Beach Analogy

I was laying there today, floating along several yards off the shores of Clearwater Beach, looking at my toes as they bobbed above water, and two thoughts flew into my head. First off, how much I wish I'd painted my toes some pretty, bright color. Maybe a red. (I seem to be getting more girly in my old age. I feel a desperate need for bottles and bottles of pretty nail polish, and I recently bought my very first tube of stunning red lipstick!) Then I could take an awesome picture of them as they bobbed in and out of the waves. (If I'd had my camera out there, which I wouldn't have.) Second, how my floating there in the water lazily waiting for the waves to deposit me back on the shore made up a pretty good analogy for how I'd been feeling this week. (I was also hoping that a shark wasn't going to swim up and eat me, but I always hope that when I'm at the beach. I've seen Jaws too many times.)

We found out some pretty big news this week. It's huge. It's exciting, and it's something we've been praying for and wanting for a long time. So, when we found out, my first reaction was an almost overwhelming joy. Michael and I hugged, laughed, cried, and gave silent cheers (not wanting to wake up the littles, who were sleeping just feet away), both so happy that our prayers had been answered.

And then it hit me. Everything is going to change. And then I got scared. 

We're a military family. Out life is change. However, we've been at the same base now for five and a half years. It's not my favorite place, but I think it could be if only we were closer to family. I grew up with family close. I enjoyed the structure, the stability, the bonds I have with all members of my family. It's been a big worry for me that the boys won't have that. that they won't have a place they can come back to and feel like they are home, because the life of military families is a life of moving around and change. Except we've been at our base for five and a half years, with no sign of orders on the horizon. We have made an established, comfortable home in Idaho, even if it's not my favorite place. It is still my sons's home. And if it's home to him, that's important to me.

And this news means we'll be moving "soon". To a new place, with new people, and new experiences. While that is exciting to an extent, it is also scary. And as I thought about telling my oldest that we were going to have to leave my stomach began to tie its self into knots. Idaho is his home! It's his safe place. It's what he knows, and that is going to be taken away from him. No matter how much we wanted orders and wanted this change, it makes me sad to know that he is going to be sad, worried, and scared. No mother wants that for her babies, and I can't stop it. 

To make it worse for the planner in me, we don't know when or where we will be moving yet. (Which explains the quotations around the word soon from the paragraph above) In fact, it could be many, many months before we do know. It could be more than a year before this happens, or it could be six months from now. We have no idea. I am not the type of person who enjoys feeling out of control, but there you have it. There isn't a thing I can do about it. Or the fact that, as much as we don't like Idaho, we are very aware that we could end up somewhere far worse. Or even farther away from family. And that would be so sad. 

I'm also not the type of person who makes new friends without effort, and I hate leaving old ones. I try to make friends, but I am shy, and awkward, and a little backwards, and it takes me time. I cherish the people in my life who have managed to scratch through all that oddness on the surface and see who I really am inside, and I am going to hate leaving those people behind. It's not as bad as it could have been  in a different age. And age before Facebook and Skype and unlimited long distance, but it isn't the same as showing up on a friend's doorstep loaded up with babies, toys, food, and the promise of fun. It's not the same as being so comfortable in another person's house that you kick off your shoes, roll up your sleeves, and help with dinner and mopping and children as if it were your own home.

It's change, and change is scary. It is exciting, and new, and something we wanted, but it's also a little bit scary to know that your life isn't ever going to be quite the same again.   

So, back to me bobbing around on the waves at Clearwater staring at my toes and having deep thoughts about how this paralleled my life. :) There I was, splayed out in the water like a little girl and allowing the waves to bounce me around wherever they wished as I alternated looking up at the sunset streaked sky and my dismally unpainted toes, and I realized that I didn't really know where the current was taking me. (Though I would hopefully land somewhere close to where we had deposited our bags and towels before everyone tore off at breakneck speed for the joys of the waves.) I didn't know when I was going to get there, or what the stretch of beach I landed on would be like. I didn't know who the poor tourists would be wherever I happened to make shore or what they were going to think of the crazy almost thirty year old woman who washed up at their feet. Heck, I didn't know that a shark wasn't going to swim up and bite me in the rear end as I sat their pondering. (I sincerely hoped that they would not.)

