As Of Lately

I know that I don't blog nearly as often as I should. In a perfect world, I would have time to blog daily, so that I could record every precious moment of my life that I treasure. The things that my kids say and do are all worthy of permanent documentation! We have been having fun, and I can't wait until school is out so I can have the girls at home all day. This is a quick breakdown of life lately:

Shawn just finished up another semester of school. He is a bit disappointed, because he got a 4.0 last semester, and this semester he has a couple of B's mixed in with his A's. Since he had an 18 credit load and was taking classes like Microbiology, Anatomy & Physiology, Infection Control, Medical Terminology, Composition, Human Development, and other tough classes that I can't remember, I think he should be proud. He isn't super upset, he just wants to do his best. I understand where he is coming from, but am very happy for him. Next fall he will begin the LPN program that he was accepted into as he progresses through his schedule towards nursing. We have really come to value our Netflix time at night; they kids are asleep and it's our time to just hang out with each other. It will be nice to have him around more, although that might not last long as he has been applying for CNA jobs. We'll see what happens!

Olivia can't wait for school to be out for the summer. She is not a fan. She loves hanging out with her friends, but classes and homework really interfere with her socialization. She adores her art classes and reading, but seems to feel that everything else is only tolerable. She despises math, yet does well in it and all her other classes, so I'm not too worried. I see so much of my younger self in her! That was truly how I felt about school as a child. With our tax rebate, Shawn and I are ordering a Classical Education home-schooling curriculum, and Olivia is not looking forward to that. I had to explain to her that she was not being punished for anything, but that there were areas of studies that we feel that are important but are not being taught in her school. She is very suspicious. She is still playing the trumpet, but boredom setting in. After sparring team finishes up for the season, she is not going to try out for it again. Again, this is much like I was as a child. I'm curious to see what she will be fascinated with next, and where she will find to be her passions in life! Recently we attended a family event, and I signed up for the 5k. The girls have been very interested in my training, and Olivia asked to do it with me. There was a 1k fun run for the kids, so I asked her if she would like to start there. She was excited about that, so I signed her up. She came in first place for girls! Both girls have been training with me as the weather allows, and I think winning this event has infected Olivia even more with the running bug. She and Genevieve have also signed up for a Mud Run this summer, so their training involves jumping, monkey bars, and climbing as well as running. I can't wait to see how they do! The adult course has a snake pit that you have to run through, and they are positively giddy about that.

Genevieve adores school. She always has. She loves her teacher, her friends, the janitor, the playground, and her homework. She digs in the teacher's recycling bin daily for extra worksheets that have been thrown away, and brings them home to do for fun. She likes calendars, and has two, plus an appointment book. We have calculators all over the house and van, because she plays with numbers when she is bored. When she was told about our home-schooling we would be doing this summer, she thought she was being rewarded, and thanked us profusely. When she found out she would be learning Latin, she couldn't sleep for three nights because she was so excited. She definitely has trademarks of being a crazy genius; her socks never match (nor do her outfits, for that matter), she forgets to go to the bathroom until it's panic time, she makes strange jokes, and tends to wander. She is so scattered, yet wakes up  at precisely 6:30am every morning and gets dressed before her alarm clock (which she wanted desperately) goes off.  Where will her passions take her? She is so different than I was as a child. It's so interesting to watch my girls grow. Gen has signed up for soccer this summer, and is excited to be on a team. She is very athletic, and was disappointed in her fun run; she had gotten a side ache, so didn't do her best. However, she knows she will have plenty of other opportunities this summer, and like Olivia, can't wait for the Mud Run. Where Olivia is a loner and likes to go read by herself, Genevieve is more dependent and needy. She always wants my attention, and needs everything with me to be very interactive. She loves the notes that I stick in her lunchbox every day, and would like me to write her notes for her pillow, and backpack, and jacket pockets.

Shael is growing more independent by they day. He still adores his sisters, and they still constantly dote on him. I'm so pleased! I had assumed that the girls would lose interest in him shortly after he came home, but he is still their favorite person. He demands kisses and hugs from them (and everyone, even strangers) frequently. He loves to snuggle with Olivia on the couch, and whenever he breaks free from our watch at night, he sprints into Genevieve's room and crawls into bed with her. It's adorable. He loves going for walks. For some reason, he believes that in order to go outside, he needs a hat and shoes. It doesn't matter if he's naked or fully clothed, as soon as he manages to pull shoes on and puts on a hat, he's waiting for me by the door. He doesn't care about what kind of hat it is; sun hat, winter hat, his sister's old Halloween witch hat. Those hats have all gone on walks with us. When I hang the laundry, he takes off running several times. With the girls, all I would have to do is tell them to stay put and show them to play with the grass and leaves, but Shael is off like a rocket. The other day, the goat was tangled, so I parked Shael outside of the fence. It only took me a matter of two minutes to get the goat free, but when I turned around, Shael was gone. He had found Olivia's snow saucer, which had a couple of inches of (freezing cold!!) water in it, and had promptly sat down in it and splashed around. He was not bothered at all by the temperature despite being soaked. He is very much a handful, but is well behaved.

I am pleased to announce that Shawn and I are pregnant with #4! The girls are ecstatic about it, they have been begging for another baby since Shael was born. We doubt that Shael will be very happy about a baby intruding. Sometimes when Shawn or the girls hug me, he whines and says, "My mommy!" We'll have to see how that goes. I know that the girls will be thrilled to give him extra attention. I have been feeling great with hardly any symptoms at all. I'm still running, doing taekwondo competitively,  and lifting weights, and my doctor is thrilled about it. Fatigue and the occasional headaches are my only complaint, and knowing that it could be so much worse makes me very grateful. The baby is due some time in November. We aren't sharing the exact due date, so be patient :) **I would like to take this opportunity to remind folks to not tell a pregnant woman how ginormous she is (or to make her feel as though she is unhealthy by being "too small", though I've never had that problem!), or to ask the couple if this pregnancy was planned, or anything else insensitive or intrusive. I always get comments on my size while pregnant, and it stings. With this pregnancy, we are getting asked a lot if it was planned, and that's rude. Rant finished!**  We have been asked if we're no longer planning on fostering or adopting. The answer is YES! We are still very much planning on fostering and/or adopting! We can't give anyone an exact timeline, but we're ok with that :)

Life is busy, crazy, and fun! We have a lot going on, and we love it. I love my husband and children so much, and am so thrilled that my family is still growing. Thanks to everyone who is a positive part of our lives, and I can't wait to update you as time goes on!

