Most Certainly Not

The Beauty of My Babies

I'm not sure if it is the increase in ultraviolet light and temperatures or just the way of the world today, but for the past couple days I have been in awe of these little people I am raising. Maybe it's the late night talk my husband and I had last night when we realized that M2 could very well be our last child. If law school is truly where I'm headed, Hubs could very easily be headed overseas again by the time I'm finished...we're hurtling toward the magic age of "35" after which the statistics for mothering become much too dizzying for me. And, I suppose since I never looked at M2 as my last child, I've started to pay extra attention to them during the last 48 hours. First is M1. Tall and slender, she is becoming a young lady. I look at photos of her from just a year or two ago and am amazed at her transformation. The chubby baby cheeks have been traded in for more mature ones and her hair continues to grow. As she grows physically, I notice a growth in her confidence as well. I took her to gymnastics last night and watched as she moved from skill to skill. I was in awe of her grace given how awkward and gawky she can seem at home...almost clumsy sometimes. But here, amidst her peers, I notice a real difference. Her neck is longer and straighter. She is more graceful in her approach to each activity where some of the girls hurl themselves into the dips, turns, and apparatus. It doesn't take me long to start to realize she might be honing a real talent in the gym. M1 is in the middle of reading one of my favorite books of all time, Pippi Longstocking. I remember a summer spent sharing that book with my very best childhood friend. Misty and I borrowed it from the library and alternated reading that book chapter-by-chapter, cover-to-cover. I remembered all the adventures of Pippi, Tommy and Annika as I read two chapters aloud to M1 on Monday...of course, she'd already read these chapters, but anyone who enjoys being read to knows that doesn't matter at all. M1 also continues to grow artistically. Her drawings, paintings, and other paper crafts are so endearing and interesting. She's such a perfectionist and yet, she usually is willing to give herself room to improve and room to make errors when she is in a creative mode. She is sweet and prayerful. She tells me she prays for me every night. Little does she know I need those so much--who else can I name that prays for me EVERY night? The funny thing is, she is a little girl and yet, when she tells me that, I know she is telling me the absolute truth. And, if she ever stops, she'll tell me that too. I found myself staring at M2 this morning. She was sitting on the steps, cradling a small snack cup of dry cereal in the crook of her arm. She was wearing mismatched pajamas and yet, she'd already informed me more than once, "I pitty" (I'm pretty.) because she'd paired those mismatched pajamas with an adorable, striped winter hat--you know the ones where the kids look like miniature jesters? Bingo! I was caught up in M2's face. Her eyes are crystal blue now. Her skin is so fair and her hair, which is growing more and more each day, is decidedly RED. I couldn't be happier about that. She has a mouthful of pearly white teeth which she insists on brushing a million times each day. Luckily, the Easter Bunny brought her a new Elmo toothbrush to replace her Christmas ones--Pooh and Tigger. She loves to be outdoors. She runs. She climbs. She rolls the ball. She likes to practice going up and down the steps by herself. One of her favorite activities is to mimic her big sister. Another favorite is to torment her sister unmercifully until M1 is in tears. It's a sight, really. This tiny little tyrant with her oh-so-sweet face claiming EVERYTHING in sight as HERS. She also likes to take swats at M1 when she isn't looking. Those little slug fests always end with M1 in tears and M2 soothing her with a hug as if she were not the perpetrator of the injury in the first place. These two are so different and yet so much the same. I see so much of me in them but there is still so much original material making them very unique. I am still in awe that their care and upbringing has been turned over to me. That's such a tall order! One of the best parts of having Hubs home again is that I'm able to savor these days again. I'm able to look for these moments to capture in my mind to recall when, as teenagers, they slam their bedroom door in my face or scream that they hate me. I'm trying to document them in photos and journals too so when I am staring into the eyes of my newborn grandchildren, God willing, I will be able to recognize myself and the child's mother all at once. The Peace Corps may be the toughest job you'll ever love, but Motherhood is the toughest job that will ever love you back.

Glad To Be In My Own Shoes...

I am a news hound. Always have been and I probably always will be. I like to be informed, even if it means hearing about things that are upsetting or frustrating or infuriating or just plain sad. Some news stories become more than information, though, and provoke lots of thought and conversation among family and friends. The story of Terri Schiavo has been one of those stories.