What I did know was that, wherever I happened to be when I finally climbed out of the salty water, my family would be there waiting for me. They would smile and laugh and wrap me in their arms and it would feel like home. The ground would be solid under my feet, and if I did happen to stumble in the sand, my husband would be there to steady me. There would be pretty shells and not-so-pretty seaweed, and we would oooh and ahhh over the one while refusing to dwell on the other. I would photograph everything to chronicle yet another new adventure, and life will be good.

And it will be after all these big changes come too. Because we have each other.

And because it wouldn't feel right to have a post with absolutely no pictures, here they are. My plain, boring, unpainted toes. I think they need a remodel. However, I do have brand new, bright red, polka dot flip flops, and that is pretty fun! New can be awesome!

One Step Forward, Two Back

Doctors appointment today. Usually those are not met with any kind of excitement, but I happen to enjoy my RE (Reproductive endocrinologist), Dr. Krueger. He's that doctor everyone should have. The one who listens to you. Really listens. Laughs with you. Dotes on your children and their obvious brilliance. The one who makes you feel like you are the only person he has to see that day, and that you are the center of his entire practice. 

I am not a doctor person. Dr. Krueger isn't just any doctor. He truly is an awesome man who (whether it's true or not) makes you feel as if he cares about you and your desire to self-populate the world, Dugger style. (Disclaimer: I in no way mean that as a bad thing. I absolutely adore the Dugger family. They are seriously one of my favorite families out there, and I've never even met them!) He also makes you feel like he understands your disappointment when he is sitting there with bad news.

Today he didn't have bad news, but it wasn't great either. Certainly not what I wanted to hear.

On the plus side, the base didn't lose my blood work this time. Dr. K had it in his hands when I walked in for my appointment. (I had called ahead to make sure they had it before I scheduled my appointment. Base labs have screwed up too many times for my liking.) After the news before Christmas that my prolactin levels were decreasing, apparently on their own, and were down in the double digits, I was expecting more good news today. I was disappointed.

My thyroid has apparently lost it's mind, or is going through some kind of midlife crisis, or something. Who knows what, but my levels have gone out of wack enough that Dr. K is almost doubling my prescription to try and get them back to where they need to be. Possibly because of my thyroid and possibly just to keep us guessing, my prolactin levels have jumped up again and are back into the triple digit range. Yay!!! (Dripping sarcasm there...Oh when will they invent the sarcasm font?!)

I suppose I knew that my levels wouldn't be where they should be yet. Despite diligent temping and excessive use of OPKs on my part, I have yet to detect ovulation, which most professionals agree is sort of essential to the fine art of baby making. However, I had secretly hoped that Dr. K would take a look at the paperwork, tell me that my levels were right on the brink of normal, that I should expect my cycles to return any day, and that he looked forward to my pregnancy announcement. Yes, I knew that wasn't likely, but I had hoped. Darn hope.

On a positive note, once my body decides to cooperate Dr. K says he has full confidence that I will manage another beautiful baby. He also is encouraged by my regular, horrible ovarian cramps, saying that it could be a sign that my body is trying to work the way it's supposed to. Like an engine trying to turn over. If not, it is something else we might have to check out, though I refuse to consider the chance that it could mean that yet another part of my reproductive system is faulty. I absolutely refuse to go there right now. No reason to borrow trouble. I think my Grandmama would be proud of me. :0)

So, now I have new medication and I will go back for another fun round of blood work and results in April. I'm trying not to think about how this is the last possible month I could conceive a 2013 baby. After all, my dates and plans have never worked out just right. I know God has a plan I just can't see clearly yet, and if we'd gone with my blueprints instead of His, I wouldn't have the two amazing little boys I have now. And I couldn't trade that for anything. Not ever. I might not get my 2013 baby, but I'll have the best little baby 2014 has to offer. :0)

It was the first time in a long time I'd left Dr. K's office feeling down, but I am willing to give myself 2 or 3 days of pouting before I pick myself up and go on to the next step. And hopefully the news in April will be nothing but positive.

Homecomings

Well, here we are again. The end of another deployment. This has been the hardest of our three, hands down. I've been ready for it to be over since before it started, and I am thrilled that it is finally time for me to be writing this! I am not entirely sure why this one was harder. Everyone keeps saying that it is because I have two little ones now, but I am 100% sure that isn't it. The boys kept me sane this deployment. I think part of it was having two so very close together! Two deployments in an 18 month period is no joke. Part of it was also probably knowing that I could have very easily been home, but stayed because I was too worried about what people would say. My mistake. Won't make that again, you can be sure. 