My first 10k

Some of you may remember when I ran my first 5k. It was all Kim's fault. By now, I've realized that I don't even have to tell you who Kim is, because I have become conscious of the fact that the vast majority of my blogs contain the words, "My friend Kim..." Anyways, back then I felt there was no way I could say no to Kim's suggestion of us running a 5k while she was busy running marathons and triathlons. The last year or two, I've watched from afar as Kim has kept up with these ridiculous/awe-inspiring races. To my dismay, I found she has been luring our childhood friend, Danie, into the craziness. Danie seemed to be running 5k, 10k, and even a full marathon. Kim and Danie always did track and cross country together, so I guess I wasn't too surprised, but it still seems foreign to me. I kept up on my running after my black belt testing, but only because I don't want Grandmaster Jon to be able to sneak up on me somehow and kill me with a running day. I want to be somewhat prepared for what he dishes. As much as I hate to admit it, running has become less abhorrent to me. It has taken some miles, but I think finding my pace has been the biggest help. I was running around 2 miles straight when Kim and Danie suggested we run the Polar Dash race on January 1st. I jumped at the chance. With Kim living in AZ, and me living 4 hours away from Rochester, we seldom see each other anymore. Plus, Kim just finished a flipping Ironman triathlon, so again, how could I say no to a simple 3.1 miles when she just biked, swam, and ran 140.6 miles (who does that?!). Besides, I was tickled to be running in an official race again, and with Kim and Danie! We got a little Facebook message going, inviting others to join us.  That's when I saw Kim and Danie saying we might as well do the 10k. Pssshhht. Again... how do I say no to 6.2 miles after Kim's herculean feat of Ironman? I rationalized in my head that if I was strict with my training, I could work my way up to that distance in the two months I had until the new year. However, I didn't. I worked myself up to running a 5k without stopping to walk, which was a new record for me. I think the one and only time I ever ran three miles straight was in third grade. I wanted that damn 3-miler button. I can recognize now that sometimes I will nearly kill myself for the most arbitrary rewards. The stupid button with a cartoon panther and a "3". A piece of black cloth instead of red to tie around my waist. A t-shirt that says that I ran (mostly walked) a 5k. A medal with a snowflake that says, "Finisher". While I don't understand this mentality, I have come to appreciate it. Suddenly, I wanted that 10k finisher medal so badly that I would do anything to get it, including running on ice while school buses and snowmobiles belched their exhaust into my mouth. I learned how to dress to run in the cold, and to pack lots of tissues for the snot factory that my face became when I ran in freezing weather. I realized that although I am stingy, I really did need Under Armour to wick my sweat off my back and arms, because it was a wee bit chilly to be wet while running in the winter.  I was too stubborn to buy the fancy schmancy face masks or running pants sold to runners for $50. I figured those were just pompous extras.

On New Year's Eve, Genevieve and I stayed with my cousin Megan so that I wouldn't have to wake up and drive so early in the morning. I had to get up before 6 a.m. as it was. Megan, bless her heart, made me my race day breakfast. She is the hostess with the mostess. Megan had contemplated bringing Genevieve to watch me cross the finish line. Now, I am so glad that they didn't. Not only would they have been absolutely miserable, but I wouldn't have run the race, because as soon as I got off the shuttle bus with Kim and Jen (who was planning on running/walking the 5k), I regretted my decision immediately. It was just too flipping cold. I had on about fifty layers of clothes, but felt naked against the chill. Shawn had warned me the night before that it was supposed to get -25 to -30, but I didn't believe him. I don't know if it ever got that cold, but I do know that it was frigid. There were two warming tents where we waited after we picked up our bibs and microchips (which give you an electronic time). I have to admit that I was pretty proud to be wearing the 10k bib. When we first walked into the warming tent, it felt soooo warm. Such a relief! However, after a few minutes in the tent while we met up with Danie and her crowd (daughter Jade, boyfriend Will, and friend Amber), it was uncomfortably cold. My toes went numb, but I wasn't too worried about that since my toes go numb pretty easily in the cold. When my legs started to go numb, I worried. I was even clumsier than usual, and I found myself trying to snuggle strangers. How would I run? I kind of needed to go to the bathroom, but couldn't bear the thought of peeling off any layers of clothing. I would regret that, I knew, but still couldn't bring myself to do it. After far too long, we were called out to the starting line. I groaned and whined as we stood in the breeze, freezing our butts off, waiting and waiting. I pretty much hated Kim and Danie right about then. They were the worst friends, and had the worst ideas. Jen had decided to jump into the 10k and to walk that instead of walking the 5k so that she could finish sooner and we could all get on the road afterwards. I had hoped once I started running, I would get my blood moving enough to warm up my legs and perhaps even thaw my toes. Nope. I simply got used to bumbling along like an elephant. I ended up keeping pace with Jade, Danie's daughter, and we became partners. If I hadn't been so painfully frozen, I believe I may have enjoyed my time with her. Those weird neckwarmer/facemask things that I had thought were a frivolous "extra" were looking quite necessary about then. And those tight running pants? A lot better than my yoga pants, which were loose at the ankles and letting Arctic gusts of wind up my legs. I would have given my left arm for either of those "frivolous" pieces. I had tied a bandana around my face, but it froze solid from my breath. After mile two, I started keeping an eye out for the bathrooms. Somewhere before we hit the 5k turnaround, there were two porta-potties. I got in line, but watching people run by that I had worked so hard to pass drove me crazy. There is always someone that I randomly pick that I need to "beat". I don't know why I work that way, but I do. Competitive nature and all that, I suppose. This time, I had been irritated by someone wearing legwarmers. I say irritated as though she had personally offended me, but she hadn't. She was simply wearing legwarmers of a color that I did not like, and that was reason enough to be my target (mulberry legwarmers with black pants?!). When I saw Miss Legwarmers trot by, I couldn't wait any longer. I forwent the bathroom and jumped back into the race, irritated that I had lost probably five minutes of my time for nothing. Eventually Jade and I edged her out again. Some of the faster runners were coming back and passing us in the opposite direction. I was amazed to see them sporting thick, white eyelashes, mustaches, and beards of frost and ice.

