There is one thing I never heard about before Sweet Husband deployed. It creeps upon you subtly. One day you're paying little attention to the clock as you run errands, and the next, you don't leave your house until you are sure your spouse is asleep or at work. It's taken me longer to adjust my schedule for Spain's napping habits (which always seem to change at this point), than it did for me to realize that I was always by the computer twice a day. Unfortunately for me, one of those times is past my bedtime.

The phone never seems to be more than a few inches away from my hands... Unless of course it rings. The law of the universe says that the more important the phone call, the harder it is to find my phone. If it's a telemarketer or appointment reminder the phone will be in my hand. If it's friends or family, the phone will be under a bed, or left on a dresser in another room. If it's Sweet Husband the phone will be in the refrigerator or hidden in the bowels of the couch.

And once in church. Our church family is amazing! I am just blown away by how thoughtful and caring our church family is. Sweet Husband called as our church service was starting one Sunday, One dear lady took Spain to the nursery for me, while one wonderful family kept an eye on Alex for me while I stood outside and talked with Sweet Husband. In just a few minutes I became completely refreshed from and exhausting, horrible week.

Room for Rent

Alex was recently introduced to the world of Pokemon, which brings an extra layer of joy to my life, as I can't even type "Pokemon" without rolling my eyes.
Recently we traveled across the Earth to visit friends and family, and all the while Alex would randomly ask "When we get home can I watch Pokemon?"
We got home two hours after bedtime. I marched the boys inside and ordered Alex to bed.
"You mean I can't watch Pokemon now?" Alex wailed
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Alex, you have to go bed. You are not watching anything tonight."
Sullenly he obliged.

Imagine my surprise to be woken up the boy begging to watch Pokemon. "Alex, you may not watch Pokemon today. I'm not sure it's completely appropriate for you to watch."

If life were a cartoon, a thunder cloud would have appeared over Alex's head. He glowered at me for a moment, then stomped out of my bedroom. He poked his head back in and announced that he was moving out.

"Where will you go?" I asked, desperately wishing I was not the only parent on duty at the moment.
"I'll buy a house. And live in it by myself!" He huffed.
"Oh. Okay..... How will you get there?"
He pondered this for a moment before answering "I'll have someone drive me."
I nodded thoughtfully. "I'll miss you. You are my favorite Alex."
Alex harrumphed.
"Spain will miss you too. You're his favorite brother".
Alex slammed my bedroom door in response.


I mentally waved good-bye to the idea of sleeping in and crawled out of bed. A few minutes later I was in the kitchen starting on breakfast when Alex reappeared.
"I'm going to have someone drive me to look at houses. Then I'll move out on my own. Without you. AND I'll buy phone that doesn't work so you can't call me. You won't be able to find me."
I nodded thoughtfully "I understand. I will miss you a lot."
He darted off as I called after him "I will still love you Alex!"

When I called him to the table for breakfast he trudged slowly and sadly to his seat. A lone tear trickled down his cheek. "I just don't like it when people laugh at me" he sniffed.
"Who laughed at you sweetie?" More than a little bewildered by this turn of events.
"People just laugh at my jokes, and I don't like it!" he sobbed.
I hugged him close, biting back a smile.
"Sweetie, jokes are things that people say to make others laugh. If you don't want people to laugh at your jokes, don't tell them any jokes."
"I just don't like it!" Alex wailed.

Naively I thought Alex had moved passed his desire to move out. As soon as he finished eating, Alex pulled a suitcase out of my closet. He opened it on the living room floor and began to bring armfuls of clothing from his room and dump it into his suitcase. He folded up the dividers that were in his drawers and stuffed them into his suitcase as well. The entire time he worked he sang a song.

"I'm going to move out.
I'm going to move out.
I'm going to move out.
I'm just going to move out"

I typed a quick note to Sweet Husband to update him on the situation, while Alex was packing. "Did you get your toothbrush?" I asked, trying to be helpful.
Alex turned his glare onto me "Yes. I'm also taking my toothpaste.


