this sinking feeling to go away. You know the feeling that something is about to happen that you need to stop, but can't?

Well, this is the frame of mind I am in right now, at this very moment. If I am gonna interfere with John's re-enlistment, now is the time to do it. The problem is that I cannot tell the difference between my fear of the unknown and authentic this-is-not-a-good-choice judgement. Until I can tell the difference, I just feel as if it is my job to not interfere with my man's career choice. Instead, I should just be supporting him. I am afraid my entire world is going to be thrown into a state of complete disarray, which is not a good feeling for a Type-A personality like myself. What about my job? Is someone really going to come forward and help me watch my son for 12 hours a night, Friday though Sunday? Are there sane individuals who will voluntarily surrender their entire weekend in order to watch my son? Furthermore, I don't know how long I have to plan all of this, as we do not have any definite dates, or even a ballpark figure.

Stupid video games are not helping improve my state of mind.

Here lately, my dear JohnJohn has been playing the Medal of Honor series. I watch him and wonder if he is going to be okay. His response when I tell him I am worried is "Oh My GOD, Andrea, a video game is not real life, for crying out loud! I will be fine." After all, despite what he has told his parents, he is most likely going into a combat situation. Does he still have the instinct of when to duck and when to make sure he covers all of his sides? I know I am most likely being stupid, but there is something about people shooting at a character on a game that brings this fear to the surface, and it all unnerves me quite a good deal.

And then there is You Tube....

This is a pretty big problem for me at the moment. I recently compared it to driving past an auto accident and feeling an invisible force pulling your head to look as you pass. I cannot stop myself. So I watch the videos people submit. I have wept over videos of service men and women leaving families to go on deployment, and also of them returning home. The worst was the clip of a Sailor returning home and surprising his six-year-old kid in school, and the little boy's reaction. Hey, my kid is six!

Then there is the actual combat footage of stuff being blown to bits. I watched one the other day that had the "graphic" warning on it. I didn't pay that any mind, as anything that involves the firing of any type of weapon is labeled as such. But this one was REALLY GRAPHIC! I mean gruesome. It wouldn't have bothered me, as in my line of work, I have been involved in may traumas. But as a wife who is preparing to ship off the love of her life, I had a problem with it. The only factor that helped was the fact that it was the bad guys' blood, not our boys'. But still, it made me fear for the emotional well-being of my husband. After all, how can you observe that daily and maintain a grasp on sanity?

Okay. the kid is begging me for breakfast, so I must scoot. Besides, I need a coffee refill.

I Can Tell a Difference!

Okay, this was intended to be a before and after comparison of John. I was a little closer on the "before" shot that I was on the "after", and the two pictures were taken with a different camera, but you get the idea! I put them up in the wrong order, and the bottom pic is the "before" shot!

The United States of ....Apples???

So I am talking to my son, and somehow the subject of the USA came up. He elaborated by saying that the US portion is for United and States. I replied by saying, "Evan what does the A stand for?" Keep in mind that he is in kindergarten and each letter of the alphabet is associated with a very familiar word. His reply? "Uhhhh.....Apples!" I explained to him that the A stands for America, that this is why we are called Americans. He told me "Nuh-Unh, Mommy, everyone knows that A is for Apples!" So there you have it! Our great nation has been renamed by my six year old!

Who Knew Kid Music Could Cut So Close?

I have never been very big on teen-bubblegum-pop-crap music. Not big on country either. But I have been listening to some things I would not normally give a second glance lately, and when I stopped and listened to this song, I thought it would apply nicely to the theme of my little blurbs.

20 Questions With No Answers

Are we ever certain of the choices we make, or those our loved ones make, for that matter? I am so unsure what is going to happen to my family right now.I am worried for all of us: Me, John, Evan.So here you have it. My list of questions right now, some of which do not have answers. My open wondering and pondering. My doubts, plainly put, for all to see.

Will my husband, the love of my life, the father of my son, my best friend be okay?

Will he be safe?

Will he be in Iraq or Afghanistan, or will this whole process take so long that he may be in Korea?

Is he doing this for the right reasons?

If anything happens to him, will I be able to live with the fact that I did not stop him?

How will I cope with him being absent for months or even a year at a time?

Better yet, will I be able to cope at all, let alone succeed in medical school when my husband is halfway around the world?

Exactly how long will I have to go without hearing even the sound of his voice?

How long, while deployed, will his scent linger on the pillow on which he sleeps?

Will I be able to do something as simple as pulling something to wear out of the closet without seeing his clothes and breaking down?

Will my son, a complete Daddy's Boy, be able to adapt to all of this?

If something were to happen to him, would Evan know how truly wonderful his father is?

Will I be all alone on a military base, with no one to turn to other than a young child with whom I cannot discuss anything?

Will letters be enough?

How will he remember how much we love him if we can't tell him or show it everyday?

How many birthdays, christmases, anniversaries, thankgsgivings will he miss?

How much time do I have left with John before he leaves?

After he leaves, how long do I have to wait for his return?

How can he be so happy about leaving us?

Will we make it through this?

Panic

The powers that be in the Navy have given John 2 targets to shoot for when losing weight. He hit the first target over a week ago. This one was the best-case scenario for John. The second target? He only has to lose 0.5 inches off of his waist or gain 0.5 inches on his neck to make it.

If he is meeting the strictest guideline, there is no way he is not going to make it.

I am starting to panic now. I mean really panic.

