Homecomings

The best part of being a military spouse is homecomings. You know how married people complain that the excitement of the first date is hard to recapture? That's true. But the anticipation of seeing your spouse for the first time in a half a year rivals those feelings, and may even surpass that excitement. Deciding what to wear, how to do your hair, and imagining what it will be like is enough to make a person sick.

Today my friend Leah's husband returned from about six or so months in Iraq, and I don't remember ever being this excited for another wive's homecoming. I admire Leah more than I can say. I hear military wives say that their husbands are their heroes, and I can't begin to tell you how proud I am of my husband's service and dedication to the US Air Force. But when I see a mom like Leah with three kids "hold down the fort" by herself for half a year, it amazes me.

This is a hard, hard job. The next time my husband leaves, I'll have a child that is completely dependent on me -- 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. The AF has implemented some great programs to provide releif for spouses of deployed memebers. And even though I feel like I've created a pretty solid support system for myself here, losing your biggest support and best friend for months and months is an overwhelming situation. Adding a child that you have to maintain a sense of stability for while Dad's gone is just one more thing that can make a person lose their mind.

I just want to say how honored I am to know so many strong women. You all are inspirations to me; you are examples of strength, fortitude and courage. More than that, you are my friends. I feel so lucky to have come to Mildenahll for this assignment. I don't think I would have been nearly as close to my military community if our assignment had been stateside as I am here. Thank you for making me a stronger spouse and a stronger person.

Tassies and Push Ups

I guess everyone has their own spending obsession. Within the military wives community, some of the more common spending obsessions are Coach purses, Longaberger baskets, and Pampered Chef kitchen tools. I fall into the last catergory, probably because it's the most affordable. This year I've purchased a junk load of Pampred Chef stuff and have really enjoyed trying them all out. My husband gripes at my spending habits with Pampered Chef, but I think he can't complain too much if it encourages me to cook more and to try new recipes.

Today I used my mini-muffin pan, my mini-tart shaper and my flour/sugar shaker to make Mini Pecan Tassies. I combined 1/2 cup of whole wheat flour with a 1/2 cup of all purpose flour in place of one full cup of all purpose flour. I also used the Splenda brown sugar mix instead of regular brown sugar. Next time I may use reduced fat cream cheese, too. I know I can't make mini tarts healthy, but at least I can try to make them healthier.

Here's a picture of the tarts (minus the two I ate! Haha!) They are really yummy. The filling reminds me of those sugar roasted pecans you can buy in the mall. Mmm!

Okay, now that I've shared my bad sugary habits with you, I'm going to share my attempts at becoming stronger! Someone recently posted that he was going to do the 100 push-ups challenge, and I was intrigued. I have NO upper arm strength. (Shoot, let's be honest. I have very little strenght at all!) But what really interests me is bragging rights. Can you imagine ME being able to honestly say, "I can do a hundred push ups!" Yeah, me either.

Anyway, the program promises that you'll be able to do a hundred push ups in six weeks. We'll see! I did the initial test today and only did 15. Sad, I know. So check in with me in six weeks and see if I stuck with it! Haha. :) I'll try and update here with how I'm doing. Check out the website. If you decide to do it, let me know!

I'll Stop the World and Melt with You...

When Caleb was younger (because he's so much older than he used to be!) he used to instinctively grab my thumb if I put it anywhere near his hand. It was a reflexive act and didn't necessarily communicate anything, but it melted my heart each time. I remember offering my thumb to a friend's 1 year old, who was completely uninterested in it, and realizing, "Oh. Someday he won't want my thumb."

This week, I realized that Caleb isn't grabbing my thumb any more. Well, he'll grab it if he wants to stand in my lap, but that instinctive grab every time my hand drew near is gone. It surprised me to realize this, and I wondered how long it had been happening. Have I been unaware?

Because there's so much more to be aware of now. He's crawling like it's going out of style. Each evening he spends countless minutes crawling from my office to Tommy's and back again. And he's trying so desperately to pull himself up with the help of furniture, legs, toys, etc. He can put himself in a kneeling position, but hasn't figure out how to stand up yet. And that frustrates him. He's had a taste of being mobile through crawling and is now ready to conquer the world.