A few minutes later Alex found me as I was nursing Spain. Exhaustion rimmed his eyes and he looked ready to weep at the drop of a wrong word. He crawled onto the couch next to me. "I'll wait until after we go to Oma's house to move out."
I smiled and dropped a kiss on his forehead.


He left his suitcase packed in case he changes his mind though.

It's the little things. Literally

I know. I've been quiet on the blog front. I apologize. I have a decent excuse, I'm just not ready to share it with you quite yet. It's a post in the making.
When you have children you know that situations are going to arise that are unpleasant, unbelievable, and uncouth. It comes with the territory, and even though we know we should expect such things, they always come as a surprise.

When Alex lost his first two teeth, he convinced me to let him keep them in a small clear plastic container by his bed so he could look at them. I'll admit, it's a little odd for me, but in the grand scheme of things it wasn't that big of a deal. The stipulation was that the teeth were for looking at only. Not playing with or touching. This worked wonderfully for several months, then one day as I was folding laundry in the living room, Alex rushed in.
"Mama, my teeth are gone."
"I know sweetie. Remember what we talked about. That's what happens. Your baby teeth fall out so the big ones can grow"
"I know that. I mean my baby teeth are gone."
"You lost more teeth?"
"Yes the ones that fell out. I lost them."
"That's what is supposed to happen."
"No. Mama. My teeth in the container are missing. I don't know where they are."

Just when I start to assume the conversation is destined to be redundant, he throws a curve ball.

We powered through the rest of the day. The teeth long forgotten in the abyss that my mind has become. Alex finally went to bed. Spain finally went to sleep, and I decided to do a quick power sweep through the house before I went to bed. I got to Alex's room, and suddenly I remembered the teeth.

That is how I found myself kneeling on the floor is Alex's bedroom sifting through a pile of debris I had swept up. Dog hair, paper bits and ....was that popcorn? When was the last time we had popcorn? Believe it or not many things can look like baby teeth on the floor. And several of them I could not identify. *insert shudder*
I found one tooth easily, and then I found what I assumed was the other tooth. It looked like a piece had broken off of it, making it harder to identify. I went through the pile again, before reaching the conclusion that the unidentifiable object in my mind was tooth like, and so was probably the missing tooth. It joined the first tooth in it's plastic prison.
I scrubbed my hands and arms like I was prepping for surgery. I'm not sure whether it was the fact that I had touched teeth, or that I had sifted through dirt and touched a lot of questionable items that my skin crawling.

After I was clean, I poured myself my into bed.

Then I remembered that he had lost two front teeth. I had found a front tooth and a "molar".

Oh Lord.

The Secret Life

Have you ever wondered what it must be like to live on a military installation?
I mean all the guards, the gates, the credential flashing. It's right up there with living at Buckingham Palace or the White House, right?

Allow me to share with you an email I received one morning from our housing office.

Dear Residents,


Please take a look at the attached photo and be on the lookout for the
individual pictured. He is an escapee from a Transitional Facility in
Wyoming and is believed to still be on our Military Installation after running
the gate last night. Please contact the Military Installation police
Department with any information

.
..
...
....


I've been pondering several questions regarding this turn of events.

1)Assuming they didn't leave a word out of our mass email, why was an escapee running our gate? Was he in charge of the schedule? Was he masquerading as a guard? Or perhaps he offered to fill in for someone who called in sick.
I can almost picture the scenario:

Real Guard: "I'm really hungry. I'm going to ask the next person I see to cover my shift for half an hour so that I can eat."
Escapee: "Eh, I've got nothing better to do right now. Could you bring me a sweet tea?"



2) Our Military Installation is NO WHERE near Wyoming. Why come here?
Geographically, I could think of several other places to go. However, I don't want to imply that fleeing the country from THE LAW is a good thing.

And most importantly,
3) If I was an escapee, I don't think a military installation is where I would head.
Ben&Jerry's-Yes. Springfield-Yes. Military Land-No. It just does not compute for me.
You have to use a military ID for everything on post. Except bowling... I wonder if the escapee in question was a bowler?