I don't know who this is, but I think she's a pretty good example of what we all looked like with our frosty faces.

 I recalled watching an episode of Alias where Sydney Bristow goes to Antarctica or something. She had ice patches on her face, and I laughed at how unrealistic that was. Silly Hollywood, didn't they know that you're skin would melt the snow/ice before it could form on your face?? Ha ha. I ate those words. You certainly can have a frosty face. We eventually reached the 5k turnaround point, which was a relief. It's always nice to know that you're halfway done. When Kim ran by she laughed at me because I apparently had a big ol' icy mustache going on. By this time I had abandoned my bandana, but I guess I was still wearing the 'stache that had formed above it. I saw some people that had frost formed in the buttcracks of their pants, and I was grateful for the two pairs of pants I was wearing. On the way back, I knew I absolutely needed to be patient enough (and brave enough) to use the porta-potty. When we finally reached them again, I hopped in line. Jade waited for me again; what a sweetheart. When it was my turn, my legs were so numb that I had to double check that my pants were where they should be. It reminded me of having an epidural. My legs were there and I knew how to move them, but I couldn't feel them. I poked and slapped them, but felt nothing. Then of course my mind wandered, and I thought about proposing to doctors a safer epidural involving pregnant women standing outside in subzero temperatures until they went numb, but I scrapped that idea as soon as I remembered how hormonal and angry us ladies are when we're that big. It would be safer for the doctors to just put needles in our spines. Back to the race I went, and Jade and I took off again. I felt fantastic after the bathroom break, as though I had rested for a long time and was fresh to running. There was a hill, and we attacked it, because what was I going to do, let Annoying Legwarmers beat me? No! Well, that was kind of dumb. My asthma is super under control, and I know now that the only time it flares up is if I go too fast. I don't know why going to the bathroom suddenly made me think I was invincible, but it did, and soon I was gasping for breath. Then we had to go really slow for a bit and tell I got all back to where I needed to be. But bless her heart, Jade stuck by my side, and encouraged me, and I passed Legwarmers. At mile five, I blurted, "I think I need to walk." Jade would have none of that, and it didn't take much to convince me that after running all this way, I should not give up during the last mile. And then, there it was- the finish line. Kim, Danie, Amber, and Will were all waiting for us with big smiles on their faces. I knew I would be proud to finish the race, but I hadn't known for sure if I could actually do it. It felt AMAZING to cross that line and be able to say to myself, "I did it!" I got all emotional, but didn't want to look like a wuss, so choked back my tears. That, in turn, led me to having trouble breathing again (running too fast and getting emotional when I'm physically taxed are my two triggers, I suddenly remembered), so I had to calm myself. There was hot chocolate being handed out, as well as bananas, chips, and granola. I felt like a star (especially when I saw Leggies cross the line much later). Then, I saw people handing out finisher medals! They may as well have handed me an Olympic gold medal, I was that proud.

Why do we look so happy?

The feeling did not last long, however. Now that we weren't running, the cold temperature quickly became unbearable. The 5k race was just getting started, and that's when I realized just how important it was that Jen had decided to do the 10k for us. The thought of having to wait until the 5k was done made me want to cry again. We all huddled in the warming tents, but it was miserable. Some comic relief was when our eyelashes melted. Will looked like he had started crying mid-sentence, and us girls looked ridiculous with our mascara melting down our faces. Note to self: when running in Siberian temperatures, don't bother with even a little makeup. At long last, we went to go meet Jen at the finish line. I could have kissed her for doing that for us, because now we would get to LEAVE! I just wanted to go home. 

 A highlight of the day was picking up Genevieve and getting the #1 "ribbon" and poster that she and Megan had made for me. How nice to have others be as proud of me as I was of myself! It was a wonderful, terrible experience that I hope I never do again, but probably will if someone dangles a worthless prize in front of my face.

Life As A Meathead

I was recently asked to write another blog as an update. I got to thinking about what I would write, and I realized that our lives are completely in our gym right now. Shawn and the girls and I are all in taekwondo, and Shawn and I also take kettlebells at our tkd gym. Our schedule looks like this:

Monday- Olivia and Genevieve have tkd class at 5pm. I try to contain Shael while he copies the children from the sidelines (he punches and kicks his diaper bag or targets while yelling. He'll sideslide whenever the kids do.) I have Russian kettlebells at 6. Shawn watches Shael while the girls do homework or read or play games, or maybe he takes them to Subway as a treat. Then I take the kids home while Shawn does the adult tkd class, and then his kettlebell class.

Tuesday- Olivia and Shawn have Sparring team practice at 6pm. Then Shawn takes the kids home to a crockpot dinner while I do the adult black belt class.

Wednesday- Repeat Monday.

Thursday- I go for a run, since I'm preparing for my first 10k on New Year's Day. I attend adult tkd class in the evening, and get spoiled since it is a small class. Sometimes, it's just me! Master Theresa can give me lots of good coaching when I'm all alone.

Friday- I lift heavy weights at home, and maybe run, depending on how difficult my workouts earlier in the week were.