But my favorite new development is Caleb's own version of a hug and kiss combo. If he's in the hugging mood and my face is close enough, he puts his hands on either side of my head, pulls my face to his and squeezes me with his whole being. Then he makes his happy noise, which is essentially a closed-mouth, "mmmMMMMmmm!" but about a thousand times cuter than those "m"s can communicate.

Now the thing with his hug/kiss combo is that he's very, very selective about giving it. He doesn't kiss on command, and he doesn't kiss often. There's nothing reflexive about his new form of affection. He picks when and wear he's ready to give a hug.

But when he does choose to give that hug/kiss, the world could cease to exist for all I care.

He's growing, and it's amazing. For each little mark of infanthood that sadly disappears, the most amazing changes take its place. I still can't believe how lucky I am that I get to be along for the ride in his adventures.

I Just Can't Wait To Be King!

I love Cher's "Do You Believe in Life After Love?" I'm not ashamed to admit that. I'm not a big fan of Cher. But while I worked a retail job, the video wall we had played this song about a thousand times. You'd think that would turn me off to the song, as it did for many others, but that's not the case. I think I know every word. It's just a great pop song and perfect to sing along to.

Now that I've gotten that off my chest, I just want to say what a fantastic birthday this has been! My birthday was on Thursday, and it has been such a fun week. This is the first time ever that I've been able to celebrate my birthday with my husband, and we just celebrated our 4th anniversary last month. It's so nice to have him home this year.

Wednesday night we enjoyed steaks at the Enlisted Club on base. The have steak night about twice a month, and I kept telling Tommy I wanted steak for my birthday. So when we saw 2-for-1 steaks the night before my birthday, we decided "Let's do it!"

On my actual birthday, I went to Angelsey Abbey near Cambridge with my friend Robin. It was a nice house, but a little darker than I expected. The wood was very dark, and most of the windows were closed. They had some interesting art, furniture, and a display of opulent crucifixes. We couldn't bring strollers into the house (and I had forgotten mine, anyway), so the lady at the door offered to let me use a Hippy Chick hip seat for Caleb. It was pretty cool! It really helped alleviate the pressure of the weight of my little chunker. The Abbey also had very beautiful gardens that we wandered around for a while. Luckily the rain held off until we left the Abbey grounds.

And then today, Tommy and I went to London (sans-Caleb) and saw The Lion King in the West End! It really was an amazing show. The sets and costumes and music were unbelievable. I didn't know they could do those kinds of things with the stage! The way they constructed the animals to be part-human and part-puppet was phenomenal. The scene where the wildebeests stampede and end up killing Mufasa was very creatively done. And the ballet dancing during "Can You Feel the Love Tonight?" was beautiful.

However, even though everything looked incredible, some of the actors didn't do the trick for me. I really loved the actress that played Rafiki, the monkey voodoo priest-type person. In the movie, Rafiki is a mail, but in the play (at least the London production of it, anyway) Rafiki is female, and the actress did a great job. I also loved the actor that played Pumba. He was hilarious!

But the actor that played Zazu, the bird that is Mufasa's advisor, really didn't do the trick for me. I just didn't enjoy his performance. His comedic delivery was just...off. For many of the bird's antics in the first half of the show, there was little to no laughter from the audience. It wasn't that the jokes were terrible, they just fell flat in his delivery. That really kind of detracted from the overall perfomance for me.

Having said that, I still loved it. It was a fantastic way to spend a Saturday afternoon, and a great birthday gift!

(Sorry for no pics this time. Blogger hates me!)

Investment

I've been thinking tonight about investment and how little invested I am in many parts of my life. I keep my invovlement in many things low-risk. And although that makes life safe and comfortable, it has also made it rather boring.

Have you ever resented teachers for giving you a grade you didn't deserve? I'm not talking about a bad grade. I've turned in so many papers that recieved A's they weren't worthy of. In my surprise I have wondered, "Do they really think that's the best I could do?" And even though I know I am capable of doing better work, what motivation is there to do so? Why work harder when a half-hearted attemped will get the grade?

I am capable of more, and I know it. Not just academically. Honestly, in the end, what will a degree matter? But my effort...what will I be able to say of my effort?