I'm sure some have blogged their brains out in recent weeks over this situation unfolding in Florida, but I have not had the time nor the inclination to write since I hadn't drawn any real conclusions. I realized today, however, that I may never have finite conclusions about my reaction to the situation so I might as well write what is on my mind and go from there. Not to say that somehow because I've considered this topic or listened to the news stories about this issue, I am somehow "involved" or overly invested...I'm not planning a trip to Florida any time soon. However, when you consider how easily you could be in someone else's shoes, it's only smart to consider "what if."

I see this issue from both sides--as a mother and as a spouse. I can't imagine how excruciating it would be to have my child going over a week without any form of hydration or nutrition after watching her waste away in a bed for over a decade and a half. On the other side, if my spouse were in that condition, I can't imagine not carrying out his wishes, although I also don't think I could watch Brian starve to death no matter what he'd asked me to do. In fact, although he said he wouldn't want to live like that, he admitted he wouldn't want to die like that either.

At issue for me here is the decision maker in this case being a contradiction. One image is that of a loving husband, defying his wife's meddling family to carry out the wishes his wife expressed to him when their marriage was young. The underlying image, though, that I can't seem to shake is that of a man who didn't go to the ends of the earth to see if something could be done for his wife...no MRI, ever; no PET scan, ever; no therapy of any kind for over a decade. A man who, for all intents and purposes, has moved on with his life--new woman and two children--but who either a) is determined to fulfill his promise to his wife or b) is a man who wants to be sure his wife dies without her family having control over her situation.

I took my wedding vows seriously. When I said in sickness and in health and for better or for worse, I meant it. If some horrific fate befell my spouse, I wouldn't want to see him suffer or see him living a life that would not be dignified in his eyes. However, until I was certain absolutely NOTHING under the sun was going to help him, that there was not a medical procedure/treatment/test/therapy known to human kind that could help him, I would be true to him and our marriage and I certainly wouldn't rest easy until I was sure I'd done everything I could do. It's disturbing to me to think that there might have been some way to either help this woman or to help her family ease their grief when the inevitable happened.

As a parent, if I suspected my son-in-law in any way had a hand in my young, otherwise healthy daughter winding up in the state Terri Schiavo is in, I wouldn't rest either. And, if I had zero reason to believe my son-in-law had hurt my daughter, I certainly would be suspicious of him not allowing tests and therapies to be performed. I would also wonder why he, who has gone on with his life, couldn't just turn my daughter's care back over to me. If my relationship with my adult daughter turns out to be like my relationship with my own mother, I would know what my daughter would have wanted and I would respect that. However, this isn't a matter of flipping a switch...my daughter would be breathing and to remove her feeding tube and hydration, even if I thought that's what she wanted would be excruciating...if I had doubts of what she wanted, it would be impossible.

Perhaps I'm just too cynical. In my mind, I think the only reason for denying tests and therapies, restricting family access and ordering immediate cremation is because someone has something to hide. Maybe I watch too much Law & Order. Perhaps I've seen too many episodes of Forensic Files. Whatever the reason, I see red flags when I see that bulleted list. It isn't completely out of the realm of my understanding to have issues with my spouse's family should something like this ever happen to my spouse. However, they would never be able to say that I didn't do everything medically possible for my husband.

The overriding issue for me here is that there is no way to end this woman's life as she knows it--if that is, in fact, what she instructed her husband to do--without starving her to death. I find that an unacceptable option. Stray animals and convicted child murderers receive more consideration than an innocent woman does. And, Terri Schiavo certainly isn't the first person who has faced this fate. In fact, there are plenty of people who settle on this way of going when they are rational and not brain damaged at all--in my volunteer work with Hospice, most terminally ill patients reach a point where their body will no longer process food; some cannot even make their own saliva anymore...however, hydration is not at issue--Hospice even has lolliop-like things that are actually synthetic saliva to keep the patient's mouth moist. It's hard to imagine after over a week what one's mouth would feel like...hard to comprehend really. The goal of Hospice at that point is to keep the patient pain-free...I'm not sure how you could do that with all forms of hydration being barred. I suppose morphine works wonders, but I'm betting having your teeth brushed would feel pretty good too.

I suppose that's what it all comes back to for me. Many questions with few answers and even fewer comfortable positions to take. It is so easy to put myself in either one of the opposing camps and regardless of who comes out on top, there is an overwhelming chance that there will be no winners.

Easter On Our Street...

