Make New Friends and Keep the OldOne Is Silver And the Other Gold

This post has been brewing in my mind for months.  I can never get it to stay on one straight trajectory, though.  I wanted to tackle the topic in this post, but then it took a walk through a completely different part of my brain.

So let's try this again.

I'll write a separate post about my kids and their friends.  That has been the biggest focus of our lives (and my mind) lately.  I'm doing my best to put all my stuff on hold so that my kids (most especially my oldest who are very much smack dab in the middle of the "Best friends" mindset) can spend as much time as possible with their very best friends.  That, however, is another post for another day.

Instead, I'll focus on my reaction and my friends.

Today, I drove through a part of town where some friends used to live when our kids were small.  I passed the restaurants were one friend and I often lined up our girls side-by-side in high chairs.  Just a few blocks from there, I passed the street where another friend once lived and remembered her son's second birthday, where my oldests (just shy of 2 at the time) were introduced to karaoke.  All those friends, while still in state, have long since moved away from that neighborhood.

I won't have those moments when I move.  I won't have those friends who sat alongside me on the park bench nursing our oldest babies.  There won't be anyone who knew my kids when they were smaller.  There will be no one who has any shared experiences with me at all.

Here, I venture out to Target and run into a friend I haven't seen in years, one who attended the same "Baby Basics" class with me when we were pregnant the first time.  When my big two ask who she is, I say, "You and her son played in playgroup together when you were babies."  I won't be able to say that about anyone in Washington.

My kids (and I) want to see the newly returned elephants at the zoo.  Here, I can text a friend and make plans for the next day.  While we're there (at the zoo my children know well enough to give tours because we've come frequently ever since they were 6 months old) thoroughly enjoying ourselves, I run into a number of people I know and stop to chat.  My kids say, "Hi," to a friend from Hebrew school who passes by.  When my son was a baby, I declared, "I never go to the zoo without running into someone I know."  That has held true for years.  That, however, won't be the case when we move.

A mom I really like, but don't spend nearly enough time with, walks along side me while our girls walk ahead discussing their favorite books and our boys run around and around AND AROUND us.  She tells me, "We're going to miss you."  She has no idea how mutual that feeling is.

I look at my friends' kids that I've know since they were newborns and I realize they'll be frozen in my mind at their current 4/6/8/10 years old.  I've been there for these kids' first steps, first karate classes, dance shows, first time they wrote their names, etc., but that ends now.  When they hit their next milestones, I won't be there in the audience to see it.  

A friend posts on Facebook, "I got a girl's number at beer fest. Sweet! (making friends post college is hard!)"  I nod quietly to myself and sigh thinking that it's not fair that I'm leaving these awesome friends behind for the huge abyss that is the friendless unknown.

###

"I got my feet on the ground and I don't go to sleep to dream."

thirty-seven / threesixtyfive a photo by Noukka Signe on Flickr.

We had some potentially good news.   I'm trying to be calm and logical about it all, but apparently, my brain has shared this news with my subconscious which took that news, put logic through the shredder only to then spit on the scraps.

In all 6 months we've been apart, I don't think I've a single dream about my husband.  This is odd for me.  During his deployments, he visited my dreams, not on a very regular basis, but on several occasions.  Overall, those visits were welcomed, but, every once in a while, I'd wake from one of those dreams & it would take me a moment to realize our reunion only existed in my mind.  Go ahead and give me a bit of comfort and happiness and snatch it away quickly in the sunlight.  Stomp on my heart, why don't ya?

Apparently, my subconscious has taken this vague possibility and decided that the next step must be reunion.  

I didn't even dream about anything terribly obscene (:::waving meekly at my big brother and sisters who I know don't want to hear anything TMI about their baby sister:::).    I can't really remember much about the actual events of the dream.  I just remember him.  I remember purposely touching his skin and I remember his arms around me.  

And the next thing I remember was completely unrelated.  I was in an SUV driving off a cliff with a whole host of people, (none of them my husband).  When I woke up, I was shaken by the car off the cliff to the point that it took me a while to even remember I had even dreamt about my husband.  