He meets the recruiter next Friday. It will go either one of two ways. He wants a postion at Corps School, so it may take a while to get him in, as these openings fill up very quickly. But the fact that he does not have to go through boot camp means that he will be available to leave when the first slot opens, even if it is at the last minute. He will have a 2 week "refresher", whatever that is.

I guess I am trying to say that these posts are about to get a whole lot more depressing. The wheels are turning and I can't stop them now. Navy, here we come!

Ouch!

John started complaining about his knee hurting a couple of weeks ago. He had kneeled down on our son's bedroom floor to pick up some toys and took a Hot Wheel right in the patella with all of his weight. I figured it was just bruised. He kept running 3 miles a day, and I would make him ice it when he got finished. After two weeks of this, with no improvement, he saw a doctor. It turned out that the reason it wasn't healing is that he has been running on the edge of a road that is uneven. What has caused the pain has been the uneven surface causing his knee to take the impact in a way that is not normal, and the bones that join at the knee have been knocking against each other. Ouch! Other than that, all systems are go! Everything else is perfect, and he has lost 3 more pounds since Sunday! Go, Baby, Go!

Once...Always....

John started his journey to reenlistment almost a month ago. We have been down this route before. I will never forget the sound my heart makes as it drops from my chest after that one night. I was at home with a very small baby. John was working second shift, and thus was not home. The television was constantly tuned to CNN at that point, as the War in Iraq had just started. The telephone rings, just as I am about to get little Evan to sleep, which was no small feat at the time. The Conversation went like this:

Me: Hello

Caller: Hello, Ma'am, may I speak with Cpl. J.R. Ferguson?

Me: I'm sorry, he is not home at the moment. May I take a message? (I was sensing something strange about the call.)

Caller: No Ma'am. Can you tell me when he will be home?

Me: Around midnight....May I ask who this is?

Caller: This is Captain BlahBlahBlah from the Dept. of Defense. I am sorry I cannot discuss this information with anyone other than J.R. Ferguson

I hung up the phone and thought for a brief second that seemed to last for hours! Were they calling John up to serve? I knew that his Inactive Reserve obligation should have been up. We were NOT in a draft. What in the Hell was this all about? I started the freak out process, of which only I am fully capable. Like all Americans, I had been keeping up with what was going on in the world. I watched those towers fall on television, in horror. This horror was compounded by the fact that it occured exactly one week from the time we had brought our newborn son home from the hospital. His birth will always be associated with that day in American History. In the box of mementos that I have kept for him is the newspaper from the day, with the headline reading "TERROR". What a time to come into the world!

So fast forward a little bit, and you have me with my young son, panicking over why someone from the DoD is calling my husband at 2100 at night. My head started swimming with thoughts. The first one was "What am I gonna do without John by myself with a small baby?" I called John's dad and told him the details on the call. He had no idea what to do. When John got home from work later that night, and I reported the call, he just shrugged. SHRUGGED! As in "No big deal!"

After many, many telephone conversations, it turned out to be someone looking for John to reenlist. But we also found out that he was listed as IRR for over a year longer than he should have been. So he goes to reenlist. "Hey, why not?" he says. They were offering him quite the deal, it would seem. No boot camp, no loss of rank, a hefty bonus. He was not scared at all. If he was, he has the best control of anyone I have ever met, because it never showed. The old USMC uniforms were taken out of the closet and inventoried. He started a diet and PT regimen to get back in shape. Then, as quick as it came into my life, it disappeared. He had gained too much weight since his discharge. It was not meant to be.

So here we are, several years later. A part of me wants to say that this will be the same....that he will change his mind at the last minute, and I will keep my husband here with me. But inside, I know that this is different from that day years ago. He has gotten back into shape. He is speaking of our future in phrases that include the U.S. Navy. He is preparing me for life on a military base, and speculating on which base he would like to be stationed. He has informed both of his parents, and has had a "talk" with Evan about Daddy not being here one day soon. The talk, suddenly one day, changed from "IF I go into the Navy..." to "WHEN I go into the Navy..."

The part of me that wanted to remain in denial, believing he would back out, has been thrust into the reality that this is really going down. The women for whom I cry on television because they are living without their husbands......that will be me. It is so surreal. I never intended on being a martyr. I just want my little American family, enough money to pay the bills, and a home that is adequate. I never pictured I would be the wife of a man in combat. I thought the only combat that would impact my life was the rough play between father and son as I look on from the kitchen window, dinner cooking in the oven.

I truly think reality is starting to catch up with me. Funny thing is, I would have been happy to remain in ignorant bliss. I do not like the reality that is dawning.

I have never held a gun in my hands, felt the weight of the cold metal and warm wood. John has, many times over. I do not know if I could hit the broad side of a barn with a bullett from very close range. John has been awarded the "Rifle Expert" badge 3 times over. I don't know if the recoil of a rifle would have enough kick to knock me to the ground. John can take recoil on his shoulder like a rock, so that you cannot tell there even was recoil. I have to have faith that the United States Marine Corps trained him well enough that it is still with him today . That he has not forgotten. That he will be okay. I have to come to terms with the fact that this is who I married, my son's father. He is, and always will be a US Marine. While the activity of daily life has masked it, it has always been in him. Just like that night years ago, this has always been a silent part of our marriage. I spoke of his military career, but I never realized it will still there, just lurking under the surface. I think it was when John watched the country that he loves come under attack, when he heard the first account of a Marine's death Over There that brought it all rushing to the surface. Now I see that this has always been a part of the man I love so very much. I now fully understand the "Once a Marine, Always a Marine" mentality. Where does this leave me? I think the translation of "Semper Fidelis" applies to this situation as well. As this man's wife.....Always Faithful.