Disclaimer: I Cried Writing This.

I have to tell you this story. And it's not an entertaining one. And it sucks. And I cried. And my heart shattered into a million pieces. And my Zeph, she is growing up too fast, and I hate that she knows that there are real "bad guys" in the world.

Backstory: Paul's brother is deployed to the sandbox right now.

The other night, I mentioned to the girls that their uncle might be coming to our airport soon. Apparently, when I said it, something in Zeph's brain clicked, and she realized she didn't really know WHY her favorite uncle is in the desert. So she asked. And this mommy couldn't come up with a good half truth to tell her, so I told the real truth. Obviously (like in the where babies come from conversation) I only told her what she wanted to know. Letting her ask questions, and answering, instead of just throwing it all at her at once.

So now she knows the story of how, before she was born, some very bad men stole airplanes and flew them into buildings, causing lots of people to die. I told her that we share our military with the other countries to help keep the children and their families safe. I reminded her that we are a military family. Supporting Daddy and Uncle R is how WE help keep those kids safe in the desert.

Her response made the tears I was already holding back spill over, and my heart shatter into a million pieces.

She said:

But I don't want to.

Poppies

     ~In Flander's Field~

In Flanders fields the poppies blow


Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky


The larks, still bravely singing, fly


Scarce heard amid the guns below.



We are the Dead. Short days ago


We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved, and were loved, and now we lie


In Flanders fields.



Take up our quarrel with the foe:


To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.


If ye break faith with us who die


We shall not sleep, though poppies grow


In Flanders fields.

~ Major John McCrae - 1915

As the daughter, granddaughter, great granddaughter, niece, friend, and wife of amazingly brave and selfless members of the armed forces, every day is memorial day for me. We are currently waiting for countless friends and colleagues to return from war, have recently welcomed home countless more, and know that saying goodbye to someone else may come as soon as tomorrow. 

This is what we do. And I know that I will never forget the sacrifices that have been made, and that are being made as I type this. And I hope that you won't either. 

The Only Way to Explain...

The other day I tried to explain to a civilian friend just exactly why it is I'm "not allowed" to be upset, lose my mind, freak out, or show many other emotions that are so normal in everyone's life. Then today, I started cooking dinner at 1130, because it was quite possible that we would end up with dinner guests. The base had shut down, and no one was allowed to come or go. My house was open to anyone who might need a place to sleep or dinner that wasn't prepared by a greasy teen in plastic gloves. Ready at the drop of a hat, and there was nothing new or surprising about that situation.

All of that reminded me of words mostly attributed Erma Bombeck. She tells it beautifully. So I'll give you her words, because I cannot remotely explain my life any better.

When the Lord was creating a military wife He ran into His sixth day of overtime. An angel appeared and said, "You're having a lot of trouble with this one. What's wrong with the standard model?"

The Lord replied, "Have you seen the specs on this order? It has to be completely independent but must always be sponsored to get on a military installation. It must have the qualities of both mother and father during deployments, be a perfect host to 4 or 40, handle emergencies without an instruction manual, cope with flu and moves all around the world, have a kiss that cures anything from a child's bruised knee to a husband's weary days, have the patience of a saint when waiting for its mate to come home and, have six pairs of hands."

The angel shook her head slowly and said, "Six pairs of hands? No way." The Lord answered, "Don't worry; we will make other military wives to help. Besides, it's not the hands that are causing the problem, it's the heart. It must swell with pride, sustain the ache of numerous separations while remaining true, beat soundly even when it feels too tired to do so, be large enough to say 'I understand' when it doesn't, and say 'I love you', regardless.

"Lord," said the angel, gently touching His sleeve. "Go to bed. You can finish it tomorrow." "I can't," said the Lord. "I'm so close to creating something quite unique. Already it can heal itself when sick, on a moment's notice it will willingly embrace and feed total strangers who have been stranded during a PCS move and it can wave goodbye to its husband understanding why he had to leave."

The angel circled the model of the military wife very slowly. "It's too soft," she sighed.