Ever since then, though, I can't shake it.  I can't shake that longing for him (and, for once, my mind's not even in the gutter when I say that).  I can't reason with myself.  "Yes, yes, that's all well and good and will happen in time, but there's a chance it won't happen NOW."  In response, my heart shoves its fingers in ears and chants, "La la la la.  Can't hear you."  

I've actually found my conscious mind feeling more and more pessimistic about this prospect.  Maybe it's to try to counteract this hopefulness that has taken flight (prematurely) in my dreams.  I don't want to be disappointed.  I don't want to be the only one in our big bed at night.  I don't want to dream.  I don't want to be alone.   I don't want this chance to pass us by.  

"Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling into at night. I miss you like hell." -Edna St. Vincent Millay

Melancholy and the Infinite Sadness

I've had a great couple of weeks. I've been very upbeat and positive.  I've played wack-a-mole with the Drama Llama and won.  I've enjoyed the company of great friends.  I've had an endless stream of potential buyers in the house.  True, sleep and I aren't BFF's lately, but I've still been in great spirits.  I realize how blessed I am and I've been pretty happy.

Out of absolutely nowhere tonight, I found myself having another one of those nights.  It's not even a whole night, just a sudden heavy heart in the past few minutes.

Miss the beard, but he's still hot.

I miss my husband.  It's not just the usual, "Wish you were here," type missing.  It's the, "I need you beside me RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW," type which should really be accentuated by ridiculous amounts of fierce punctuation.

Sometimes, I can pinpoint something specific that causes this longing;  a song, a phone conversation, seeing a sweet couple, an old photograph.  Tonight is not one of those times.  I have no idea where this came from.  It gave no warning.    Suddenly, out of nowhere, I had the overwhelming urge to be in my husband's arms.

I'm trying to stay positive.  I can't acknowledge this longing without realizing how blessed I am to have him in my life.  I know we won't be apart forever.  He's NOT in a combat zone this time.  Sylvr lynings, I haz dem in spades.

Still, I miss him and that's both wonderful and awful all at once.

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling into at night. I miss you like hell.-Edna St. Vincent Millay

UPDATE (most likely a totally useless one, but I'm sharing it anyway) :

My husband and I met over an X-filed themed Rolling Stone cover in 1997 (we were both big X-philes, although I'm probably the only one of us who would willingly use that phrase and do so without rolling eyes).  While I still have the magazine (packed away now), we could never remember when exactly that was.  Turns out, the date on that issue is February 20, 1997.  So exactly 14 years ago.

Valentine's Day Revisited & Redefined

valentines day
Originally uploaded by rebecca anne

I hated Valentine's Day. As a teenager, I boycotted it. I donned all black and bitched about stupid made-up Halmark holidays.

To this day, my husband and I don't celebrate it. When it comes to companies encouraging people to spend insane amounts of money to honor a painful pagan fertility festival, I still feel as snarky as I did when I was 16.

Once I had kids, though, I found myself longing for the Valentine's Days of my youth, the ones full of glitter-covered hand-made cards and pink cupcakes with red sprinkles.

This year, our homeschool group had a Valentine's Day party with a card exchange. The kids had a blast. I had a blast. It was so much fun and helped put me in another frame of mind.

While we don't celebrate it, I still found myself missing my husband today even more than usual. That longing made me feel the first itch of pitty for myself.  But how can you feel sorry for yourself when the little people in your life insist on addressing Valentine's Day cards to everyone they've ever met?  Watching a little friend tote your youngest around so sweetly through nearly the entire party tugs the corners of your mouth in an upward direction.   When your son demands to give his Hebrew teacher his very favorite brand new Toy Story Valentine pencil, you simply can't feel down.

I think I've found a way to reframe the day so that I can truly enjoy it.  Instead of the sappy jewel-incrusted anti-single-fest Valentine's Day has been forced into, I found myself enjoying time with friends and watching my children doing the same (only their interactions contained far more screeching and hanging upside down than mine).  It made me thankful for it all--my friends, my kids, my situation in life, my husband (even if he's not here), my marriage (which can survive these absences time and time again) and yes, pink cupcakes with edible heart decorations.