Outside of school, I also find myself giving half-hearted attempts in many areas of my life. I'd like to say that I've struggled to lose the last bit of baby weight, but that's not the truth. It's no struggle. I just choose to eat foods that don't benefit my body. I choose to be lazy about working out regularly. It's hardly a struggle if I'm not trying. If I were committed to my health, the weight wouldn't even be a concern. If I were committed to setting a good example of healthy living for my son, I wouldn't keep looking at those pre-pregnancy jeans and feeling disappointed.

Most disturbing for myself is how little I've invested in my own faith over the last decade. (Holy crap, you're getting old when you can categorize your life in decades, aren't you?) The thing that disappoints me the most is that when I question the tradition of faith I've been raised in, I don't search out the answers. I tuck everything away in dusty, old cupboards and don't bother looking in their for years. I desperately want to know my own faith...not because it's what I've been taught, but because I've searched out answers myself and it's what I beleive.

Not to get all Mariah Carey on you, but sometimes I wish I was a butterfly. There are so many changes I want to see in my life, that's it's overwhelming to think of where to begin. I want to wrap myself up in a cocoon and come out new. I want to wake up with a revived sense of pupose and ambition.

This is the problem with growing up and marrying into the military: when I think of starting new, I think of moving. I think that a PCS (permanent change of station) will be the answer. No, it won't fix things, but it'll give me a clean slate to become the new and improved Kelly with all the answers and smaller jeans.

But after almost 29 years of military living, I know a change of location does not equal a change of heart.

What is it that truly motivates people to make the changes they desire in themselves? It can't just be frustration with the current circumstances, because I have that, but I lack motivation. It can't just be a desire to become who you want to be, because I have that, too. What is motivation? What causes it to take you from wanting change to making change?

Perhaps it's just one good choice. And then another. Perhaps it's just breaking it down from the whole into parts and realized that I can't change myself. But I can make one good choice. And if I make one good choice, maybe I could do that again tomorrow.

I don't know. I just know that as happy as I am with my life in general, I'm dissatisfied with my own level of investment in these areas and others. I want to be a girl who is unafraid to take risks. I want to be someone who produces ideas, even if some (or most) of them are crap. I want to be someone who puts her heart into the projects she's involved in, not just her head.

I want to stop writing blogs like this and start writing blogs about the life I'm living, not dreaming about.

It's a bit like having a newborn again.

Caleb is sick. He came down with a fever Sunday afternoon after the boot sale and has been battling the fever and vomiting since then. It's Caleb's first real sickness, if you don't count the off-and-on colds of winter. We saw a pediatrician yesterday who said it is either a stomach virus (yes) or Fifth Disease (no.) Caleb's cheeks were really red yesterday, which is why she wanted to make me aware of Fifth Disease (a viral rash that starts with redness of cheeks, also called "Slap Cheek" and then spreads to the arms and torso.) The good news is that as Caleb's temperature has come down, his cheeks are far less red, so I'm convinced it's just a stomach bug.


But trying to figure out how to deal with a sick baby feels a lot like having a newborn again. Caleb and I are normally on a pretty good schedule. He eats five times a day -- two bottles and three "meals" of baby food. He naps about three times if we stay home. If we're out, he just naps when he can (in the car or stroller.) Since his stomach is upset, the Dr. didn't want me to give him diary products, which means no bottles of formula until his stomach settles down. So he's getting lots of diluted pedialyte, at her instruction. He's pretty much eating tiny meals all day long and napping off and on for short periods. Very newborn-like.



Today for the first time in ages we took a nap together. He's much more snuggly while he's ill than he normally is. On a regular day, he wants to be down on the floor playing or in his jumperoo. And he likes to nap in his own crib -- he never falls asleep in my arms anymore. Today, though, he snuggled up with me in the couch and we slept together for about an hour. It was a sweet silver lining.



It's frustrating to not know what's wrong or what he wants. I really hope he catches on to the sign language soon, because I would love to know how I could help him, or at least know what's bothering him.



On top of that, he's finally cutting his first tooth.



Boy, this is fun.

Boots Ads and Boot Sales

Wow. I am SO tired.