Saturday & Sunday- I try to run and lift weights on one of these days, and rest on the other. Sometimes I rest both days.


Every once in a while, Olivia will come running with me. Yesterday she ran two miles with me before I dropped her off at home! I was impressed. She wants to start running 5k's with me, and eventually wants to do a 10k, too. As long as she wants to do it, I'm fine with it. Shawn and Brad and I all feel the same way about tkd, too. Every once in a while, Genevieve doesn't want to do so much tkd. Since she is doing two days a week, we'll have her do one night a week for a while. If she seems tired to us, she doesn't get a choice, and she gets cut back so that she doesn't get sick. We have even told her that if she wants to quit, she can, but that means no competing. At the last tournament, Gen didn't want to spar, but when she watched Olivia in the ring, she said, "I should have signed up for sparring. I bet I could win." You can't win if you don't enter, and you can't enter if you don't train! I personally hate sparring, and refuse to compete in it, but sparring has the hearts of everyone else in my family. I must say that I have been very impressed with Olivia's dedication to tkd. She is the one that I would have guessed would quit when it became an inconvenience. However, when she was invited to join the sparring team, she jumped at the chance. The sparring team is an honor, and she recognized that. We told her that it was a big financial commitment  and if she joined, she could not quit until tournament season is over. Not only does she look forward to practice three times a week, but she squeezes in her homework, started the trumpet in September (required practice is 100 minutes a week!), and is constantly volunteering to watch Shael. And of course, the running that I previously mentioned! When the opportunity to play community ed. basketball came up, she said, "I would like to, but I think that would be pushing myself too hard. That would be a very busy schedule." I agreed, and couldn't help but smile at how grown-up she has become. Both my girls have such a capacity for memorization, and I marvel at the feats they have accomplished with their tiny bodies. They both brought home report cards yesterday, and they were fantastic. I am in awe of them. Shael has begun to potty train. I know, he just turned 16 months old, but with teaching him sign language, elimination communication came naturally. Now he uses the toilet 75% of the time, and is so insanely proud of himself. It's adorable to watch him smile and clap his little hands on the toilet. However, he asks to go at least every twenty minutes, so it gets exhausting, too! He is so energetic and has such a big personality for his size. He is very popular at our gym, and is always ready to bow to the flags and to give everyone high fives after they get done with practice. He has a large fan club, and always has a line of kids in front of him. When they put on their chest protectors, he loves to punch them in the chest. The kids will dissolve into giggles and someone else will jump in line. It's quite the entertainment! At first, when he started to mimic punching and kicking, he didn't understand that he had to have an appropriate target. Anything was game, and my face was usually the closest thing to take aim at. Now that we've reinforced (a million times) that he needs to hit a "target", he (usually) only punches and kicks the things he's allowed to. One of the teens in our gym just recently took first place in the NATION in sparring, and it is heartwarming to watch him "fight" with Shael. Of course, he always lets Shael win. We'll have to get that on tape. I got to thinking, and realized that Shael has been in that gym since before he was born. He was there when he was four days old, and has been a regular ever since.

So, you see, the gym is our whole lives right now. I never thought it would be. A year ago, I signed the girls up for tkd so they wouldn't get beat up anymore, and I secretly hoped I could get back into it, too. I never knew how far we would come, but it has transformed my life by transforming my body. After losing 87 lbs., I can look back and see how drastically different everything is. I love that we're doing all of this as a family, and it has brought us all closer together. Here's to more adventures!

