11 posts tagged “family”

Or, one babe in particular.  *g*

We've been trying to teach Mickey (who, for those keep track, just turned 2) how to count.  This was the conversation this morning before the walk to school.

Me:  Mickey... one

Mickey:  two

Me:  three

Mickey:  free

Me:  four

Mickey:  why

We think that 'why' is how he's saying 'five' for right now, because he's said it that way before, but it's entirely possibly that by this time, he was fed up with counting and was just asking "why?"

Also, notice that he does not say 'one' or 'four' and jumps right to the next numbers in the sequence. 

(We're also attempting colors, but for now, the only color he accurately identifies is 'geen'.)

My father hates Christmas and has hated it ever since my grandfather passed away in 1997.  My father had always associated the season between Thanksgiving and New Years with his father on many levels and having him no longer there to share them with has made the whole season sour for him.  Already a 'surly' or 'prickly' man at the best of times, my father becomes down right unbearable and scrooge-like at Christmas time.  

While discussing it with him just two days before Christmas this year, I told him that he had the power to make Christmas whatever he wanted to make it, and that, instead of turning it into a sad or bitter occasion, he should take an example from the father he loved and make it a time of love.  Grandpa always made things fun for his grandchildren (my brother, sisters and myself) and that Dad could choose to do the  same for his his grandchildren, too.  

Or he could go on being a scrooge and making the holidays horrible for all of us.  

His choice, and I told him that he should choose love.

Flash forward by two days and I am sitting on the floor between my eight year old daughter and two year old son, helping to pass out presents and taking pictures.  

Brenna hands me one package, marked as 'To Debbie, From Santa.'  The 'Santa' in question is my mother and the package is medium-sized, soft and squishy.  I am hoping for socks, because new socks are one of the few unique joys in life that I call mine.  

Also, Mom always buys me socks, so I'm really looking forward to them.  It's the one present I have always been able to count on being under the tree.

When the packages are all passed out -- with the lion' share going to the kids, Steve and my mom -- I find myself sitting on the floor with … just that one present in front of me.  I open in, and the hoped-for socks turn out to be a pair of fleece jammies.  I don't often wear jammies because I don't like things on my legs when I sleep (they make my legs itch), and instead wear nightgowns or over-sized shirts.  

I'm sitting typing this and trying to put into words the emotions that were running through me yesterday while I was helping Mom clean up the wrapping paper and empty boxes.  I don't intend to sound selfish or childish or anything like that, and that is what makes it hard to say this.  I got one present, and it wasn't even one I necessarily will find joy in for more than 2 wearings (before I wash them and start making my legs itch, that would be).  

It's not really that fact that I only got present.  It's not even really the fact that it wasn't the socks I was hoping for (and largely expecting).  

It's the simply fact that the only present I got this year was from my mother and that there was nothing under the tree for me from my husband.  

Further, Christmas Day came and went without him saying thing about it.  No 'Merry Christmas' or even a Christmas card with an IOU taped to the inside.  

People, this is the same man who bought me a glass globe of the earth for our anniversary to symbolize him giving me the world.  He is not generally without resources, creativity or imagination.  
He could have done something and simply put, did not.

And for my part, most of the way through Christmas Day, my kept going back to that conversation I had with my father about making Christmas be about love and not 'just things' so I sucked it up and nothing even though there were times when I wanted to just crawl off somewhere and cry because the man I'd put months of energy and planning to finding the perfect gift for had not even gotten me a lousy Christmas card.  Because the kids were happy and we were getting ready to have my brother and his new fiancée over for Christmas dinner and it would not do to be glum on Christmas, right?

Right, so I don't say anything, until later that day, after dinner when Mom and I are doing dishes and she notices that I am not necessarily happy.  She asks what's wrong, so I tell and… get told that "he tried but couldn't find the gift he had wanted to get for me' so I should not be mad at him.  

(The gift in question… he had been trying to find me two movies I had asked for three weeks ago, which had been on sale at Walmart down home in VA at the time… and in stock aplenty.  He did not buy them there and no store up here in PA had them… so not buying able to find them anywhere, he gave and bought me… nothing.  And further compounded it by saying nothing or offering up an alternative and basically leaving me to feel like I had been forgotten or worse, an after thought.  But I am supposed to forgive that right?  Because he tried, or so mom says. )

Today, he's hunting with father in The Big Woods (it's flint lock season, yay!) and I'm at my parent's house with the kids, typing this when I should be cleaning the house before Mom gets home and still feeling pretty much like a selfish shit because getting gifts is not what the season should be about and I know it.  There are people in the world who are so much more worse off than I am who do not have the things and blessings that I have.  