I received a follow-up email shortly after the first one, letting everyone know the guy was apprehended. Unfortunately there were no contact details in the second email, so my questions will be left unanswered.

A musketeer and a sheriff Joe

The best part of Halloween is dressing up.

We are currently reading "The Three Musketeers", which came about after Alex decided he wanted to be a musketeer for Halloween. When asked which musketeer he was, he answered "Just a red one".

Sorry, Athos, Porthos and Aramis. He'd rather be a generic musketeer.

Potty Talk

WARNING: The following contains graphic material and may not be suitable for everyone. Read at your own risk.


We had just returned from our camping trip, and My dear friend Mrs X had stopped by to visit. Alex was running around like a crazy person, Spain was fighting an impeding nap, and I was just glad to be out of the car.
Mrs X and I were sitting on the couch talking, Alex had disappeared And Spain needed a diaper change. Suddenly we hear a frail "Mama" wobble from the hallway. The cry became frantic "MAMA! MAMA! IT WON"T STOP!!". The hallway was empty when I peeked around the corner, the commotion was coming from the bathroom. I rushed to the bathroom and my soul withered. Alex was standing next the bathtub hopping around the floor on small dry islands, as the toilet spilled over. Water rushed into the hallway as I took in the scene.

My brain suddenly acknowledged what was happening. I raced back to the living room and handed Spain to Mrs. X. I darted to the dining room table where my phone was innocently resting by a collection of our mail. Without stopping, I grabbed the phone and raced back to the bathroom. Water was taking over the entire bathroom and a nice expanse of the hallway. With one foot I leaped onto the Go Diego! Go! stool that I seriously doubted could support my weight, and the other foot I braced on the top of the toilet tank. I simultaneously leaned over the toilet to grab the plunger from the corner, scrolled through the contacts list on my phone to find the maintenance number, and prayed fervently for the toilet, for me to not fall into the toilet, and for the rapture to happen that very moment.

My hand wrapped around the handle of the plunger as I hit the send button on my cell phone. In my precarious perch, I nestled the phone against my shoulder, adjusted my footing, and plunged the plunger into the abyss. The toilet gurgled and the water immediately started retreating down the drain. As the water disappeared the perky lady on the phone.
I calculated the odds that they would come clean the mess up for me.
"Thanks, I think I resolved the issue myself." I absently said into the phone.

I'm not going to go into detail about the clean up. Let's just say, clean up took awhile and I was very very grateful to have a bottle of bleach on hand. As I found each hidden nook of dirty water, I muttered "I quit" under by breath. Just as I finished mopping the bathroom floor, the front door opened and Sweet Husband came in.
"I'm home" he singsonged happily.
"Really?!" I wailed "You couldn't have come home 20 minutes ago, when the toilet exploded?! I can't believe this! I quit! I'm done! I can't handle this!"

Sweet husband cautiously grabbed the leash from it's place behind the door.
"I'm going to take the dog out" he called as he and the dog darted out the door.

A photo-less post about photos

Alex is constantly trying to sneak off with my camera to take pictures. Sweet Husband came to my rescue by acquiring an older digital camera for Alex. Like magic, my camera lost appeal.

Mission Accomplished.

Unfortunately, I didn't foresee the problems of giving him free access with a camera. After three days with his new camera, Alex had already taken 786 photos and gone through two sets of batteries. Most of these photos involve me looking .... Less than human. Contrary to whatever Alex believes, I do not need documentation of how I look in the morning right after I wake up. I don't need documentation of how dangerous my laundry room has become or the current state of my closet.
I prefer to airbrush my memories instead of keeping photographic evidence.

Oh but it doesn't end there.
Alex discovered that his camera takes video as well.

Apparently he likes documentary style videos. He sets the camera on record and trains it on me as I go about my daily tasks. He's recorded everything from me talking on the phone with my brother to me drowning in laundry. Somehow, the laws of universe dictate that the worse I feel the more he records.
Last week I was nursing the "ICK". My head was floating two feet above my body, and I couldn't summon the energy to do anything other than lay on the couch with glossed over eyes.