I'm not going to dwell on it though. Because it is over and my baby is coming home!!!

On the outside looking in, homecomings would seem like they are nothing but joyous occasions. Please don't get me wrong, they are. Absolutely. But I have talked to enough wives to know that I am not alone in having a certain amount of anxiety at the thought of the approaching reunion. I never would have believed it before experiencing it myself. After all, military homecomings are the things of an amazing TV special. Banners and cheering and relief and tears...and they really are all those things too! More emotion than I can sum up in simple words. I swear to you, I can actually feel my heart swell with pride when I watch that plane coming in for its landing. It starts beating a patriotic beat as I watch the plane taxi around and finally come to a stop, so close yet still so far away. It takes much longer than it ever should between the time that plane stops and the time the doors open, but in that time my heartbeat never comes back down to a normal patter and it reaches an unbelievable level of joy that erupts when the doors open and men and women in uniform start filing out to reunite with their loved ones. It doesn't seem possible that a person could actually live through those levels of excitement and suspense, but you somehow do, and then join everyone else as they search for their special people in that sea of smiling faces and excitement so thick you can actually taste it!

Sometimes you find them quite quickly, and sometimes it takes a little longer, but eventually your eyes will meet through a forest of camo and welcome home signs. And, for me at least, that is when the shyness kicks in. Yes, I have known him for years, more than I wish to share here, because it makes me feel old, but we have also both grown and changed over the many months he was gone. At the core, we are those people who said goodbye many moons ago, but some things have changed, and getting to know those parts of my husband are what makes me shy.

Still, there is something electric about your eyes meeting for the first time. They hold yours for a fleeting moment (though so much passes between you in that moment that it would take several blogs, and probably books, to express it) before they look away, searching for the little beings they missed most in all that time they were away. What, you thought it was you they most wanted to see? No. They missed you, they want to hold you again, but there is an even more pressing issue on their minds. A body they long to hold more than even yours...and it's OK, because you would feel the same way if you had missed out on half of your child's life too.

If they have any fears about homecomings, it is for these moments. A fear that is deep and dark and shared by so many of our men and women in uniform when they arrive stateside once more...What if their children don't know them? What if they are scared? What if they don't want anything to do with them? So, they approach with caution, even though you can see the excitement and joy radiating off their faces as they take in every part of the children they left behind. They crouch down, sometimes several feet away, waiting to be approached by cautious little ones, even though you can see their longing to scoop up that little body and shower it with all the kisses they couldn't give in those months away. They talk and smile encouragement, sometimes with offerings of stuffed animals or toys picked up at some airport gift shop for way too much money, until their child comes up to them again and reaches out, and then the most amazing moment of homecomings gets to happen. Nothing, nothing at all can describe the reunion of child and parent. It is cautious and sweet and pure and filled with more joy than most moments can hold on their own. They fit into their parents arms, in that special spot meant just for them, and you can literally see months of tension, fear, stress, and war melt away into the sky as their parent folds around them in a perfect fit, often burying their face in their hair or neck to hide tears or to breath them in or both. It is pure beauty.

And then, finally, it is the spouses turn. And, as shy as I am, as strange as it is to feel those arms around me again, it is also safe and familiar and perfect. I can always smell a mixture of strange lands that I will never see, and the scent that is 100% unique to him. I love that. Is it odd to feel grown up arms again? To hold onto someone taller and stronger than me? Yes. Do I know that we have some adjustment ahead of us as we all redefine our rolls as a family? Of course...but for a moment none of that matters at all. Because he is home. 

Happy occasions? Joyous occasions? Oh, homecomings are so much more than that. But they are also hard and, for me, bittersweet.

It is hard to know that while I hold onto my husband, preparing myself for the next several weeks of getting to know one another under the same roof again, as hard as that might be sometimes, there is another husband or wife out there somewhere who would give everything they own for that chance. That there is an urn on their mantle or a folded flag in their holiday pictures where Daddy or Mommy should be. It's hard to accept that those men and women made that sacrifice for all of us back here in the States. Many of them made that sacrifice so that their brothers and sisters in uniform could go home in their stead. I don't know how to say thank you for something like that. And it is impossible to comprehend that my own husband might be asked to make that sacrifice one day. If any of us thought like that on a regular basis, I don't think we could get by.