Thank You Friends! [EXPLORED]

Originally uploaded by FrozenBlizzard

It's my party and I'll completely ignore it if I want to.

or just bitch and moan. Whatever works.  The bitching moaning and crying never seems to, so I'm opting for just ignoring it this year (right after I finish dedicating a whole blog entry to it).

The husband was supposed to be only a few hours away for training starting just days before my birthday.  He would be there for a full month, so that also would have freed him up to come to our youngest's second birthday party as well.

Well, apparently, there's a change in plans. And so I sigh and moan and hope maybe there's more to this than meets the eye (no, my husband is not a transformer), but go on the assumption that there's not and my birthday is just going to suck.

I'm the type who always gets bent out of shape about birthdays.  This year, though, I don't have any plans and the more I think about it, the more I think I just don't want any.    Despite that photo of Mr. Grumpypants the pissed off feline up there, I'm really not depressed.  I just think it might be best to skip any celebrations.

So, I think I'm just going to pretend it doesn't exist.  I won't mark it on the calendar.  I took it off my Facebook profile.  I'll avoid my usual birthday count downs.  While I didn't plan on telling the kids, the oldest saw me type my birthdate to sign up for something the other day and she remembers it.  She keeps telling ME how many days until my birthday.  Gee, thanks a lot, kid.

I'm really not even feeling particularly upset.  I'm just exhausted and I really can't see how we could anything to celebrate, so I'll try a new approach. I don't want to get myself worked up with hopes for anything, so I'll just try this and see how it works.

One Of Those Nights

It's one of those nights.  I hate these nights.  I miss my husband.

We've done this distance thing before.  We're used to it.  Honestly, now that the kids are older, it's not that bad anymore.  We have our routines.  I have help from the bigger kids.  I have fantastic friends who help out when they can.  I can handle this stuff on my own.

I don't need my husband to function.  I can handle the day-to-day stuff by myself without him around. The fact is, I LIKE my husband.  I actually want him around.  I know this, combined with the fact that he's not an asshat is a shock to many folks.  It seems to be the standard belief (and often practice) that husbands must be awful and wives should want to spend as little time as possible with them.

When he returned from his last deployment, he had a month off--a whole glorious month home with us.  We loved every minute.  A friend of mine, though, countered with, "You only feel that way because he just came home.  By the end of the month, you'll be dying to ship him back."

Um...no.  By the end of the month, we were sorry to see him go back to work.

I've known people who anxiously count down the days until a snippy spouse gets a vacation only to then immediately start counting down the days until their over-bearing spouse goes back to work.  We've never been one of those couples.

I like having my husband around.  He's smart.  He's funny.  He's hot as hell. He has good taste in movies.  He's a genuinely nice human being.  He's a great father.  He really is a partner--we're in this together.  We really do work together in most things (okay, so I wind up as the only one who cleans the bath tub 97.5% of the time no matter how many times I ask him to do it).

Yeah, obviously I love the guy.  We've been together 14 years (OMG.  I just realized that this year marks 14 years.  Yeah, I gasped at that realization) and this year will mark our 12th wedding anniversary (Why yes, that was another gasp you just heard escape from my mouth.  I knew last year marked 11 years so I have no clue how 12 managed to surprise me, but it did).  But the simple fact is, I like him.  After all these years, I still like him--really truly like him.

I don't know why tonight turned into one of "Those" nights.  I'm not even sure how it did.  I just know I suddenly and achingly miss my husband.

I'm trying not to let myself get too down.  "Always look on the bright side of life," and all that jazz (and yes, if you heard the Monty Python version, you're doing it right).  I really do know how lucky I am to be married to someone I still respect, still love and still like.  Still, when I remember how fantastic he is, I get a wee bit frantic and I get the urge to yell at the sky, "Then why the hell can't I be with him?"

*sigh*


This house will sell.  This house will sell.  This house will sell quickly so that we can move and our family will be together again.  


Could we just have that happen sooner rather than later, though...please. 