We're grown ups...really and truly. We are having a real, live holiday at our OWN house with just US! Granted, the girls & I did Christmas alone in '04, but this is truly our first holiday where we will awake in our own beds and stay at our own home all day. Amazing really. I thought the prospect of a day like that would be disappointing to me, but I actually am looking forward to it. The girls are in bed so the Easter Bunny will be here soon, I'm sure. I'm so surprised that M1 isn't disappointed about skipping the trip to the old homestead. She spent most of the weekend with her dad and we had family movie night tonight--a new take on Little House featured on The Wonderful World of Disney. So far, so good though some parts were pretty intense for a six-year-old who tends to get too engrossed in stories. I'm prepared for tomorrow, though. I have breakfast, lunch and dinner planned. Should be a nice day for us. I'm glad the girls will have a day to relax at home and try to recover from their ailments. I think they will do much better here at home rather than making a big trip and hopping between three gatherings. I'm torn, though, since holiday traditions have always been such a big part of my life. I think we need to build traditions into our own little family, however. Holidays are simply difficult since Hubs and I married because everyone lives in one place. And, when we go there, we are expected to see everyone. We are never in our own beds on the holidays and we are always on the move. What the family members we visit don't understand is that when their portion of the day with us is over and they go sit down and nap, we're dragging the girls off somewhere else where they have to behave, probably eat and in some cases be held and hauled around when they would rather be playing. Christmas for us, anymore, is a 14-hour day. It used to be my absolute FAVORITE holiday and now I start dreading its arrival on December 26th. We did make a switch and stay home M2's first Christmas Eve and not travel until Christmas Day itself. It was nice. This past Christmas, however, was truly relaxing and enjoyable. I thought I'd have hated being home alone without my husband on Christmas. And, although that particular part of the day was not something I'd want to repeat, the rest of that day would be just fine with me. My hope is that some holiday soon we'll be able to celebrate with healthy children. It would have been great to take the girls to our city's Easter Egg Hunt especially since our former neighbor boy was dressed as the Bunny. But, with respiratory viruses, a rainy looking day with temperatures hovering around 40 degrees isn't ideal. Maybe next year...

The Luckiest Mom in the World

For the past six years, I have come to the conclusion that I am the luckiest mother in the world. Yesterday, that conclusion was punctuated by the occurrences at M1's "Easter Celebration" at her parochial school. She attends the morning session of kindergarten with eleven other students. The afternoon session has thirteen children. Both sessions attended during morning hours yesterday so the children could celebrate Easter together and six, rather than three, homeroom moms could tackle the party planning, crafts, snacks, and general mayhem that accompanies twenty-five children, sugar and movement. Let me say I attended this little shindig with a raging sinus headache and without the benefit of my required intake of caffeine. I realize these were major, albeit at the time unavoidable, errors in judgment. I came to some interesting realizations during the excruciating two hours and forty-five minutes I was at school... Those who work with kindergarteners are a special breed of human. I stood in awe yesterday of the very pregnant Mrs. M, M1's teacher, and the perpetually perky Miss S., the music teacher/librarian as they repeated themselves over and over trying to make the children mind. I told each of them, more than once, that I haven't a clue how they did it. Miss S. smiled at one point and said, "Oh, they are being so good today. This has been easy." WHAT?! Then, I began to wonder if those types of assessments were made naturally or with some kind of pharmaceutical help on board. There is a difference between patience and obliviousness. Case in point...Little Q. , a child in the afternoon session who had a complete inability to control himself or listen, it appeared. What a relief it was to someone with very little patience for that type of behavior to see that Q's mother was in attendance as a homeroom parent. Unfortunately, Little Q's antics either didn't strike his mother as obnoxious and ridculous or she has her prescriptions filled at the same place the teachers do because not ONCE did I see her correct him. No...wait. I must take that back. When the child removed his shirt during musical chairs, she did pull him aside and tell him that he couldn't do that. I just failed to understand how a child could repeatedly be addressed by teachers and ignore those teachers without his mother stepping in to put the kibosh on his behavior. I kept thinking how mortified I would be if I kept hearing my child's teacher calling her name, mandating a change in behavior and that behavior continuing...unacceptable! I'm not oblivious to horrendous behavior and I truly only have so much patience--you can ask anyone...a few people come to mind but mentioning them here would be gratuitous--so when Little Q wandered away from the group for the umpteenth time and Mrs. M. was in the bathroom, I decided enough was enough...especially given that the child's MOTHER was WATCHING him wander off and not saying a word. Our exchange went a little something like this, "Q? Everyone is at the snack table now and you need to be too. Come this way." He looks me in the eye and continues to wander off. I proceed to follow him and then repeat, without a BIT of niceness in my tone this time, "Where do you think you are going? Turn around and march yourself over to the tables with the rest of the kids...NOW!" Shock and awe, people. I guess Little Q is used to having rule of his roost. Too bad for him a wet hen was attending his celebration. Musical chairs takes too long. No witty quips. Just an observation. Playing musical chairs with twenty-five children simply takes too long. My daughter is a good kid. She listens. She does what she is asked to do. She is respectful. She still manages to have fun. Her teachers are grateful to have a child like her in the classrooms and I am proud of her for being able to control herself like a six-year-old can and should. M1 had no patience for the misbehavior of her classmates either...not because she's such a goody-goody but because there were things at the party she wanted to do and it kept being interrupted or delayed by all the running, screeching, whining, and apparent DEAFNESS of her classmates. She even noted on the way home from the party that she knew the kids were getting on my nerves because of the look I had on my face--hard to hide when you want to put everyone in a collective time-out, I guess. So, it's final...I have a great kid in M1. I can't take all the credit, but I will take some. I mean, if I, as an objective observer, look at the atrocious behavior of some of those children and place firm blame for most of it on the parents then I guess I can take a percentage of the credit for my daughter using the brain God gave her. And here I thought Catholic school was the answer to yard apes attending the same classes as my daughter...I guess they are just everywhere!