This time, however, he is home safe. This time, God returned him to me whole. So I concentrate on that, and add it to the list of things I whisper my thanks for as I hold him that first time after he gets off the plane. He is home, and we are a family again.  

Thank you, Lord. Thank you for giving me the strength to get through this once again. Thank you for giving my my sons, without whom I could never get through a day. Thank you for delivering him home to my arms again. Keep us together, safe, and whole for as long as you can, please Lord. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Amen. 

Another Overdue Update

I have decided that I really need to start setting myself set blogging days. I always have so much to say, but I never end up getting it done, and then I end up having to write these obnoxious update blogs that make me feel like a slacker. *sigh*

I guess to start out, I am still doing projects every week. However, shortly after writing my last post, my laptop decided to die. I am currently being forced to do everything on Michael's old laptop, which has neither my pictures or picture programs on it, so you won't see a post with details and pictures on any of my projects until he gets home. Sorry about that. I am just not tech savvy enough to fix my own laptop, and he hasn't been able to talk me through it over the phone.

Speaking of homecomings, I am starting to get really worried. This is nothing new for me, but it is still hard every time. Homecomings look like a very easy, beautiful thing on TV...and they are beautiful, but they are also nerve wracking, stressful, and hard. Not for everyone, I'm sure, and not impossibly so, but they are an adjustment. I, being a creature of habit and not nearly as "go with the flow" as I try to pretend I am, have a hard time with the huge shift of my every day life. Don't get me wrong, I am thrilled to have my husband home. It is change, though, and takes some time for me to get used to.

Sebastian's birthday has come and gone. I have pictures, which I will share when I can. We had a good time. We had a special dinner and cupcakes with some friends of ours, and then we did the smash cake (an owl) and some presents over Skype with Daddy. The plan is to have an actual birthday party after Daddy gets home in the Fall. Sebastian won't know the difference, and I know that it will mean a lot for Daddy to be there. 

I can't believe my baby is one. It seems like the year went by so quickly. I miss having a new baby to snuggle and love on (Baby Fever, here we come!), but I love watching him develop and grow. I felt the same way with Parker, but I think it is worse this time. Maybe because I know how fast it is going to go by now. How soon I will have a chattering, smart, inquisitive three year old in front of me. It's scary how fast it has happened with Parker, and it feels like it has gone by so much faster with Sebastian. Maybe because I have two now? I wonder if that means any more we have will happen in a blink. Probably. That makes me sad too.

Yes, we want more children. Yes, we will probably start discussing that soon. No, I don't want your opinion on the issue. If I want to have as many children as the Duggers and I am the one raising and taking care of them, it really isn't anyone's business. Thanks. (For the people who think they have the right to tell me what to do with my uterus.)

I will write more soon. Like I said, I plan on making myself blog on certain days. Goodness knows I need it.

Come On Down!

So, maybe there is too much TV in our house. It's always on. It's not so much that we sit around watching it, but the last time Michael was deployed I get very used to having it on in the background so the house didn't seem so quiet, and so we do that often now when we are sitting around playing or coloring or whatever it is we have decided to do that day.I find I need the background noise.

Something we do watch on occasion though is The Price Is Right. I've loved that show since I was a very little girl, and Parker has a couple of games that really grab his attention when they come on, not to mention that he gets a kick out of them calling people's names and yelling "Come on down!" It makes me giggle when he yells it back and claps as whoever it is jumps and screams and makes a general fool of themselves "coming on down". (I have always sworn that if I was ever on the show I would be the person who calmly sauntered down the isle, shaking the occasional hand, before getting to my little price podium and politely greeting Drew.)

Anniversary & Ultrasounds

Today was my husband and my six year wedding anniversary...and I'm not going to lie, it really stunk. I know it's not the "strong" thing to admit, but it was really horrible having him so far away for our anniversary. I also, unlike many of my military wife counterparts, don't mind admitting that I am scared to death for him on a regular basis, and I would be lying if I didn't say that I thought to myself at least once today 'What if I never see him again?'. 