Kids

Man, having kids can be so hard. I'm not talking about the sleep deprivation, or the constant bickering between siblings, or the selective hearing that most children have mastered. I'm not even referring to snotty attitudes or tantrums or willful disobedience. I'm talking about the devastating, heart-wrenching pain that accompanies watching your child suffer. Is there anything worse? I firmly believe that the answer is a resounding "NO". I consider myself pretty reasonable, but when I hear about another kid at school picking on one of my children, I have to suppress the urge to march down to the school and hunt that kid down and scream in their face. When I was pregnant last summer, Olivia and Genevieve got beat up at the school by 3 siblings while their grandmother watched. You better believe that I waddled my backside down to the playground as fast as my birthing hips would carry me. I'm certain they heard me coming, because no one was there, but I was ready to rumble with grandma. When my daughters have had troubles with certain teachers at school, I put aside my doubts (am I overreacting?) and went and stood my ground despite total intimidation. I even pulled Genevieve from public school and homeschooled her one year (that teacher was not re-hired the next year, and no, I was not overreacting at all. If anything, I underreacted). When Shawn was deployed, a known drug addict came to our home and stood outside, twitching and pacing, and demanding to know if I had Mexicans living in our basement. I physically placed my body in front of my children and ordered them into the house. Mama Bear- any Mama Bear- will battle and die for her offspring. If you are a mother, then you know this. If you are not, I am willing to bet you have witnessed a Mama Bear in action, and it probably scared the hell out of you. But... what is a mama supposed to do when she can't fight what is hurting her baby? My poor Genevieve has spent her entire childhood being ill. I know I shouldn't complain when there are children with horrific diseases that ravage their little bodies, but I simply cannot see the bright side after witnessing Genevieve struggle for so long. She has had eczema since she was just a baby, which interferes with her sleep and concentration. Have you ever itched, like really itched? Head to toe, 24 consecutive hours? Try seven years. Her entire existence. She doesn't know what it's like to not itch. There are times when my soaps and lotions can get it under control and it's better, but it's never fully gone. Food allergies started when she was one. She has never eaten a real cookie, had a birthday cake, or been able to simply snack at school/church/camp/a party/a sleepover/an event. I say "real" because yes, there are cookies and cakes that have alternative ingredients, but they taste like cardboard. Of course, in our house, we always play it up that "this tastes just like a regular cookie!" Or, "Yes, this is what cake tastes like!" We're lying. It tastes like crap. She's old enough now where she knows she's missing out, and it makes her sad. Worse yet, she knows she's different. Not to mention that several times a year, someone she trusts "accidentally" (which means, "did-not-read-the-label-despite-being-emphatically-warned-by-aforementioned-scary-Mama Bear") gives her something she is allergic to, and she ends up puking her brains out-if she's lucky.  If she's not lucky, she needs an injection and has to be rushed to the hospital. It sucks. Having to stab your child in the leg with a giant needle because she's not breathing extra sucks. Just when I think I have her food allergies figured out, another pops up. It's frustrating to hear everyone tell her that she'll grow out of them. Maybe she will, but don't give her false hope. And seriously, platitudes like that are infuriating. So far, Gen keeps growing into more allergies, and they're getting worse. Sometimes, because her fragile body cannot fight a normal virus, she gets weird stuff, like she had mollescum for over a year on her skin. Since she was embarrassed, a doctor offered a "quick fix" of apply some beetle juice (no, seriously) that would PAINLESSLY remove the bumps. Except it severely burned her skin, and I had to endure her screams while I pulled the band-aids off to get the acidic juice off her skin. By the time we had gotten home, the skin had fused to the band-aids, and I literally pulled off her skin along with the band-aids. I cannot even describe how awful it was to do this to her. It was over a year ago that this happened, and I am still so upset about that. Oh yes, Mama Bear called that doctor a few times and gave some angry words about her "painless" method of removing the bumps. Gen still has scars. I think we both do. Now, her (different) doctors are baffled because she's constantly sick. Sometimes with a fever, sometimes not. Usually throwing up several times a day, but not all the time. Sometimes no appetite, other times she has a ravenous appetite but can't gain weight or absorb her food. There seems to be no rhyme or reason. For the longest time, her doctors would tell me that her immune system is suppressed from her allergies and eczema, so she was getting sick from that.  Another little something about Mama Bears is that not only can we be terrifying, but we can be downright clairvoyant. It took a lot of insisting, but I was finally taken seriously, and the docs understood that something is wrong. They have had us eliminate certain foods from her diet, and then try again with others when that yields no results. Gen's tonsils were ginormous, so they removed those in hopes that she would get better sleep and give her body a fighting chance. It hasn't helped in the least. She loses weight during her bouts of illness, then gains it back when she's feeling better. She just hit 50 lbs. last week, and I nearly threw cartwheels. Since her blood levels are all low (phosphates, CBC, iron, glucose, Vitamin D, etc. etc.) despite the many supplements we give her because of her food allergies, we were sent to a pediatric gastroenterology specialist. Blood tests were negative, and her Upper GI was normal. At this point, normal test results upset me. I want the doctor to say, "Aha! Here's the source of all our trouble! Just a pesky twisted thingamajig. Let's straighten it and be done." Normal test results simply tell me, "We still don't know. She will continue to suffer until we do."  As can be expected, her physical ailments have led to emotional ones. I want SO BADLY to fix them both, and I can't. I am utterly helpless when she is laying in bed crying. When she asks why she has to have this, I don't have an answer for her. I want more than anything to punch her illness hard, wrestle it, hurt it... but there is nothing to grapple with. My hands are tied. My hands are only able to squeeze hers when she is poked with needles, or forced to drink Barium. My hands force her down when she needs an IV or EpiPen injection. My hands hold her hair for her when she vomits, and brush the hair gently from her forehead when she cries. My hands constantly check for a fever and feel her pulse. My hands make her bread, goldfish, and other treats that we cannot buy from the store because it would kill her. Most of all, my hands love her with hugs, nightly massages, backscratches, and gentle touches, but never doubt for a moment: my hands are searching to break what I cannot see.

In Retrospect

I have been asked more than once if I would choose being married to a military man if I had it to do over again. Young women in the dating world wonder if they should enter into relationships with soldiers, because they know that military life is different, and difficult. I am flattered to be asked my opinion on such a monumental question. Should they pursue a life that will lead to deployments? Like any other life question, the answer really depends on you; your personality, your support system, and your man. Divorce rates are much higher in the military as compared to civilian rates, so I think it's a good thing for a young woman to want straight answers. All I can do is give an honest perspective of what it has been like for me, and you can ask yourself how you would handle the same situations. Here are some different aspects to consider:

1. Can you get along with the unknown?

The military will throw your world into an upheaval. Your husband (boyfriend, fiance, wife, whatever) will be taken from you, sooner or later. We had a lot of notice with Shawn's second deployment, which is nice, but that also left a looooong time for the dates to change. One day he's deploying in January, the next day he's deploying in August, the next day he is deploying in May. This slowly builds pressure and stress. You must shrug that off and ignore dates until it's crunch time. Likewise, the same applies to return dates. Shawn has been gone almost a full year now, and return dates have been floating around for months, only to be discarded and replaced with new one. I have no idea when we'll be a family again, and all I can do about it is wait. Shawn's first deployment was supposed to be 12 months, and it ended up getting extended to 22 months. It happens. Oddly enough, this doesn't bother me. It's just the way it is. Knowing your personality is important; if you're the kind of person who gets aggravated when someone is late for a meeting, or if things don't go according to plan, military life will make you nuts. You will be told one thing, but something different will happen. I remember Shawn getting a phone call one night while we were laying in bed, telling him he had to get ready to be flown out to President Obama's inauguration. I don't remember how much time he was given to get ready, but it wasn't much. When stuff like that happens, it's my job as a wife to let him pack, give him a kiss goodbye, and say "See you whenever." Want to know my secret? I love that stuff. It seems all cloak and dagger, just like in a movie. When I want to know Shawn's return date, but it's not being announced yet, I just imagine the plot... the bad guys are listening in on tapped phone lines (usually in a submarine- why? I have no idea, it makes no sense), on the edge of their seats as they try to glean information, and they're disappointed when the intel is not given out. Ha! Take that, bad guys. One of my friends' husbands was deployed for a few months somewhere, and she wasn't even allowed to know what country he was in. HOW COOL IS THAT?