This holiday season, I have been blessed with two healthy, happy children, my husband home safely from Afghanistan, and have been surrounded by family (my parents, brother and sisters, nieces and nephews).  

We are not homeless, jobless or poor, even though the economic crisis has pinched us, too.  

All in all, my family has a lot to be thankful for this year and I should be happy with that instead on dwelling on some … stuff… I did not get.   

When I was a little girl, my mother used to sing me this song and I never knew where it came from, but I taught it to my daughter too. 

Today, very randomly, she asked me where I got it from and when I told her, from my mom, she said, "let's call gramma and find to where she got it from."  So we called mom and she said Gramma Gee sang it to her when she was a kid, and then added that it was a popular song from the 1940's.

So, I went to Google, and found this.

On September 11, 2001, I woke up to what I thought was going to be just another day.  I got up with my husband, cooked him and our daughter breakfast, and then got ready for work.  Back then, i was working at the base commissary at the checkout line and I had to be to work early that morning to help open up.  

I dropped Brenna off at day care and headed into work without stopping to watch the television or listen to the news on the radio.  No one had o much as registered what had happened at that point anyway. 

The commissary had just started letting customers in and I was elbows deep in someone's groceries when an announcement came on, saying that we were to finish checking out the people were already doing and then shut down.  The base was being shut down and evacuated.  There was no news on why or what had happened. 

Then someone came in from the break room and said that something had happened in New York.  It was on the news.  We all knew it had to be big, because otherwise, they wouldn't be evacuating the base. 

We rushed through shutting down and didn't even clean up, because we were being shooed out to our cars by base security. 

The road to the gates was filled with cars and the line was backed up to the commissary itself by the time I got into line.  And I hadn'tgone far before my car had the untimely notion to break down.  I had to get it off the road and wait til I could get some help. 

Sadly, this was before we had cell phones and I couldn't just call my husband, so I had to wait until base security stopped to ask why I was still there and by then, I was crying and upset.  He took me to Steve's work compound, only to find out that it was locked down and everyone inside was not allowed to go home.  He was allowed to come help me get my car started, but after that, he had to return to the compound until they knew if his reserve battalion would be called to action, to help out in some way. 

Car finally running, I returned to housing and picked up Brenna from day care (an hour later than everyone else who'd come home early because of this) and went home to watch the news until I couldn't bear it anymore.  I spent a lot of time crying that day.

Steve came home very late that night, packed a bag and went back to the base. He returned the next day, after it was decided that they weren't being called up after all. 

He wasn't called up, wasn't asked to help the people in NYC who were busy with clean up and rescue.  He wasn't called up to go with his battalion to help hunt down the people responsible, but ever since, he wanted to.  You might say that he picked his last two duty stations because of that.  He wanted to serve.  He wanted to do his part.  He'd "signed on the dotted line" at age seventeen because he loved his country and wanted to serve with all that he was.  So, from the little reserve battalion in New Jersey, we went to Norfolk and Spec War... where he did six months in Afghanistan helping special forces from around the world do exactly what he'd been denied in 2001.  Hunting down Bin Laden.  They captured a high up in Al-Qaeda while he was there.  And now, he's back again, this time for eleven months and this time with the Army.  And when he's done, he wants to go back to Spec War.

Everything that's happened in our lives in the last seven years has been a direct result of 9/11.  I think any military family today can say the exact same thing, whether they realize it or not.  Other people have the luxury of forgetting about it until this special anniversary rolls around if they want to, if they can, but not us.  Not those of us who love and support the troops in Iraq and Afghanistan, who have spent every day since those towers fell holding our breaths and hoping that today will day Bin Laden gets caught. And praying for the day our loved ones can come home safely.

Greetings from the wilds!

Yes, I have been in the wilds.  Steve got home from Over There last Monday night and we took the kids and dog and drove up to Pennsylvania to visit with my parents and spend a few days camping.  

We camped at Lyman Run State Park, which was simply gorgeous and it was a shame that it had to end so soon.  Next time (yes, there will be a next time) we will have to state longer.  They have facilities for campers and tents.   There's fishing, hiking, boating, swimming.  They even had a place where you could rent boats, paddle boats, kayaks, etc to use.  I wanted to rent a paddle boat but the concessions state couldn't cash anything bigger than a $50 and didn't take credit card.  

…

Yes, there are places left in the world that don't take credit card.  Bless their hearts.   

This was Major's (my Dobie puppy, as some of you recall) first trip to visit Grandma and Grandpa and his first time going someplace outside the city.  I was somewhat apprehensive about it, but he's done really well.  It turns out, the country life on the farm agrees with him.  I've taken him 'up back' for walks at least 3 times a day before we went camping ('up back' means up through the hay fields on the hill behind my parents' house) and then there was all the wilderness for hi to explore while we went camping.  