That being said, it didn't ruin my day. I didn't dwell on it. It's a part of the lifestyle and you get through the hard days and move on, but it really did stink. It's not our first anniversary spent apart, nor will it probably be our last, but knowing that doesn't make it a whole lot easier sometimes. Still, I remind myself that, for now, he is OK. He will be home soon, and this is just one day of many that we have to get through. And will. So many other people have it so much worse, especially on a weekend like this one. It's hard to feel sorry for yourself when you know there are women out there celebrating Memorial Day at services to honor their fallen husbands.

Besides, today was also the day of our make-up 3D/4D ultrasound!

One Fear Conquered, One Fear Realized

Well, here I am. Obviously I survived the flights home, though how I did that I am not entirely sure.  We had some crazy turbulence, and I spent a lot of time praying, eyes shut tight, hands gripping the seats so hard my fingers hurt. Luckily, I couldn't completely loose myself in that fear, because I had Parker there, who was unsettled when I was unsettled. There was much nervous laughter on my part, but we all survived.

And, I conquered a fear! If you remember, in a recent blog about my plane fears, I shared that I don't move once I am on the plane for fear that my movement will unbalance the plane and send us all crashing towards the Earth. Because of this, I haven't used the rest room in a plane since I was a very little girl and far too young to understand the dangers of air travel. It appears that God decided to test that theory while on the smallest plane flying out of Dayton yesterday. (Which still wasn't as small as the prop plane I took to Witchita Falls several years ago. It didn't even have a bathroom.) After several orange juices, I found myself in desperate need of some relief, and some courage. It was almost a 3 hour flight, and we weren't even half way through yet, so the choices were limited to either standing up and walking to the back of the plane to brave the potty or wetting myself without a change of clothes on hand.

I seriously considered the second option for several minutes.

Imagine my shock when I found myself unbuckling my seat belt and standing in the foot wide aisle, making my teetering way back towards the 15 inch wide door at the back of the plane! Now, call my crazy if you wish, but I can feel the vast amount of space that is underneath me when I am on a plane, and it has always been a very strange feeling. It is worse when you're walking over it, aware that the only thing between you and that immense amount of empty space is a small cargo bay with some scattered luggage.

Once through the door I found myself in the smallest, noisiest, most frightening bathroom I had ever imagined. Every second I was sitting there I was convinced that the bolts holding the toilet seat in were going to looses, allowing the toilet, it's contents, and myself to fall through the air to the Earth below...fear does not have to be rational...but somehow I survived! It was a proud woman who made her way back to her seat (I smacked a guy in the head with my boobs as I was coming out of the bathroom...there was really such little room and they are so very large...) and buckled herself back in!

I also have proof that God has a sense of humor...and all this happened in one day! 

I have often said, not entirely joking, that the only way planes could be worse for me is if the crew consisted of giant spiders. No, the crew of my plane was not made up if over sized arachnids, but there was too much irony in the situation not to find it amusing.

Our second plane had little screens that lowered from the ceiling on which they were showing these beautiful nature shows! I didn't have my headphones, but I was watching the shows for the beautiful images and to keep my mind off of the terrible turbulence. I am assuming if I had been privileged enough to hear what the narrator was saying I would have realized that they were shifting topics on this particular documentary...all I know is that one second I was fascinated by the images of underwater volcanoes and running lava under the ocean, and the next second I was staring into the multiple eyes of a huge spider, made larger by the amazing zoom lenses of the camera men. 

It was close enough to count the individual hairs on it's many legs, and even had it not been zoomed in upon to such a disgusting level, it was a huge spider by any standard! I looked away as fast as I could and started giggling, half way between hysterics and genuine amusement that they very thing I had said could make a flight worse for me was happening. Michael laughed himself, and took great delight in narrating the eating and hunting habits of our large arachnid friend until it was again safe for me to watch. Overall, it was highly amusing, and reminds me that God Himself must have a sense of humor. 

I suppose I have rambled enough, and I have several thousand pictures to go through in the next couple of days. I will post some as soon as they are ready.

God bless and thank you for reading!

 

I'm Leaving On A Jet Plane...

...in just a few hours as a matter of fact.  I'm no calmer today than I was yesterday. I have yet to burst into tears though, so I guess I am ahead of the game. We've dropped Jake off at our friends house while we're gone.