2. Can you handle isolation?

You will feel very alone. In this aspect, I think that it sucks to have my husband be in the National Guard versus the Army or other branch of the military. I would give anything to live on post right now, surrounded by other women with deployed husbands. National Guard wives do what we can to support each other and stick together, but we are scattered all over the state. Living on post provides community and culture, and we do not have that. Perhaps you have a well established community in your home town; family, church, or other organizations. Keep those. There is nothing more lonely than the evening, when the kids are in bed and the house feels empty. When it's dark, and there is no one to talk to, you will need to draw from a strength inside that keeps you from falling apart. If you don't have that, it's not a bad thing. Just be honest with yourself. Most days I have that. Other days I don't.

3. Can you shake off other people's ignorance?

How do other people affect you? Can you let hurtful comments roll off your back? Most people want to be supportive, yet will corner you to tell you all about how they think that this war is pointless, and that having our troops "over there" (no matter where he is) is a waste of money, it's "such a shame", and that they pity you and your husband. That hurts. Sometimes, the only thing that gets me through the day is the extreme pride I have in what Shawn is doing, and the pride that I am serving as a wife. I don't tell anyone that their job is pointless. I think that sometimes people forget: our soldiers are not drafted. They have chosen this life, this occupation. They serve because they feel honor bound, and us spouses have chosen this life for the same reason. Also, no matter how long the deployment is, or how much time is left in the deployment, people will say, "Oh, that's not so bad." Or they'll imply that you can't really live without sex that long, can you? Prepare to have your feelings negated across the board. Just remember that you are part of a very small percentage of population- less than 1%- so there is no way for others to know what you're going through. It's not their fault, they just don't know what to say. Understandable, but lonely. It always helps me to picture kicking people in the junk. Perhaps this isn't the most Christianly way to handle things, but it works for me. I don't actually do it, so...

4. Can you check your pride at the door?

I can't, but maybe you can. Like I said before, people will genuinely want to help you. This can be great, or a pain in your rear. When people ask, "What can I do to help?" it's awesome if you can honestly tell them what you need. I don't like help, personally. I don't like other people in my house, or even around my house. To me, it's a violation of privacy, and it drives me insane when people won't take "no" for an answer. There is nothing more annoying to me than being hooked up to the breast pump and having someone pound on my door. Again, I know the intent is to help, but other people manage to add to my stress level quite a bit. I have to simply take a breather, and ignore that my requests are being ignored. When I actually do want help, my pride interferes. Either I feel like I'll be groveling, or I worry that asking once will mean that the person will insist on helping again, which I don't want. Sometimes, it means a lot to me that I can bring that stubborn jar of salsa to tae-kwon-do in the diaper bag, pull it out after class, and have one of the men open it for me. I can always use some humbling, so this is another annoying positive. Plus, the damsel in distress thing always makes the men feel super masculine. It's just a jar, but you can practically hear the chest hairs growing after one of the guys have saved me from certain salsa-less doom.

5. Can you set aside your fears?

A big question you will need answered is what your to-be husband's MOS is. MOS is basically his job description. Your spouse may have a desk job while deployed, and be in a relatively safe environment (key word, "relatively"). My husband is in infantry, and that's a different ball game. I am fortunate enough to have the ability to remove myself from this. If I couldn't, I believe I would be paralyzed by fear every day. Sometimes there is an unexpected knock on the door, and my ability fails me; I'm convinced for a moment that my husband is dead, and the chaplain has come to tell me about it. Speaking of strange knocks on the door, prepare to be afraid of every vehicle that drives by. You'll realize how very vulnerable and defenseless you are, especially if you have children. The mailman is suddenly a scary rapist, and the man out walking his dog past the driveway is a pedophile. Some wives say that knowing your neighbors can be extremely helpful for this onset of paranoia. Others keep guns. A positive to this is that you will learn to raise your chin in ANY situation. You're stronger than you know, and you will be proud of yourself when the deployment is over. Eventually, you'll start to see the humor in the morbid conclusions that your mind jumps to. Or, you'll just find humor in stupid things. One day while I was precariously balancing on a ladder to hang a bouquet of dried flowers above our patio door, a volunteer from Beyond The Yellow Ribbon stopped by unexpectedly and knocked on the very door I was teetering in front of. It scared the me to death, and I fell off the ladder. It was a pretty loud crash, and I scared the living daylights out of the man who was knocking. As soon as I landed, the bouquet came tumbling down after me and landed on my head. It was a ridiculous mess, and really funny. To me. Not to him, so much.

6. Can you manage $$?

Obviously, everyone needs to know how to do this. It's called being an adult (can I just say that being an adult sucks?) If your husband is full time in the military, I'm not sure how his every day job compares with deployment pay, but I'll take an educated guess and say that deployment pay is better. As for the National Guard, it can go either way. He will either take a pay cut during deployment, or a pay increase, depending on what his civilian job is. Doesn't seem fair for him to take a pay cut to go do something noble, does it? You'll have to get over that real quick-like. Even if there is a pay increase while hubby is deployed, you have to be careful to not adjust to that income. When he comes home, regular paychecks resume with his regular job, and overspending is easy to do. When I feel like I'm drowning in a sea of dishes, diapers, and dog-doo, my temptation is to take the kids out to eat a lot. I just don't want to deal with dinner. That adds up.

7. Can you be a single parent?

Kids are a big job. That's why God created us for companionship; we are designed to parent together. God planned it for us this way so that we wouldn't throw ourselves in front of a bus. Deployments place a fork in that plan. Kids are needy, and so constant... it's overwhelming. My short term memory is completely shot, my house is a mess two seconds after I clean it, the dog snacks out of the litter box, and my body is a jungle gym for three miniature people. It is hard work. However, I am very grateful to be so busy. Keeping busy is key. You might find yourself saying, "I haven't showered in this week" more often than perhaps the mother with a man around, but you'll make it. Your kids will suffer, and it will break your heart. However, they will show you how amazingly strong and resilient they are, and you will be awed at how they cope. You'll have moments of pride, and horrible moments of mom guilt. Really, deployment has nothing to do with that, that's just what it's like to be a parent, amiright ladies?