Family Update

It has been brought to my attention that I haven't updated my blog in quite awhile. I thought I'd do a family update and then maybe find some time to post on some current issues that have my mind churning. Hubs and I took a great and very relaxing trip to Georgia last weekend. We rode horses, took naps and visited the historic town beside the ranch where we stayed. A well-deserved four days for both of us and probably not something that we will be able to repeat anytime in the foreseeable future. Three of the four of us are on medication for respiratory/flu-like problems. M1 is med-free so far, but we have the prescriptions at the ready. M2 has three oral medications on her agenda today, plus two rounds of breathing treatments AND ear drops...if you've ever met M2 you can imagine the decibel level associated with getting 4 drops into two ears. My sinus infection is holding on for dear life. I finally broke down and called my doctor yesterday. The headaches I was experiencing became incapacitating yesterday (I'm sure helped along by being a homeroom mom at M1's Easter Celebration) and she prescribed an additional medication to relieve sinus pressure. Thank God! M2 is hacking like a pack-a-day smoker so our Easter plans remain in the air. I have no desire to pack all her meds, the nebulizer, etc. for an overnight--not even sure where we'd stay at this point--only to have her not sleep or become sicker. Plus, I don't want to expose everyone in the families we'll visit to her and her hacking...it's horrendous. Hubs, however, is hem-hawing around. I told him to just GO--it's not like tending to sick kids on my own is anything new--and bring home the Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs that I KNOW my grandma will have for me...she knows they are my favorite. So, not much has changed. Hubs is still home (three weeks already!), M2 is sick with something respiratory, M1 is her sweet self and I am spending all my free time of this long-awaited spring break doing NOTHING related to "breaking". You gotta love it!

My Neck Hurts!!