Today is February 1st. 5 months apart

The (far too many) steps to prepping a house for sale

Our house is back on the market.  After a period with no potential buyers, we took the house off the market in December.  We knew we wanted a new agent (ours was perfectly lovely and a very nice person, but she simply wasn't aggressive enough), her contract was up, plus house traffic apparently slows way down in December.  

It went back up with a new agent (someone my husband worked with when they were both in the military) earlier this week.  

For those who haven't sold a house or who haven't sold a house while children were living there, or who haven't sold a house with children who are homeschooled (and therefore, the parents get absolutely no kid-free time to prepare), or those who haven't sold a house with homeschooled children always underfoot and a spouse 2000 miles away; let me tell ya, it's rough. 

Among the list of things to do to prepare to sell a house:

1. Repack existing boxes (stashed in the biggest kids' room).
2. Open children's closets and see an endless array of clothing and accessories strewn about the floor.  
3. Scream.
4. Remove endless amounts of clothing from children who insisted on leaving it lying all over the freaking floor.
5. Remove all socks from those same children for the same reason (yes, my kids are currently sock-less in Winter.  They deal).
6. Remove all but four pairs of shoes from said children.
7. When said children leave one of those four pairs of shoes lying in the middle of their floor AGAIN, remove yet another pair of shoes. 
8. Look under the big girls' bed.  
9. Repeat step 3. 
10. Move the repacked boxes (which now also contain much of what was stashed under that bed) to storage (which, if you're lucky, a dear sweet friend will let you use her garage for and you will be forever indebted).
11. Call new agent and set a date to meet to sign paperwork and take pictures of the property.
12. When one of the children gets sick, cancel said appointment.
13. Repeat step 11.
14. Step 12 may also need to be repeated depending on the number of children and the season.
15. Pack more boxes.  
16. When you think you're done, look around again and revisit step 15.
17. Repeat step 15 more times than you think humanly possible.
18. Just as that dear sweet wonderful friend is about to show up to help you move more boxes, find even MORE  things to throw in boxes.  These things will most likely be stored WAY up high.  You only truly understand the frustration of this step if you are roughly the size of the Keebler Elf.
19. Repeat step 15.   
20. Profusely thank said friend.  It's only proper if you offer to bow down in homage.  
21. Open cabinets and sort through the things the kids have hidden there and forgotten all about.
22. Clean up anything fragile that the kids stashed precariously in the cabinet so that it fell and broke when you tried to rearrange said cabinet.
23. Replace the caulking on the bathtub.
24. Curse.
25. In an attempt to clear out the coat closet, sort through the mess of coats the kids have tossed on the floor (despite the many empty hangers hanging within their reach).
26. Find a can of interior paint knocked on its side when those children threw those coats.
27. When you struggle to put the can upright, discover a 1 foot wide and about 1/2 an inch mostly hardened pool of WHITE interior paint on your dark hardwood floor.
28. Repeat steps 3 and 24.
29. Text/call the spouse with threats to sell the children on Ebay.
30. Scrape up the paint as best you can.   Beware, this is very messy.  Some will be left behind.
31. Cry. 
32. Vacuum.
33. Spend an entire week clearing out the laundry room that no one has sorted through in nine years.
34. Shout with glee when you find the alcohol you sealed up in a box and stashed back there for Pesach (Passover).
35. You just found tequila amid the hell that is house prep.  Do I REALLY need to tell you what to do next?
36. Now that you have more space in the laundry room, use it to stash the kitchen appliances before pictures are taken (You can wait until you sober up from Step 35 or you can do it while buzzed.  It's entirely up to you).
37. Hide vacuum in the laundry room.
38. Clean kitchen counters.  
39. Clean stove.  
40. Drag vacuum back out and repeat step 32 in the kitchen where all the crumbs have now collected from the counter and stove top cleanings.
41. Move any furniture around to desired placement.
42. At least one piece of furniture will break upon step 41.  When that happens, repeat any combination of steps 3, 24 and/or 31.  
43. a. Mop kitchen floor or  b. have child mop kitchen floor.  If b., repeat 43 yourself after.
44. Clear off the weeks of paperwork that have gathered on the dining room table (and by, "Clear off," I mean stash them on a chair where no one can see).  
45. Have child put table cloth on.
46. In an attempt to adjust said table cloth and find the child simply threw it on over a mountain of crumbs.  
47. Repeat step 24.
48. Remove said table cloth.
49. Hand child a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser.
50. Repeat step 45.
51. Find the baby destroying something you had already prepared.
52. See steps 3, 24, 31 and perhaps 32 if necessary.
53. Veg out on Facebook for a while.
54. COFFEE!  
55. Repeat any combination of these steps.
56. Toss everything left in a box and hide it under the desk.  
57. Take a deep breath.  You're done 15 minutes before said agent is set to arrive. 

