And that's why we don't negotiate with terrorists....

Okay, so maybe the terrorists in question here are my children. Just stick with me.

I was being held hostage over the (evidently sub-par) pork chops I cooked for the little monsters darlings.  I tried to hold firm. Really. But after an hour, they broke me.  Two kids managed to slip away, and the third one stalled until I almost lost my schmidt. Just to clarify- I made a tasty meal. 4 people (which includes 2 children) ate it without any issues.

I hate when they manage to negotiate their way out of dinner. It usually starts with an innocent "I'm not very hungry." When I use my psychic powers to confirm that they are, in fact, hungry, it devolves into whining. Tonight, #3 totally showed the other kids how it is done.

3: This looks funny.

Me: No, it doesn't.

3: What is that green thing? (this question is usually accompanied by stabbing the offending food item repeatedly with a fork)

Me: It is a teeny piece of oregano. EAT and stop stabbing the food. The pork is already dead.

3: How come He (#2) got more rice?

Me: Because he ate his (mother-loving) pork chops.  (Teeth are starting to clench)

3: I have to go to the bathroom.

Me: Then you better eat quickly.

3: Do I have to eat all of it?

Me: YES!!!!!!!

3 pokes around some more with his fork. He moves the pieces of meat around. He folds napkin into boat shape (not kidding). Chews up an ice cube. Wipes off fork onto boat-shaped napkin. Still hasn't eaten. 

3: But I already ate four bites.

Me: I barely gave you enough pork to keep CPS off of my case. WILL. YOU. JUST. EAT.

3: I really have to pee.

Me: (inaudible grumbling...)

Kid leaves for a while and returns.  He didn't flush, by the way.

3: Can I just eat one more bite?

Me: No! You will eat at least 4. (HUGE mistake. Kids sense that as a sign of weakness, just like sharks and blood in the water).

More dillying and dallying and rearranging of pork pieces, accompanied by pleas for more rice.
I am no longer answering. I am only glaring.

3: Well. I'm done.

Me: ?????? YOU DID NOT EAT YOUR FOUR BITES.

3: I already ate four bites.

Me: You were supposed to eat four more bites.

3: But I already ate four, and then had one more (I doubt that very much). So that was five, can I be done?

Me: NOOOOOOO! Sit. Eat. Do. not. move.

Five minutes later, I realize he has been sitting there for an entire hour. Yup. That's about 40 minutes longer than anyone else.  I (in true Mom-of-the-Year style) grab his plate, and inform him that dinner. is. over. That he is to get in pjs, do his homework and stay out of my line of sight until breakfast. 

He scampers away.


Score: Kid 1, Mom 0.

I am grumpy, have wasted time I could have used to check Facebook clean the kitchen, and we still have to do his homework.  He, on the other hand, didn't have to eat his pork. 

And that, my friends, is why you don't negotiate with terrorists children.  You just feed them chicken nuggets every night, and hope they don't tell all the other parents that they broke their mom.

Keeping up appearances

It's that time again.

My husband is about at the halfway mark in the course he is taking here in VA, so his branch manager has emailed him (and all the other people his rank that are eligible to move) with some options. You know, the "please look through this list and rank your top three assignment choices," with some guidelines about who is first in line for those augmentee to Afghanistan positions. Mercifully, we are not. He's only been home seven months.

The insanity of the whole thing just makes me laugh.

My husband is aviation. It seems that his branch is stretched even thinner than the rest of the Army.  The pace that they are keeping officers on is crazy. That isn't a complaint. Just an observation. We are fighting a war in a country with something like three roads and a big old mountain range in the middle. So yeah, they need helicopters. Hence, a lot of the assignments are more like picking where your spouse will live while you're gone.

I find it funny that they are still trying to keep up the image of considering people's preferences.  And it was with this cynicism that I helped put together our dream sheet. Are we eligible for the locations/ positions we asked for? Not sure. The job descriptions were pretty thin. Will we get any of those locations? Maybe. Maybe not. Can't hurt to ask.  If we got one of those jobs we requested, would I be excited? Heck, yeah!