Of course, I had everything planned out perfectly. Parker was going to get his bath and go to bed early since we'll be waking him up before 5am. Michael and I were going to shower and go to bed early as well so that we could be well rested for our trip instead of biting eachother's heads off.

Here we are right about the time I expected us both to be snuggling into bed, both us grown ups are yet un-showered, Parker would pick tonight to stay up until almost 10, the packing isn't done, the trash isn't out, I don't think I'm going to get the chance to sweep and mop like I wanted to, I haven't written out the instruction list for Shamrock and Tessa yet...Michael and Ivy are playing Army of 2, so I guess it will be 5 Hour Energy and coffee by the gallon tomorrow. That or we will just be running on pure adrenaline right up until we crash in bed tomorrow night. 

The next time I blog, it will be from OHIO! 

God bless and thank you for reading! 

 

I'm Not A Pessimist, I'm A Realist!

 I'm scared to death about Monday. I keep having nightmares (and daymares) about the plane ride. This isn't a new thing. I've been afraid of planes since TWA Flight 800 went down on July 17, 1996. I was 12, and it was all over the news for days. It left a horrible impression on me. A lasting impression. (No idea why I was permitted to watch hours of horrifying news coverage at the age of 12...)

Now, almost 14 years later, I have the logic of an adult behind me, but the same fear clutches at my chest when I think of getting on a plane. Logically, I know that the odds are on my side. I know that the odds of being in a plane crash are slim. The odds were on the sides of 230 people on July 17, 1996 too. The odds were on the side of every last passenger who boarded a plan on September 11th. Sometimes, no matter the odds, events are tipped in the other direction. Sometimes the horse that is ranked 30-1 wins over the 2-1 thoroughbred! 

And don't give me that "You have a better chance of being in a car crash than a plane crash" crap. That's like saying a woman has a better chance of dying in childbirth than a man does. Yes, statistically there are more people who have been in car accidents...because more people ride in cars per day!!! That's one of the most BS things I have ever heard, and is probably a statistic that some airline president came up with. Also, if my car crashes I am what, maybe a foot and a half off the ground? If our plane goes down it has to go down a few miles before it hits the ground! I might have more of a chance of being in a car crash, but I have a better chance of walking away from it too.

Poor Michael. He's never flown with me. He has no idea what he's in for. He tells me, and he is right, that I will pull it together for Parker's sake. It's not fair for me to transfer my fears onto him. This could be a wonderful, fun experience for him, and I will do everything in my power to make it such. After all, he'll only have his first plane ride once. So, I will smile and take pictures and try to keep my fear to an absolute minimum when he is around...Of course, I can't say I won't spend a lot of time becoming reacquainted with my breakfast in the airport bathroom before we board. 

Luckily, I don't get air sick...mainly because I refuse to move once I'm on the plane. Seriously...once I am on and strapped in I won't move until it is time to get off again. I have a completely irrational fear that somehow my standing up to use the restroom will throw the planes balance off, sending us rushing towards the Earth to end as a tangled mass of metal and wings...Even knowing how silly that sounds and is, it doesn't change the fact that even bending to get a book out of my carry on makes my heart race and my stomach turn. 

On the flip side, I can assure you that if my plane does go down, it won't be a terrorist that does it. Let some crazy guy (or woman...I don't gender discriminate) tell me he's taking over the plane with my son on board with a box cutter. They will be removing that from his colon once the plane lands. No, if we go down, it will be an act of fate...which makes me feel a little helpless.

I think the thing that scares me most is that I have Parker with me. If something happens, it will happen to him too. He is so young and precious and the thought that Michael and I could take him on a plane and something terrible could happen...I would feel like it was my fault!

I know we'll probably be fine. I know on Monday I will probably land safely in Ohio for the first time in 2.5 years! Knowing that doesn't stop me from being scared out of my mind. It's not helping me sleep at night. Luckily, once I'm in Ohio I'll have a great time and several weeks before I have to think about it again!

Thank you for listening to my ranting. Voicing my fears helps a little. I know the odds are in my favor. We'll say our prayers before getting on the plane and leave it in God's hands. After all, that's all anyone can do in any situation. I know that He will keep us in His light and grace, even if I am scared of the worst every minute of the flight. 

Thank you for reading and God bless!