In December of 1993, a car stopped short in front of me at a red light. It was sleeting and I barely got my Mustang stopped before my fender met the fast-stopper's bumper. But, I stopped. I heard screeching tires behind me and turned to look left into the rearview mirror. Then, BLAM-O! The car behind the guy behind me, hit the guy behind me and shoved him into MY bumper. A car accident...NICE. It was a couple days before Christmas and I had so much to do. They called an ambulance for the man directly behind my car and when the firefighters/EMT guys arrived, they took one look at me and told me to sit back in my car. A very handsome firefighter held my head still while they waited for an ambulance. I told him I was fine & I just wanted to go home. He told me to look in the mirror. When I did, I saw that the right side of my neck was swollen and an angry red. OUCH! The time in the ER was lovely. It was the days before cell phones so I had to call all over trying to get someone to come pick me up. Oh! And, I was chewing gum when they put me on the back board and put a neck brace on me...when they left me alone in triage, I swallowed that gum and almost choked to death. I'm not sure how I talked myself out of panic and willed that gum through my esophagus. Perhaps it was the absurdity of the idea of choking to death and the medical examiner pulling a wad of gum from my throat. Idiotic, really. I spent nearly a year going to the chiropractor. I never thought I would go to one, but when they x-rayed my neck, the natural curve that should be in my neck was completely gone. My neck bones were ram rod straight...horrifying! So, adjustments and ultrasonic treatments at varying degrees of frequency and I was as good as new. When I graduated from the chiropractor's office, he told me that recovery from an injury like mine was never absolute. He said the nature of my injury was such that someday it could relapse. He said it could even be ten years later and I would do something as innocent as turning my head and my neck would feel as awful as it had in the midst of my initial days following the accident. I thought he was full of garbage and simply trying to plant a seed in my head that would make my re-injury a self-fulfilling prophecy. Apparently, the doc knows his stuff. I have been in excruciating pain every few days thanks to my neck. Usually it had been happening after I sat at my desk awhile, but today it grabbed me while I was lecturing--standing up & walking around my classroom--and it HURTS. I checked my insurance provider directory and realized the old doc is on my list as well as my husband's directory list. And, since I don't need a referral, I called his office IMMEDIATELY and requested an appointment. Next week, I'll be cracked, I hope! I should really need it after the weekend I have planned. Brian and I are taking a road trip south to a guest ranch where we can ride horses twice a day! Yikes!

Why I Don't Routinely Watch CNN Headline News

And I quote the news babe: ..."A manhunt for a courthouse shooting suspect is being called the largest in Georgia history. But, who is this man police are searching for? We'll talk to family members of this man being portrayed as a killer..." Excuse me, Miss? "portrayed as a killer"?!?! I'm going to go out on a limb and say that when literally dozens of people SEE you kill THREE people and shoot another...you're actually a killer. No one is portraying anything...you just are at that point. I know legally that media have to push the "allegedly" button over and over. That is just a given. But, to sound so idiotic as to suggest that somehow after being seen mortally wounding three people, shooting another and whacking yet another person in the head with a gun that you are simply being portrayed as a killer or otherwise is silly. Defendants have been allowed to look a certain way to avoid their appearance being prejudicial to the jury. So, no hand cuffs or prison garb during trial. In cases like this, it allows the defendant anonymity. If someone wants to make an escape, being in civilian clothing and creating a distraction is a good way to do it. As innocent bystanders and court watchers flee, the defendant can ride the wave of people or, in this case perhaps, brandish the firearm he's stolen and scare people out of his way. Even my six-year-old appears to have more sense than CNN's news babe. As I relayed my astonishment of the introduction of the story to my husband and before I could even say what I thought about the introduction, M1 piped up with, "I think you're a killer, if you needed to kill someone even if it's just one person." I said, "M1, people don't need to kill even ONE person. Those people that died did so very unnecessarily." M1 looked at me and said, "But, if you wanna be a killer I suppose you're going to have to kill somebody otherwise, you can't be one." Very true. Unless, of course, it's in CNN-land...then you can kill three people and there will still be some doubt as to whether you actually are a killer.

Not a Solid Case...