We are getting to the end of this Army journey. I am mostly focused on my oldest son's high school experience (he's in 8th grade right now) and where I want to be in the long term, post-Army. I am trying hard to balance that with my husband's career progression. It's harder than it sounds. My mama-bear instinct kicks in when I think about how little the Army really cares about my son's school career or how he has moved pretty much every other year of his whole life. 

Keeping #1 reassured is a big task now. He knows what is going on. He knows we are waiting to see what will happen. I don't know if he has grasped that some guy in an office in KY that he has never met is deciding where he will go to high school.  These same people will decide if he gets to stay at that high school for four years. I am doing my best to keep it positive. Reminding him that this is all an adventure. That God's plan is not our plan, and we will end up where we are supposed to be. I am trying to focus on that myself, when the worry starts to creep in to the corners of my mind. 

When will we know? How long will this take? We could have a late June report date, and February is next week. If we get an overseas move, wow. We'll have a busy couple of months.  But we also asked to stay here, and I am trying to fight the cutting-of-ties that I subconsciously start a few months before I leave a place. You know, you just gradually ease your way out of all the things you do. And then, one day, the truck shows up, takes all the stuff, and poof. Gone. Just like that.  Why fight it? Because we might not be leaving, so I can't disengage yet. 

It may sound a little crazy, but my only comfort is that I am not the only wife slowly going insane while we wait to see where our life goes next.  Plenty of Marine wives are going through the same thing with me right now. Hopefully, the kids are feeling like they are not alone either. Because they're not. Especially not here, at the school full of military families. And they won't be alone at our next duty station. Wherever that is.

About this whole Mommy business

So one of my favorite blogs to read is Rants From Mommyland. Why? Because they make me snarf my coffee just about everyday. They are just. that. funny.  So Lydia's last piece was about those things that we, especially us "Professional" mommies, say all the time.  "Professional", in this instance, means,"No. I don't do anything else. I just hang out here with these crazy people. All. mur.ther.fur.kin'. day." As usual, I laughed so hard that I nearly needed emergency medical care.  Then I scrolled through the comments. And I felt a little down.

One woman said that after reading the things we endlessly repeat as we "raise and nurture" our little crumbsnatchers, she would just stay on her birth control. So I just want to clarify. Not like she'll see my humble little blog, but I'll feel better.

My kids make me nuts. I walk through the house flushing toilets, turning off lights and breaking up arguments with idle threats of military school and groundings into adulthood.  I do, on average, 8 loads of laundry a week. (yeah, yeah. That's what I get for having 6 kids) I joke about drinking a lot of wine. Sometimes I really do.

But my kids are probably the most important and awesome things I have made (done? accomplished?) in my life.

Especially as they get older (#1 is THIRTEEN :P ), I see them becoming fabulous people. I probably have very little to do with that.  But it is awesome none the less. Watching them find their path in the world and accomplish things (sometimes with our help, but more and more without) is worth all the flushes and stinky socks under the couch. And I am not just saying that because I jumped off the career track and grad school and all that to be the mom.

Sharing the challenges of Mommyhood is so needed, because we don't live in communities like back in the day.  I got a taste of it when we lived in West Point. All the moms hung out in the front yard with the kids all day (except in the snow. Brrrrr). Kids played. Moms chatted. We supported each other. And on nice days, our husbands would come home to happy kids (still playing outside) and moms in lawn chairs drinking margaritas. (But probably not dinner. We'd been outside all day, after all.) 

Here in the burbs, it just doesn't happen like that. So there are virtual communities to share our angst and the utter lunacy that often accompanies parenthood. The trouble is, the childless women who come and read don't see the great parts. They will hear about that time my daughter COVERED her face and hair in Desitin, but not about how she gave me a big (drooly) kiss when I gave her a freshly-filled juice cup. And about the "artwork" on my walls, but not the drawings I hang on my fridge.

So, dear currently-childless lady who is turned off by our shared insanity, fear not.

Mommyhood is SO MUCH MORE than the toilet-flushing, shoe-tying, and peace-keeping that we whine talk about. But you will definitely want to stock up on those Magic Eraser things.