"But tough," the Lord said excitedly. "You cannot imagine what this being can do or endure."

Finally the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek. "There's a leak," she said. "I told you that you were trying to put too much into this model." It's not a leak," said the Lord. "It's a tear." "What's it for?" asked the angel. "It's for joy, sadness, pain, loneliness and pride." "You're a genius," said the angel.

Looking at her somberly, the Lord replied, "I didn't put it there."

Side note of the day: I could have posted the Silent Ranks poem, but I find that to be false advertising. I've never met a military wife who knew the meaning of "silent".

More different side note: I'll probably repost this in May, for Military Spouse Appreciation Day.

Oh Friends!

A couple of weeks ago, Paulo received a care package in the mail from some place back home, and really? We had about no use for the stuff. He's not deployed (Thank God!) and really? He has no need for Cutter bug spray wipey thingies in the middle of Autumn in Germany. So, since we know a soldier who IS deployed, I sorted through the care package, replacing some of the "useless" stuff with things I deem full of awesome and sending it along. So now, we are the proud owners of "The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas" on VHS. Holly says it's good to have on hand. For those...um...times. And that's why I love her.

So Glad I'm No Longer Dating...

I love when I am out in public and I get to overhear lovely conversations. Except today, I'm really really confused. I have been married for almost 6 years. I'm not old, but I guess I'm all kinds of out of the loop. The other day, I overheard this gem of a conversation... Random dude: Yeah, as soon as I kissed her, I just started taking my clothes off. Random chick: Awww, that's so sweet! Please someone explain this to me! I'm dying to know what I'm missing...

FYI ~ Moving Sucks!

We moved again today.

I have interent that works.

I also have a bed, with blankets and pillows.

I'm going to bed.

(It is my personal goal to bore you with my very dull life every day till Christmas. You are welcome.)

This Is My Life...

Guess what 4 people who actually read my blog and are not friends with me on Facebook... We're moving again! Thankfully, this time, it is not across the globe. Technically, it's just across town. We were offered an apartment on base and have decided to go ahead and take it. This means I will start doing daycare again, we will only fill up ONCE a month in gas normally (Paulo's work is approximately half a mile from where we will live), and we won't have to drive to a park. It's so exciting! Or something. It again will not be a move I have to do myself, we will have a moving company come in and move all our stuff from this house to base. But, I have about 15 organizing projects sitting around the house that I need to finish up, or find a point where they can be shoved in boxes. It will be lovely. And I could possibly lose my mind one more time.

Another Dumb Blonde...

There is probably a special place in heaven for people like me. I imagine that this special place is covered by padding. Wall to wall and floor to ceiling. I will be the first to admit to my life being summed up in one very simple phrase I have on a piece of Flair on facebook. "My life is a series of blonde moments." While I know that there are more examples than I care to admit to, I am willing to share the most memorable and the most recent ones. When Paulo and I had been dating just a few short months, he was due to qualify on the M16. Knowing shooting was a part of the whole military thing, I didn't really ask a lot of questions. I just happily went along to visit his grandparents that weekend while he was doing his weekend warrior National Guard stuff. After he qualified (which is a funny story all on it's own) he was telling me about the M16 for some reason. I'm pretty sure I didn't ask. All I remember about this particular conversation is that he made the comment that the weapon was gas powered. And the only image my brain conjured up for this, was a kind of weed whacker/chain saw type motor that requires gas. Oh yes people, I am that smart! I thought you had to "start" the gun. And I didn't let on to this or ask for clarification until probably 2 years after the initial incident. I think the original reasoning behind not asking is that I didn't want Paulo to figure out I was really that dumb, and then by the time it didn't matter anymore I forgot that my idea of a "gas powered weapon" was probably way off target. When I finally asked, and it was explained to me that the gas is actually CO2, I was disappointed. Knowing it was basically blasts of air making the thing gas powered was NOT as fun as imagining there being a lawn mower-esque starter on the thing. The most recent "You are dumb" moment really just demonstrates my advanced stages of adult ADD. We started watching Stargate SG1 right after we moved into the house. I don't really like to watch movies all the time because they require sitting for so long. I'd rather watch a tv series that has commercial breaks, or at the very least are only 40 something minutes long. My attention span can be extended to 40 something minutes long. Recently, while watching an episode, I got onto IMDb and was looking at character biographies, the actors who played them and such. This was my thought process after the resolution of the current dilemma we were watching. (Just follow, you don't need a lot of details to figure out how dumb this was...) "Ohh, I thought it was going to be the Nocks or someone else." "The Nocks are the dumbest looking aliens we've seen so far." "At least the Asgard look like real aliens." "Oh yes, Michael Shanks is the voice of Thor!" "Daniel Jackson (Michael Shank's character) is awfully pretty to be an invisible alien." "That Jonas guy should be the invisible alien, he's pretty to look at, but he gets on my nerves." "I wonder who plays that Jonas guy..." "Ohh, his name is Corin." And at that thought my friends, I finished the chain of useless rambling thoughts with... "What ever happened to Jeff Corwin?" I tell you all that, to tell you this. If I wasn't so used to being an idiot, it might be disappointing to know that I am too stupid to understand the heaters in our house. which have pictures and numbers on them. There are pictographic instructions, and I am still cold with no idea what setting I need to remedy this situation. I will be asking Ilka to come over tomorrow and leave me detailed instructions, because I'm smart enough to know that I am an idiot.