He will, I think, come home a changed doggie.  

This was also Mickey's first camping trip.  He got to sleep in a tent, go fishing on the boat (Dad and Steve say 'never again' because he doesn't hold still and wants to jump in the water.  Hehehe.  Oops!) , stay up late, and take showers instead of baths.  With luke warm water instead of really warm.  

Mom and I took the kids and all the dogs (their poodles and my Dobie) to the 'beach'  to swim with the fish and the frogs.  Literally.  We weren't in the water for five seconds and we found a tadpole.  Which was very cool.  

Mickey was not sure about it, at first, but then he hooked up with a couple little girls and got over being afraid of the water so he could play with them.  My son… such a player at such a young age.  Hehehe.  

Saturday night we made S'mores and told tall tales around the camp fire until bed time.  Or rather, Brenna made every s'mores while Mom and I washed dinner dishes, Dad kept the poodles out of the way and Steve chased Mickey around.  

The next time we go, we're going to remember to bring actual money as opposed to the plastic kind, so I can rent a paddle boat.  

Anyway…

Today is Monday and I'm doing laundry so we can have clean clothes.  Tomorrow we'll be packing up to head home home (as opposed to 'the farm home').  We have a week left all the way around.  Brenna has a week left of summer vacation and Steve has a week left before he has to hope a plane back Over There.  

I'm uploading pictures from this weekend to my Photobucket account.  

The will be here once they all get finished loading.  It's slow going because Mom's Net is not as fast as mine.  

So... I've been taking these with my cell phone to send to Steve to Afghanistan.   Thought I'd share them here, too!

Well, Brenna, Mickey and I colored eggs all by ourselves this year.  Was different doing it without Steve, but we persevered with smiles so we could send pictures to him and brighten his day.  He says where they are located is high in the mountains and he feels very isolated. 

These first photos are the prep-work.  Vinegar, egg dye, and finally, the first eggs in the cups.

More shots of the eggs, coming out of the dye, mostly.

These are Mickey, playing with plastic eggs.  He wanted to help with the real ones, but he cracked two, so I figured the plastic ones were safer for him.

And now Brenna being a ham. 

Lastly, some random shots of the finished products.

All week long, I've been silently celebrating the fact that, after almost a year of post-baby weight fluctuations, I am finally able to wear two pairs of jeans I had to abandon once Mickey started to assert his dominance over my abdomen.  I've diligently been trying them on every couple of months and lo!  Finally they fit!

Enter last week, and we (Steve, the kids and I) had our pictures taken for the holidays.  We haven't had a family portrait done since Brenna was 3, so it was time.  

I sent previews to my parents in an email, this is where my poor happy-fitting-jeans bubble meets its demise.  

I am over weight, and yes, I know it.  My parents, who are also over weight, love to harp on the fact because while it's apparently to late for them, it would not be for me, because I'm still young.  And if I won't do it for me (because God knows how much I *LOVE* being over weight, right?) I should lose the weight for my kids.  

Mom calls me up this morning on her way to work.  No "hello, Debbie" or nothing just this little exchange:

"I love you, Debbie.  You're my baby, and I love you more than anything."

… "Okay" … "I love you, too."

"And you have such beautiful babies yourself.  How much do you love your babies, Debbie?"

… "A whole lot" … "Why?"

"How much is a whole lot?"

… "Mother?  What's going on?" …

"I saw your pictures today, and … " she launches into the usual 'you're too fat, you need to exercise, you have to do it for the babies' speech.  

*sigh*

I walk a mile every day., rain or shine.  

I don't buy junk food.

I do get "snacky" but I try to keep healthy snacks like fruit and veggies or yogurt on hand.  

I use low-carb wheat bread instead of white.  

I eat in moderate portions.

And while I'm not trying to starve myself on some crash diet or by counting endless calories, I am slowly losing weight.  It's not huge loads just falling off, but heck -- the jeans are fitting again, so that's something right?

But gah.  Just gah.  
I know I'm not as thin as I used to be.  I haven't been thin since I hit puberty.  But before you go launching into your speech, why don't you try oh, I dunno… asking me how my week has been?  I might have told all about the suddenly  fitting jeans and you'd understand that… gee… maybe your daughter is doing something  about it?

More pictures of the kids from this past week.  Just random stuff.

These are Brenna and Mickey, sitting on our porch with the pumpkins. 

Mickey using his sisters bug toy as a paci. 

Oh oh oh an ice cold milk and an oreo cookie...