While completing this list, you should also stop often to text the spouse to ask, "WTF do you want me to do with this ('This' should typically refer to CD's, games, video game-themed magazines from the late 90s, boxes and/or electrical cords--none of which have been used in years)?"  You should also include numerous occasions of preparing food.

And yes, this list is based on actual events.  Any resemblance to people or situations is purely purposeful.

Thank You

thank you

Originally uploaded by hellojenuine.

I've had odd experiences lately. Other people have asked me for help and I've been grateful to be able to do that.

It started during a week when I was feeling particularly low. I was acutely aware of how much I missed my husband. The kids were bickering. I was frustrated.

Out of the blue, a friend called and asked me to babysit. Now, I usually greatly dislike babysitting. Yes, I love my own children and I like spending time with them, but when you add another kid (or two or three) to the mix, it throws me off. Being a parent can be rough and I have enough of it with my own kids thankyouverymuch. As I like to say, "If I didn't get to enjoy the conception, I don't want to deal with the discipline."

In this case, though, it was only one child and one smallish child who fits right in with the flow at our house. So it wasn't a problem. It wasn't any big sacrifice for me at all, but for the parents, it was a huge help.

I was thanked profusely, but I really wanted to thank THEM. They helped pull me out of my sadness. They reminded me that I had the potential to help. There's a true power in that. When you know someone can truly use your help, you have a purpose. You're no longer a tiny insignificant speck in that great wide world.

"When somebody needs you, well there's no drug like that."

Wherein My Daughters and I have a Gilmore Girls Moment

After popping outside every so often to check the progress of the eclipse, I woke the big girls around 1:30.  We had time to head outside to watch the moon disappear.

Luckily, it wasn't too cold.  We grabbed jackets and a blanket and sprawled out on the ground to stare up at the sky.  

We pin-pointed constellations.  We talked about outer space.  We watched the moon.  We sang Maccabeats' hit songs.  We laughed like idiots.  We made short videos of us acting like idiots.  I discovered that over-tired 8-year-olds are a lot like my drunk friends in college.  

I had a lot of fun and the girls did too.  This is not something any one of us will ever experience again.  

Finally, just before 3, the girls hinged on certifiably insane and I was crossing the finish line towards completely and utterly exhausted.  So once the moon was completely hidden, we came in for good and headed in a bedwardly direction.  

No matter where we go from here (or when we all finally get there together), we will have the memories of lying under the stars in this front yard, bundled in jackets, watching the amazing sky (and dancing like idiots too).  

Once I was sure the girls were asleep, I snuck back out for one last glimpse.  The shining edge of the moon made me smile.  I can't quite explain it, but I find it exciting and comforting.  It's exciting because this series of events won't happen again for more than 300 years.  It's exciting because I got to spend that time outside laughing with my girls at 2 am (a time they won't see the awake side of again for quite some time).  I find the normalcy of it exciting too.  Things return.  Everything comes back to its normal state.  

I find that whole notion very comforting right now.  

When you least expect it

I just posted about the sad little boy who misses daddy and their mother who's frustrated with the whole situation (aka moi).  After taking a break during the writing of that post to snuggle my son, he went on to calm down and get a snack and share it with his baby sister.  

I went on to vent my frustration, finished up and headed into the other room to refill the beloved (and oh so necessary) coffee cup.  

On my way there, what to my wondering eyes did appear?  

I found three of the children in the bathroom.  The baby sat on her potty chair.  The oldest read our old worn copy of The Potty Book For Girls and the son provided a cheering section.  

Suddenly, my perspective has shifted.  