8 Years, Thousands of Miles...

There aren't many events that have occurred in my lifetime that people look at you and ask "where were you when..." This day. 8 years ago. I was sleeping, and then I went to work. And I will never forget how lucky I am that my day was that boring and mundane.

It's What We Do...

(comic by Julie Negron, Jenny Spouse)

And really, after that, there's not a whole lot left to say.

**The rest of the strip is cut off here, but you can see the rest of it by clicking here.**

...and then, not so much!

I have mentioned the Shoppette before. It's our 7-11. And liquor store. The other night I ran to the store for a Sobe for Paulo, and a Dr Pepper for myself. While I was there...(And so was Shelli! Hi Shelli!)...the poor cashier, who is new, had trouble with his computer. The manager stepped in for him, and was really huffy about the whole thing. In line behind me was a cop. With his M16. (Which is why I am telling the internet on him, rather than saying something to his face...) He was buying an energy drink, and I was so proud, because he had picked up some potato chips or something like that. I thought to myself: Awesome! The cop is NOT buying donuts, I'm so proud! And then, at the last minute of our 20 minute wait in line, he went straight to the Little Debi display and picked up a pack of mini donuts... And I was no longer proud. *************************************************** And because I of course told everyone about this...Shelli explained it to me. Because he is a military cop, he can only eat the little donuts, because he's not a real cop. And only real cops can eat full sized donuts...

Not Standard Issue!