There you have it, a few little random thoughts to consider. Military marriage is not normal, but it can be wonderful. I consider myself very lucky. Time apart like this makes both Shawn and I realize how important we are to each other, and how much we appreciate what we each bring to the table. You know the cheesy saying, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder"? It's true. After a while, relationships lose that "new" feeling. There is nothing wrong with that, but deployments or separations due to the military allow us to experience that time and time again. Shawn's unit is going to be home soon, and all of us wives/fiances/girlfriends are in a tizzy looking for that perfect homecoming outfit. We're as giddy as schoolgirls getting ready for a first date. That kind of build up is amazing! Granted, you have to live a year without your husband to get it, but at least there is some reward for that. Living this way can be isolating, overwhelming, and exhausting, but I wouldn't have it any other way. If you haven't fallen in love with a soldier yet, this might not sound too appealing. I would walk to the ends of the earth for my husband, so if that means going at life alone sometimes and patiently waiting for him to return, then I will gladly do so, over and over again.

One Year Later

It's hard to believe that we are approaching the one year mark in Shawn's deployment. It has gone so quickly, yet so painfully slow. One nice thing about being a new mom again, is that the last seven and a half months have been a blur. Shael sleeps relatively well for a baby, but you just can't turn off that mama instinct that listens for every single peep and whisper your baby might make. As I'm writing right now, it's 4am. Shael has sounded like he might be getting croup, and a nurse that goes to tae-kwon-do with me said that RSV is going around. Since this will count as the first time that Shael is actually sick other than a slightly runny nose here and there, I'm grateful, but I knew as soon as she said, "RSV" that I might as well kiss tonight's slumber good bye. Plus, Fat Rosie the cat is being super bossy, and wouldn't let me sleep even if I was able to. Rosie could usually care less about what I do or when, but tonight she's on top of me constantly, and I fear I'll suffocate if I manage to get sleepy enough to actually doze.

Anyways, all this not sleeping business leaves me forgetful. I forget what I was going to write. I forget what I was going to say. I forget why I walked into a room, and why do I have this in my hand? I forget to send birthday cards and return phone calls. Oh wait- I've never remembered to send birthday cards or return phone calls, so never mind. I forget my own birthday, relax. Conveniently, I forget that life hasn't always been me as a single mom of three kids. It's simply life. Olivia has adjusted very well to Shawn being gone. Since she tends to be more of a... thespian in nature, I expected histrionics from her. She has fluidly moved from one day to the next, stronger and more resilient than I ever gave her credit for. Last night seemed to be her first real breakdown about the deployment since the departure ceremony. She started crying and asked when Shawn was coming home. I told her "soon", which I'm certain is not reassuring at all to a ten year old. Tough as she is, she knows that if I have been told a date for Shawn's return, I can't tell anyone anyways. She doesn't beg or ask if I know. In this, she behaves better than most adults. She comprehends military protocol and safety, and she understands that even if I had a date that I could tell her, it would end up being wrong anyways. Nothing is certain with the military. How can she be so assenting and wise with only a mere ten years of life experience? I am humbled, as I watch her quietly accept my poor answer of "soon" by picking up the sweatshirt that we gave Shawn for Christmas. It was the last thing of his that we have that he wore. She buried her face in it to inhale his scent, and asked, "Can I wear this to bed?" Off to bed she went, wearing a sweatshirt that was approximately fifty sizes too big, wrapped up in the scent of her step-daddy.

Genevieve has had a harder time with all of this. She is much more likely to get overwhelmed by day to day things. I think what compounds everything for her is all of her food allergies and skin issues. They dramatically affect her sleep, and her sleep dramatically affects her health more than it does the average person; a change in her schedule means that she will be ill for days. She is doing very well in school, and enjoys every minute of it, but has been walking around with a broken heart. It has been torture to witness this. Again, I am amazed, because when my answer to Genevieve's hopeful questions about Shawn's return is simply, "soon", there is no resistance. I expect whining or maybe a tantrum, but there is nothing but acceptance. I hope it is acceptance. I hope it's not just that her faith has been beaten into the ground.

I don't even know how to categorize how I'm doing. I have attacked health and fitness head on and lost 68 pounds since Shael was born. I picked up tae-kwon-do where I left off as a teenager, and it has been great for me. I'll be testing for my black belt next, which has always been a goal of mine. Tkd gets me out of the house, gives me exercise, the girls and I get to do it together, and I get to talk to adults. I have also been taking classes at church that function much the same way (minus being good exercise, of course). However, I'm still overwhelmed. My house is dirty, and it pisses me off. I'm still pumping around the clock for a baby that never nursed. I'm trying to get taxes done, take care of a dent that I put in our new van and the insurance that goes with it, take care of the paperwork that is involved with Shawn's identity recently being stolen, sort out Shael's health insurance issues, and run a small business on top of the daily demands of being a mom and keeping a house/hobby farm. Even though it sounds like I'm complaining, I'm (mostly) not. I need to be busy, or I would go crazy. I work best under pressure. I am incredibly proud of the fact that I have hardly needed any help from others during this last year. Everyone says not to be afraid to ask for help, or not to be ashamed. I'm not afraid to, and I'm not ashamed to, but I'm not going to pretend like I'm dissatisfied with knowing what I'm capable of. You know, over a holiday dinner, when I said that I loved college and would like to go back to school, someone actually said to me that I love school because I don't know how to live in the real world. I didn't know if I should laugh or kick them in the junk. In hindsight, I probably should have done both. Deployment has a way of showing you who your true friends and supporters are, and showing you who is just waiting with gleeful anticipation to watch you fail. It stinks, A LOT, but it's good to know how people really feel and who you can really count on. I have found that during times of stress, I can't handle people being jerks nearly as well as I can when I am not as stressed. I'm pretty sure this is true for everyone, right? I'm avoiding "negativity", which always sounded like such a hippy thing to say. I've turned into a hippy. I'm not ok with that yet, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm a hippy.