Today I went to my first ever car boot sale. (Your car's "boot" is the trunk. A car boot sale is, essentially a huge collective garage sale. Bring your crap to sell in your car, set it up in front of your car and hope to make a few pounds!) It was pretty cool. We solicited donated items from my husband's squadron to raise money for the squadron booster club, and managed to make a couple hundred pounds. Sweet! (Given the current exchange rate of almost exactly double, two hundred pounds is about four hundred dollars.)

Caleb was SO good, considering the fact that we were up at 4 in the morning to get ready for this thing and he was out with us in a strange environment till almost noon. His Pack 'n' Play (or "travel cot") was a hot item. Everyone wanted to buy it, but I had only brough it to put him down occasionally. Next time I'll bring a sign, "Travel cot not for sale...Nor is the baby!" That was the next most popular question. "How much for the baby?" Ha. Ahahaha. Ha. After the fiftieth time, I got tired of telling people to come back and negotiate when he got crabbier at the end of the day.

Tommy and I managed to leave the sale having only spent 5 pounds, which is miraculous. We bought a new dog bed for the Z's crate. Their current bed are becoming a bit too stinky for our liking, despite a recent wash. There were lots of baby toys for sale, but nothing I was willing to part with 10-15 pounds over.

We learned a lot in this first experience that I think will make us better boot sellers next time -- such as presorting the clothes and bringing more tables. My favorite experience, though, was when Tommy's coworker was attempting to sell jeans to a lady and kept asking what kind of pants she wears and telling her we had all kinds of pants. I don't think he realized that "pants" are underwear here. She abruptly change directions and left in a hurry!

In other news, I LOVE that song they play on the Boots commercial. (Boots is a British pharmacy that I really like.) Anyway, since at least Christmas they've had these ad campaigns with this great song, Ernie K. Doe's "Here Come The Girls." Their latest ad campaign has mom chasing their kids to slather them up in SPF, with that song behind it. It's just a great song, and really effective! It makes me want to shop at Boots. I can't remember looking forward to a commercial before!

(I'm also loving the new Weezer single, "Pork and Beans," but that's really no suprise, is it?)

And finally, if Caleb was a super hero, I think his name would be Nearly Naked Baby. And his superpower could be looking fantastic in a diaper, 'cause he does.

Remembering

While vacuuming my bedroom the other day, I moved the Pack 'n' Play where Caleb slept for the first two months of his life. In moving it, I accidentally bumped the button that plays soft, classical lullabies. I used to press that button so many times a night hoping he'd sleep a little longer or go to sleep at all.

Hearing the music again absolutely froze me in my tracks. I literally had to sit down on the edge of the bed because I was overwhelmed by the raw, vulnerable emotions that came flooding forth at the instant I heard those first few notes. I immediately remembered those first few weeks of never sleeping more than two or three hours at a time. I could feel the sharp anguish of trying desperately to get Caleb to nurse. I remembered the deep frustration and anger of losing my internet connection for three weeks and feeling so unconnected with the world, and more importantly, my husband in Iraq. I sat there for a few minutes, just allowing myself to remember how difficult life was for those first few weeks.

In retrospect, it's clear I was suffering from more than baby blues, that I had a pretty good bought of post-partum depression frantically trying to drag me down. And while I never felt like I was a danger to myself or Caleb or anyone else, I was just so wicked sad and emotional and unstable during that time.

I've said it before, but it's so true: My mom saved my life. My mother's 24-hour-a-day presence, support and help kept me alive and marginally sane. I remember crying so often in my mom's arms. I remember being so exhausted that the stupidest thing would set the two of us off laughing, and we would be so punch-drunk that we'd laugh for ten minutes until we forgot what we were laughing about to begin with. My mom made me meals and brought them to me in bed on the third floor of our house. She came with me to every doctor's appointment (which were frequent then) and kept Caleb when I had to make vet appointments after Zeus started having seizures just ten days into Caleb's life.

I remember a follow-up appointment with my OBGYN where I wept because of the nursing problems I was having. Dr. A was so comforting and reassuring about my efforts without being pushy. As she told me that it was okay to let go of nursing, she said, "Before you know it, he'll be five years old and pulling a box of Triscuits out of the cupboard to feed himself." And although he's not eating even Gerber Puffs yet, I think of this comment every now and again as I feed Caleb his green beans or bananas, and it makes me smile.