I attended a breakfast for accepted students at the law school last month. Since then, I have been thinking that perhaps I don't have what it takes to be a lawyer as I didn't take the opportunity to point out the flaws in a very vocal tablemate's argument that morning. Of course, on the other side, I told myself, "This is breakfast...not class or the courtroom. Just wait until you get her in class and THEN you can fire questions." This woman, who looked old enough to be my mother or at least older sister (if I had one) didn't really get on my good side by suggesting that she, like me, was a "mid-lifer" student. On the one hand, given my position, my marital status, and the fact that I'd mentioned I have children, she could have made that assumption. On the other hand, I pay ALOT of good money for hair coloring services, eye cream, and moisturizers with things like white tea and antioxidants. I do NOT look like a "mid-lifer" and if she WERE around my age, I could NOT tell. This woman proudly listed her town of residence as Yellow Springs. If you aren't familiar, Yellow Springs is a small enclave around a half-hour northwest of our campus. It is Ohio's answer to California's Berkeley...full of tie-dye, Birkenstocks and organically good for you treats. It is a super fun place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there. I don't think my "W - 04" bumper sticker would win me any friends. The woman went on to say that the reason she'd decided on Yellow Springs was not only because she was a California transplant but also because she "wanted to raise her children where they didn't base their perceptions of people on color, economic status" or other things like that. She wanted them to see "people as people". I thought that was nice...although I think that has more to do with upbringing than location, but that's me. It wasn't a minute later that she launched in to a story about the new Chancellor of Antioch University. Apparently, Antioch had rescinded its offer for a public speaking engagement involving Ward Churchill, the professor from Colorado who basically blamed 9/11 on the innocent people going to work that day...you know...the ones that were MURDERED. I suppose even those cleaning toilets when the planes hit were "Nazis" too. I'm still failing to see that logic, but I digress. EVERYONE at the table, including me, thought that was strange given the usual anything goes attitude of Antioch. (I must interject here, however, that Antioch may very well still have a policy in place that requires each partner in a relationship to AGREE before physcial moves are made..."May I touch you here? Can I kiss you? How many buttons may I unbutton?" I'm serious. This was their answer to acquaintance rape. I know LOTS of us who were students at UD at the time made fun of this policy as we're more for the spontaneity of drunken encounters.) Anyway, she went on to say that the new Chancellor who lives on her street is OBVIOUSLY monied-up (her words, not mine) as he has a Jaguar AND a BMW in his driveway. She went on to talk about his clothing and his income level even more. I was torn between keeping my mouth shut--which I did given our environment and the fact that two deans from the law school were at my table--and asking her if she was listening to herself. Didn't she JUST expound on her "enlightened" and tolerant attitude toward mankind that she hoped living in Yellow Springs would impart on her children. I'm sorry, but you can live with homeless people and refer to them as "your excellency" and your kids won't treat everyone equally if that's the way their parents behave. Like so many other people I have met since this last election cycle, you're equal unless you're successful. You're worthy unless you're doing well for yourself and not afraid to drive a nice car...rather than the pre-requisite VW bus. I'm not being stereotypical of Yellow Springs...I've BEEN THERE so I've seen more VW busses there than in any Woodstock documentary I ever watched. And, I guess if you can afford a hybrid car, you're supposed to be driving one? I'm not sure. I like my luxury sedan just fine and as long as I'm comfortable paying $2.35 or more for a gallon of premium gas, I don't need some broad commenting on me and others like me as if we're the reason the world is so screwed up. I felt like referring her to my site, but I won't...at least not until we're in class together. I just don't understand the double standard. Granted, I would hope that my daughters would aspire to be their best, meet challenges and be self-sufficient as they grow. That, in my eyes, does make them better than their counterparts who don't meet their potential by choice. However, my children also are learning that God doesn't make junk and people need to be treated with respect, especially when they haven't given you reason (as an individual) to treat them otherwise. For some, though, it's a "only when they look like us or worse than us" standard for treatment. Sorry. I'm just not interested in that.

Homecoming...A Week Later

Much anticipation and angst went in to last week's return of my conquering hero. I sure love that guy! The whole series of events was so surreal, however, that it has taken seven days and some retrospective sensemaking to actually appreciate all the things going on in my little circle. The actual homecoming moments themselves were all I'd wanted them to be. I'd watched with great empathy and sadness as soldiers from other units did the goodbye dance with their families while the television cameras rolled. And, my heart leapt to my throat with each homecoming I vicariously experienced through those who had survived their respective deployments and were reunited with each other. The little girls in pigtails racing in to their Daddies' arms always sent me into a crying jag complete with racking sobs and Kleenex, but it was very cathartic to behold. For us, the temperature barely broke the freezing mark given the whipping wind that accompanied the day. The Family Readiness Group had asked families to arrive between 10:15 and 10:30 with the bus arrival time set for around 11:00 a.m. We cooled our heels in the lobby of the church where the buses were set to return to and were sent outside when they were supposedly close. Once I began to grow concerned about the girls' noses and fingers, we went inside the church's vestibule until the buses were in sight. We yelled and clapped and cried as the buses pulled into the long driveway and circled in front of the waiting families. I had no idea which of the three Hubs would be on, but I surmised that with over a half dozen family members waiting to see him, it would be best to stand in one place until we saw him rather than charging the buses in search of our soldier. The buses emptied. Hugging, kissing and shouts of joy ensued. Still no Hubs. I knew he had to be close to making his way through the sea of people, though, as he wouldn't stand in a large crowd for very long. And, as the other family members became confused by the copious shaved heads and stetsons, I saw the back of my husband's head. More like his left ear and two inches of the side of his neck, but I knew it was him. I yelled his name. No response. I yelled his LAST name and everyone between the two of us turned to look at me. I do have a loud voice, I know, especially when I'm YELLING. After yelling his last name yet again and him not turning around, I started toward him with the family hot on my heels. He finally turned around and was waiting with open arms and a kiss when I reached him. In a matter of seconds, he had scooped our oldest into his arms and then gathered up our toddler who snuggled right into her Daddy's chest with her head under his chin. It was a moment, that's for sure. I could have looked at that moment forever. We were interviewed for a local paper and even appeared on the front page. Very exciting given the fact that we appeared on the front page the day he left. We came full circle. Our baby girl was near hysterics when her Daddy had to get in to formation to march in to the ceremony. She quickly fell asleep and stayed that way until her Daddy was there to cuddle her once again. Luckily, he was as ready to leave with the girls and me as I was to get him home so we made a hasty exit. M1 talked the ENTIRE way home ( I do not KNOW where that trait comes from! ) and said, "I just can't stop talking! I'm sorry! I have so much to tell you, Daddy! I just can't stop talking!" The girls immediately took him upstairs to their rooms. M2 insisted he read "Go, Dog! Go!" to her and then M1 hauled out her "special box" full of all the treasures she has collected during the time he was deployed. It was a wonderful afternoon. So far the reunion period is going okay. One little snafu yesterday when I had worked a very hectic day only to be asked at 5:30 when I was desperately trying to get home, "So...what's for dinner?" I don't think I need to explain how THAT little query was handled. We've come to an understanding, though, and the apologies were quick in coming. It's an adjustment and we're making it.