"Alex please don't record me."
"Okay" he absently agrees.
"Are you still recording?"
"Yup."

I don't want to demand that he stop. He'll have evidence that I stifled his creativity!

Pajamas and Hips

When Sweet Husband and I were first married, I introduced him to the cottony bliss of men's flannel pajama bottoms. Over the years, my stash of men's flannel pajama bottoms has dispelled and his stash has sprung up. Much to his chagrin, occasionally, I'll borrow a pair of his pajama bottoms when my sleep shorts are MIA.

The two of us were up late on night folding laundry and discussing an upcoming deployment.
"While I'm gone" he started, "...If you want to, you can wear my-"
My heart started speeding up and my insides were starting to feel warm fuzzy.
"My PT shirts." he finished.
Warm fuzzies fled. PT shirts have a course gritty feel to them, definitely in contrast to the soft cottony cloud of flannel pajama pants.
"Your PT shirts?" I repeated woodenly. "Really? I thought you were going to say 'pajama bottoms'. You almost made me melt."
"Well, I'd let you wear my pajamas, but I'm afraid you would stretch them out."
I blinked in surprise. Warm fuzzies sought refuge in Bulgaria.
Genuinely confused, I asked the question that begged asking "How would I stretch them out?"
"Well the red one's are a little tight on me, And well, it's just that your hips are so much wider than mine."
I stared at the love of my life in dumbfounded amazement.
"My hips are not wider than yours." I told him in righteous indignation.
He looked at me skeptically "Are you sure?"

.....

Would you believe it, even after we established my hips are smaller than his, he still didn't offer me the use of his pajama bottoms. *sad face*

A lot can happen in 72 weeks

When this picture was taken I was about 7 weeks pregnant with Spain.

This was taken the day Spain was born. It's 4 am in this picture.

Spain was born at 36 gestation, this is Spain and I now, at 36 weeks post-partum.

Yup, a lot can happen in 72 weeks.

A fish?

Alex slipped a note to sweet husband that read "can i ge[t] fish". With his hands clasped to his chest, he shared with sweet husband how he desperately wants a pet fish to call his own. "...I'll feed it two times a day, in the morning and at night. Please!" With this last plea, he raised his clasped hands to his chin, earnestly looking at Sweet husband with his big brown eyes.

Sweet husband melted.

I came into the room a few minutes later. Sweet husband handed me the note Alex had left and tried to appear nonchalant. My spidey-senses tingled. Sweet husband had that twinkle in his eye that told me he was already trying to decide between a fresh water fish tank or a salt water fish tank.

"Um... Fish are a big responsibility." I said.

Sweet husband nodded "Alex said he was ready for it. I told him I would talk to you."

"Oh. Okay. He tends to forget to feed Matrim and Ginge, fish aren't as vocal when their hungry."

Sweet husband nodded slowly, the fish-fever slowly fading from his eyes.

"Maybe in a few months. IF he can keep up with feeding the animals we do have."

Sweet husband gave a satisfied nod. "I think that works."



The next morning Alex came into the living room with his fish note. "Mama, I'm ready for a fish."
I sat down on the couch, and pulled Alex toward me. "Sweetie, I know you think you're ready for a fish. Fish are a big responsibility though."

Alex cut me off "I'm ready! I really am!"

"Alex, you're going to have to show us that you're ready for a big responsibility like fish. You need feed Matrim and Ginge, every day. And do school. When you do these, you're getting ready for bigger responsibilities.... like fish."

Alex glared at me. "I hate school. I hate this day. I am ready for fish!!"

"Alex," I said slowly "Have you fed Matrim and Ginge today?"

Alex's glare softened "Not yet..." he inched backward.

I raised an eyebrow. He spun around and raced down the hall where the food dishes lay. "I'm feeding them now mama. See? Do you see me? Mama, can you see me? I can feed them! Now am I ready for a fish?"

I decided to go back to bed. Sweet husband can take over Fish Talk 2011.