I am moving in 29 days. To a foreign country. TO A FOREIGN COUNTRY. I have no passport yet, and we are having issues with things. So here is our "debacle" to date! And I should have LOVELY daily updates about how FABULOUS this whole thing is going to be. Or something. Yes, I'm gonna go with or something! Yesterday, we had to take our passport applications to some lady named Roxy. Who works at the passport office here on base. Roxy informed Paulo that he was to come by at his earliest convenience because MY work schedule can be hard to predict and schedule things around. (And it's only thanks to Holly that we could even go YESTERDAY as it was!) When we got there, we had to sign in, and wait to be called. So OTHER lady, who was not Roxy came to the door and began to attempt to lecture Paulo about not having an appointment. Didn't bother to ask WHY we didn't have an appointment, just to tell us there was nothing SHE could do without one. After FINALLY getting it through to her that it was VERY important that we get these applications processed, she called us back. And this is where she proceeded to MAKE ME CRY. (You know, if you ever meet a military wife in person, give her a hug. Or buy her liquor.) This lady, who does not bother to read the paper that says we are just now filing our applications because of a clerical error in Mississippi, and the fact that because of Hurricane Katrina we've only been "allowed" to get Big Z's birth certificate for just over a year, goes OFF on a tirade. And her tirade was something that in my world NO ONE SAYS OUT LOUD. You know those things that you just don't say out loud in order to make them appear less real? The ones no one admits to but everyone knows about? She said "the military doesn't care if you ever get to Germany. The only thing they care about is that your husband gets there at the date on his orders, and if you don't get your passports in time, oh well. They don't care. Your expedite letter probably won't mean anything and they will most likely not accept it." OH MY GOD! I have known this for YEARS now. YEARS. But again, you don't say it out loud. It's an unwritten rule. And this lady? She was not in the military. She was a civilian. And we have filed an official complaint against her. Because really? Like I don't have enough stress going on without her telling me that no one cares? I am a "good" military wife. I'm in the club of, YAY! We're PCSing!. Not OMG, We're PCSing!. I don't flip out. But now? I think I'm going to start. It's the expected behavior. Our unwritten rules about family is this: If the military wanted you to have a family, they would issue you one. Sad, but true. That was yesterday...now to today... *************************** We had an appointment with the people who move our crap. The ones who come in and pack everything while I do what I do best a supervise. You are supposed to give them 30 days. We are at 29, cutting it close, but we've only had "official" orders since Tuesday. Not a WHOLE LOT we could do until now. Our base is currently undergoing a HUGE inspection. It's yearly. We expect it. We plan for it. Usually, there's not a LOT of interruption to our daily lives. (By "our" I mean spouses and such. I know there are a TON of people who are putting in long days unfortunately.) Today, we drive to the building where our appointment is. Well, we ATTEMPTED to drive to the building were the appointment was. Every road was being guarded by a cop with an M16. Each guard informed us that there MIGHT be another way to the building, but that they couldn't let us by. So we have YET to schedule movers. Because they are pretending people are trying to blow up buildings. And I am not happy about this. Not because I don't think we should make sure our troops are prepared. But because by checking to see if the people here are prepared to "complete the mission" it is interfering with them ACTUALLY completing the mission. Someone get me a drink. Or a Xanex. Or heck, BOTH at this point!!!

The Bombs Bursting In Air

It's no big secret that I live and work on the corner. And that corner is on a military installation. (No really, I've not lived on a house, or apartment for that matter, that isn't on the corner.) On said military installation (and everyone I've ever been on) at 1700, 5 pm for you civilians, the Star Spangled Banner is played. And everyone not indoors stops and faces the command post, where the flag is displayed. My children have grown up spending every nice day possible outside at the playground from about 330-5. (Daycare outdoor time) And each time that the National Anthem is played they are instructed to stop what they are doing and be still for the duration of the song. It's really cute and awe inspiring to see a park full of preschoolers and toddlers stopping and placing their hands on their hearts. Today we didn't stay at the park until 5. I got off work early (meaning daycare kids were gone before 5) so we came home to say goodbye to Daddy before he left for work. While we were waiting on Paulo so we could go grab some Subway for dinner, *z* heard the drum roll that starts off the Anthem. She dropped what she was playing with, stood up, and proclaimed: "Put your hand on your heart! It's the Sparkly Banner!!"

Well, It Could Be Worse

Many people have asked how I feel about this move to Germany (which is getting more and more complicated as the Hubs goes to work each day!) I am okay with it. For one, it's not like I can do anything about it. And B, I knew what I was getting into when I married a military guy. I am also NOT okay with it at the same time. I was mad when we got the "orders" to move to this base, because we have been in the area so long. I wanted to go somewhere else. As soon as I finally "accepted" staying here, we get this next set of orders. So that is VERY annoying. I am a mixed bag of emotions about it. And it all depends on what I'm doing at the time. Knowing that yesterday was *z*'s last birthday party with this particular group of people was sad. Knowing this time next year I will be shopping in an IKEA? Ecstatic! You only get one life to live, and I'm not one to NOT live it. This will be a once in a lifetime opportunity for us. And we'll take it. *Z* is happy she'll get to go to Disney. EuroDisney will be a short drive for us!! And I'm happy it isn't orders to Minot. I NEVER want to go to Minot!!