September 12, 2002

I wasn't planning on writing today. The general theme on the web seems to be "where was I that day." Maybe I'll tell that story next year.  Just thinking back on it breaks my heart/ makes me want to vomit. So I will tell you about September 12th, 2002- the day after the first anniversary of the day I lost my uncle and many friends of our family when those towers came crashing down. 

I was still in the Army. I skipped the mandatory 9/11 memorial ceremony held by the post. I had no intention of mourning those I lost in front of an audience. A soldier in my company was brought to my office that morning by her Drill Sergeant. She was in tears because her boyfriend was killed in Tower #1 (I think he was a fireman, but can't be totally sure). Either way, she said she couldn't handle the memorial ceremony. I told her DS to put her and a battle buddy on barracks guard, and that I would explain it to anyone who had a problem with it.  I spent the hour of the ceremony moping. Then I had to pull myself together and go to a meeting. 

September 11, 2002 was a blur. I went home and went to bed early.

On September 12th, I decided to clear my head and go for a nice 8 mile run. Yes, I considered that a nice run at the time. My Battalion XO decided not to join me that particular day.  I spent the next hour alone with the pavement and the scenery.  I had the opportunity to reflect on all the things that had happened since last fall. The war. My job. The service for my uncle that wasn't quite a funeral, because they never found his remains.

As I thought about my uncle, I realized that he was probably one of those people who lived out his belief that family was more important and that happy moments should be cherished.  Yes, he worked in Manhattan and was probably busy. He also coached and volunteered and took his daughters to hockey games.  He was a guy who loved his family and friends and spent time with them.  But just like that, he was gone.

Well, what about me? I was working 14 hour weekdays, with 6-8 hour days on Saturday and frequent middle of the night phone calls.  If I was killed tomorrow, what would my kids remember about me? That I was gone all the time? That I was too tired to read stories at night? That I had to leave my son's birthday party because a soldier passed out in formation because said soldier failed to drink water while on pass?  If I stayed in the Army (my plan at the time), would these things get better or worse?

The answer, to me, was obvious. I could quit on the Army, but not on my kids.  So I did. I turned down my dream assignment to follow a path that I felt my uncle helped point me towards.  So when I am here for school pick up and drop off, when I pack a kid's lunch and then drive the lunch to school after it is forgotten, my kids have the great-uncle that they don't remember to thank for it. 

I guess that is as close to a happy ending as this kind of story can get. I am here with my children, not in Iraq and not in Afghanistan.  I have six fantastic and rambunctious kids. I still miss my uncle very much, and am grateful for his life and how he lived it. I sure he is happy to have been an example for me, to keep my focus on the things that truly matter and are all too fleeting. 

I hate being right so often

Call it the other curse of womanhood.

I hate being right sometimes. Especially when it comes to my children and predicting their behavior.

The Saga of Completing the Summer Assignments is still ongoing. School starts in one week.  #*%!

Of course, as the mom of six, you can imagine that my schedule is just wide open happiness- all sunshine and roses.... um, no.  I think I have a free half hour on Monday, but that is only if none of the other things make me run late.  There is new student orientation, robotics camp (because NO ONE likes #2 after twelve weeks of vacation, and he doesn't like them either), boy scout pack checks and campouts, tutoring, ballet, tap, playdates and hopefully a day or two to work on my sunburn before the pool closes.  

I HATE being in a crunch when it comes to the peeps. I can procrastinate on my own things and catch up, but my herd is almost an immoveable object. There is no hurrying those people.  I guess "hurry up" translates into kidspeak as "take off your shoes go get a drink announce that you need to poop hit your sister til she cries."

So school supplies are already purchased, sorted and labeled. Ditto for shoes, uniforms, etc.  The only thing I failed to get them to do on my timeline was their mother-loving homework.  It is somewhere between herding turtles and chasing chickens. The kid I catch will usually refuse to work and will instead sit there contemplating life's great mysteries (such as: what is 9-4?) for hours until Mommy has to pee or find the owner of the screaming coming from the basement. 

The nanosecond Mommy is out of sight- poof- he's outta there!

Why can't they move that fast when I am trying to leave the house? Maybe I'll suggest that we do homework right before I need to leave and they'll just head to the car instead?

For better or worse, school starts next Monday. Maybe I can make up for failure to get summer work done by not being late the first day.