All of the stress and struggle was so momentary, so fleeting. But in the moment, it was the most soul-wrenching, overwhelming experience of my life so far. To be able to say that makes me a very fortunate woman. And as I sat on my bed, remembering all the emotions of that time, I am glad it is behind me. But I am even more grateful that it wasn't worse than it was.

Let the Moonlight Take the Lid Off of Your Dreams

Caleb, you're 8 months old today. As it does every month, this milestone blows me away.

But today I'm not going to write about how mobile you're becoming (even though it's just by a series of rolls and not by crawling) or how I keep wondering when you'll cut your first tooth.

Today I want to talk about your sleeping habits.

Now I should say that I'm super lucky to have a baby who sleeps like a champ and has for quite some time. You rarely wake in the middle of the night, and will put yourself back to sleep almost every time you do wake. You're down by 9 and up by 7 almost every day. And you take pretty good naps, if you're given the chance. No, you actual sleep patterns aren't really worth commenting on, except to say, "Good job!"

But the way you sleep. Now that's something else.

When my mom (your MamMaw) was staying with us while Daddy was in Iraq, she and I used to laugh at how noisy you were in your sleep. My friend Kristy dubbed you Sir Grunts A Lot, and that you did. You spent most of your night grunting and groaning. I guess sleep is strenuous when you're a newborn.

You outgrew your gruntiness, but not long after that, you learned to roll over. And you haven't stopped since then.

I never know where I'll find you in you're crib. You don't know this, but I'm supposed to put you on your back when you sleep. But since you've learned to roll, you refuse to sleep on your back. This isn't terribly unusual or cause for concern, though.

What makes me laugh isn't the rolling, it's the complete change in positions. I'll put you on your back with your head towards the window, and five minutes later you're conked out on your tummy with your head towards the door, on the opposite end of the crib. Sometimes you wedge yourself into a corner, even occasionally changing your position to fit the corner, as in the shape of an L. Or I'll find you with your face pressed against the mirror in your crib, breathing little pools of condensation at your reflection.

This is my fault, I'm afraid. You've inherited the weird sleep bug that I have. When my dad used to come kiss me good-bye in the morning, he would generally find me with my head down at the foot of the bead, blankets askew, and bum high in the air. I've been know to sleep walk, sleep talk, and sleep act. When I was 16 I used to wake up to find myself sitting straight up in bed acting as if I was filling orders at Hardee's (my first job.) In more recent years, I even punched your poor father in the head, because I was convinced that his head was a crystal ball about to roll down the stairs. (Blame Harry Potter for that one!)

I genuinely hope that strange sleep positions is as bad as it gets for you. Because it can be stressful to have such an active sleep life. I once lost my pajama pants for at least a day because I couldn't remember what I did with them when I took them off in my sleep. I hope you never lose your pajama pants.

But as much as I hope it doesn't get this extreme for you, I have to admit that I smile whenever I look in on your crazy little sleeping body. I love that we already have something in common so young and can't wait to find out what else we'll share as you grow older.

I love you, sweet boy. Happy 8 Month Birthday.

Caleb Goes Swimming

Today I took Caleb to the Leisure Centre for his first attempt at "swimming." I was convinced he would like it, since he loves bath time and has no real aversion to water. Clearly, I was wrong.


Before we went out to the pool, there was a line of shower heads with a sign informing you to shower before you enter the pool. This is not a foreign concept, since all American pools have these signs, too. But in America, I generally disregard the instruction unless I'm super hot and sweaty. I didn't want to give Americans a bad rep this morning, and in the name of being a good ambassador for our team, I turned on the shower head and quickly jumped in with Caleb resting on my hip.


Bad idea.


The shower freaked him out. He began screaming, and I walked out of the spray and did my best to calm him down. He was just about back to normal, so I decided to take him to the kiddie pool. Apparently he wasn't ready for the pool. He cried and fussed and just generally made it known that he was not at all happy about this. I spent the next 20 minutes taking him in and out of the pool and trying everything in my repertoire to distract him from the scariness of the two-foot deep pool. Nothing worked. So I gave in and we went home.

I'm not giving up! I figure he didn't like peaches at first, either, but I've managed to convince him of their merit. Surely I can do the same with swimming, right? I'm very persuasive!


Anyway, at least he looked good!


(Trunks from Tesco)