So there you have it. I'm forgetful, I'm humbled, I'm proud, I'm crushed, I'm happy, I'm overwhelmed, I'm accomplishing goals, I'm social, I'm picked on, I'm cutting out BS, and I'm a total hippy. How was your year?

My Kids Are Weird

Olivia recently turned ten. Blows my mind. We had a little pool party with a couple of her friends, and Genevieve (6) got to have a friend come along, too. I know I'm crazy to be in charge of three ten-year-olds, two six-year-olds, and an infant all by myself, but it actually worked out pretty well. After swimming, I herded the kids into the van and went across the street for pizza. The kids had fun, and finally it was time for cake. Olivia had labored over her cake; she loves baking and was super excited to do it all herself. I like being all creative, and had asked her if she wanted me to put any fancy decorations or designs on it. Nope- more than anything, she just wanted a black cake. We went shopping for black food coloring, and bought some black and white candles. I made her favorite frosting, and she set out to making it black. It looked almost metallic when she finished- it was rather beautiful! One of Olivia's friends' parents showed up, and they chilled with us while the kids finished they're cake. They've been around us a few times before, and we're all getting to know each other pretty well. When the mom saw the black cake (among other behaviors), she observed,

"You're kids are weird." I laughed. She gasped as she realized what she had said. "I mean, they're weird in a good way. They're... unique." Lady, nice cover, but you have no idea. That's the thing-and why I'm so NOT offended by the statement- my kids are weird. Very weird. They have pretended that they are wolves/dogs/kitties for so long that a concerned relative suggested therapy. As a result of the bear crawl ("puppy run") being their preferred mode of transportation since they could walk, they can fall to their hands and take off in a smooth transition, to the point where people do triple takes (I discourage this in public, but sometimes you just can't stifle your inner puppy.) When I'm done paying for my gas at a gas station, I walk outside and people are looking around in bewilderment for the howling emitting from my vehicle. Oh, that's just my kids; don't worry, they're wolves. Both of the girls have notebooks full of wolves attacking and eating animals. I'm not disturbed by this. Predator/prey life cycles are how animals survive in the wild, and my kids know it. They ask for books instead of toys, and would rather read than watch tv. If I threaten to take a book away, behavior is instantly improved, and they love re-telling the stories and describing the characters. Yes, they're nerds. However, the word "nerd" in our house is a compliment. I've been a nerd for a long time, and see absolutely nothing wrong it. The girls are proud of their titles.

Olivia has been diligently saving up her money. Birthday money, Christmas money, the money she got from helping an old lady cut twine strings... all saved. Today, she finally purchased her big ticket item: a Nook. What ten year old child saves up over $100 and spends it on another way to read? Also, as we were getting ready for bed last night at my mom's, Olivia pulls out some Edgar Allen Poe as her "before bed" read. How nerdtastic is that? I read Poe in eighth grade because it was assigned to me, and I didn't quite "get" him until it was explained in class. When I asked Olivia what class she was reading this book for, she just tilted her head and looked at me funny. "I checked it out from the library." Oh. Of course. Every day, I have to allot her some time on the computer, because she is very busy writing books. She has four going right now, and constantly discusses her plots and characters. She mulls over details and dialogue, and will easily spend an hour on the phone collaborating with a friend over a joint effort. As much as she loves books and learning, she will drop it all in a heartbeat for her baby brother. If Shael so much as sneezes, Olivia is immediately by his side, asking him what he needs. He'll smile sweetly at her, and she melts. That baby has his big sister trained like you would not believe. He can get her to do anything, and he can't even talk yet.

On to Gen... right before Christmas, Genevieve started rounding up trinkets from her toy box. She asked, "Mama, can I give these away?" I said that she certainly could (every parent LOVES getting rid of stuff, amIright??). She responded by saying, "Oh, good. I want to make sure I have one present for each kid in my class. They might not get many presents." That is so Genevieve. She just wants to give, and spread love, and make people smile. She comes home crying if she sees her friends play on opposing teams for a sport. Don't get me wrong- she is super tough, and won't utter a complaint if both her ears are infected- but it breaks her heart into a million pieces to think someone could be sad. For her, just knowing that someone out there somewhere is too poor for Christmas... she has to do something about that. No one SHE knows is going to go without, that's for sure. What also makes this so amazing-apart from the fact that she is a six year old child- is that Shawn and I don't do much for gifts. We make Christmas about Jesus. It's his birthday, and we want to celebrate that by showing love to each other. The way we show love is by making things, and spending time together. Last year, the girls got hats and mittens that I crocheted. I made them each a sock monkey. They each got a little mini sewing kit so they could sew clothes for their sock monkeys. They got socks and were allowed to draw funny faces on them and to sew their new buttons on them. That was our Christmas. So, give me a moment while my heart bursts with pride, as Genevieve chooses 16 toys of her own to give to her classmates, knowing full well she won't be getting any from us for Christmas. I know that this is "weird". I thank God for it. I thank Him for her amazing little servant's heart. I can't wait to see what she does with it. This was written by Genevieve's teacher on her report card: "Gen has really got an interesting sense of humor. She never fails to bring a smile to my face with her comments. She's a joy to have in the class. :) " Beautiful.

What strange, delightful, wonderful, weird children I have. I want to freeze time and keep them this amazing forever, but I am so curious as to what their futures hold for them. Every day they say and do so many things that shock, inspire, and humble me. I'm positive that the good Lord is looking down on these girls and saying, "Wow, I really outdid myself this time."