I still want some understanding.  I still want to spare the children this grief.  I still want a freaking break.  Yet I recognize that we have sweet, caring, understanding kids.  I realize that our experience makes me uniquely equipped to meet their needs

"Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling into at night. I miss you like hell." Edna St. Vincent Millay

My son is currently screaming and crying in his bedroom.  Why?  On the surface, it's because his flashlight doesn't work.  What it's really about, though, is that daddy is gone again.

This past weekend, when the husband was here, the kids had a great time and instantly bonded with him again.  I turned to him at one point and said, "This is going to be awful when you leave."

Sure enough, Monday night, I wound up with the two weest of our wee ones screaming in my lap and the bigger pair doing their best emo teen impressions.

I've done this oh so many times.  I know how this works.  I know my kids and I know it's going to suck.

At one point this weekend, I turned to my husband and asked, "When do I get to go away so you can see what this is like?"

I don't actually want to be away from the kids (although a night out would be heavenly).  I know that's awful.  My husband left Active Duty because changes in his career field meant he would be away from the family far too much.  I just want some equality in this parenting situation.

When we speak on the phone, I'll relay something the kids have done (because they miss daddy) and my husband will ask, "Why the hell did he/she do that?"  Sometimes he'll tell me, "But that doesn't make any sense."  It, however, makes perfect sense when you're a kid and you miss your daddy.  It also makes sense to a parent who has been through this so very many times.

I am not at all surprised by the fact that I needed to take a break from writing this post to hold a little boy as he cried.  I was heartbroken, but not surprised when the youngest headed to my bedroom yesterday morning and declared, "I go get daddy."  As we left the airport in the dark early Monday morning, I had to listen closely to hear the oldest sniffling in the back seat, but I heard it.

I don't want my kids to ache for a parent they love who can't be here.  I don't want to be away from them myself.  I just wish the husband could understand.  I wish he would know what this was like (for me and the kids).  I wish that I didn't have to be the only one rocking screaming children and wiping away tears.

This Place Feels So Unfamiliar, Yet I Know It Well.

"I think I used to belong here, but the only way I can tell is that I miss you still and I cannot find you here..."

And so it begins.

The husband has reached his destination.  I'm here.  I'm doing the sole parenting thing.  I'm surrounded by people.  I'm lonely.

I ate dinner in the sukkah last night at shul and sat alone.  There were more people there than I've ever seen at sukkot, yet I wrangled the kids by myself.  Idiot me didn't think about the hell that is a buffet dinner with 4 children, especially one who needs a high chair, but someone else always gets the lone high chair first.  The youngest was in "fine" form and people laughed as I tried to carry two plates of food while herding her with my foot.  :::sigh:::

After countless people gave me amused looks and outright laughed at me (I haven't consulted my rabbi, but I'm fairly certain beating people isn't shomer shabbat, which is good, because I very well might have otherwise), a very sweet woman (also mother of 4, but hers are all grown) jumped up and carried my plates to our table.  I could have kissed her if I wasn't busy trying to keep the youngest restrained (remember, someone else beat me to the high chair).

The kids opted to move inside after the flies started winning the battle for dinner.  So I rounded up all our things (which was cumbersome and frustrating) and the youngest (who was also cumbersome and frustrating) and made my way inside--to the lone table in the back.  The kids inhaled the rest of their food and ran to play with their friends.  I sat there alone (with the youngest, but since her dinner conversation leaves much to be desired, I'll consider myself "alone").

I had hoped to sit and chat with a friend, but her baby exploded, so she had to rush off.  I took the youngest to the play room where a friend and a new acquaintance were, but they soon filed out to head back to the festivities in the sukkah (to which I tried to return, but the youngest made that difficult & I didn't want to distract the others).  So we headed back to the playroom where I cleaned up all the while feeling very sorry for myself.

At shul after services this morning, I thought I heard my husband's voice and it took me a second to realize that wasn't possible.  That was a let down (and not in the good milk-spraying way).

Gah!  Just gah!  It's only just begun.  GAH, I say (this time in all caps, although I'll forgo the use of excessive punctuation to show my displeasure).  

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