Be Careful What You Wish For...

Over the last ten months, I spent alot of time wishing. And, although I was very careful not to wish away the girls' childhoods, I know I did utter wishes that had to do with me not being the sole parent responsible for all in the universe. I wished the kids had someone else to look to for help or that perhaps they would be a little more independent at times so I didn't feel so bogged down by all the needs and wants of the munchkins around me. Last night, I received a very blatant sign that perhaps what I thought had been idle chatter when no one was listening might not have been all that idle OR unheard. Top that off with an incident this morning and I KNOW someone was listening. At bedtime, M2 accompanied me to her room where I told her I would help her put on her pajamas. "No." She said...not an unusual occurrance. "I'm sorry, M2, but it's YES. It's time to put your pajamas on. Would you like Mommy to help you?" "No. Not you." "Not me?" I inquired. Whatever was this child talking about?! "Not you...Daddy help." Why did we ever teach her to talk?! Did she just look me in the face and tell me that my services were no longer required? And why, after watching months pass by in an agonizingly slow manner, did I not run triumphantly joyous from the room? Instead of jumping for joy and shouting, "Free at last!!!" I sat there in stunned silence as she walked to the edge of the steps and called down to her father..."Dadddeeeeee! HELP!" This morning, it was a struggle to get M2 out the door. M1 is home with yet another childhood skin ailment--Fifth's Disease this time. Good grief!-- and is being nursed back to health by the ever-capable soldier. Her sister, noticing this disparity in Daddy Time wasn't moving very quickly today. Once I did get M2 to school, we arrived near the end of snack time. M2 sat at the snack table, enjoying her Cheerios and milk (who wouldn't?!) and jabbered on about her friends, the teachers, and her O's. Then, she looked into my face and said, "Work? Work?" I replied, "Yes. Mommy is going to work." She reaches over and starts pushing on my arm. Her interrogative statement now becomes declarative. "Work. WORK!" "Do you want me to go to work now, M2?" "Yeah," she replied. (I will interject here that my attempts to have her say "Yes" have thus far been rebuked.) "Uh...okay..." I say as I struggle to get up from the floor while her teacher gets an amused grin on her face. "Bye-bye, Mommy!" M2 chirps as she waves with one hand and stuffs Cheerios into her mouth with the other. "Um, Bye?" I say, incredulous, as I walk toward the door. She gave me one more wave as I put my shoes back on and headed to work. Man! Can't there ever be a happy medium?! I believe I ALWAYS added "once in awhile" to my wishes about not having 100% of the responsibility. I NEVER said I wanted to be completely left out of the picture. The 'grass is always greener' cliche comes to mind at times like these. Once the newness of Daddy being home wears off, I'm sure it will be business as usual. However for now, I'm surprised how fickle they can be! I guess I should just read the year's worth of magazines I have stacked in the magazine rack and stop complaining!