I'm noticing a trend...

It's been over a year since I have blogged. And my life has changed dramatically in that time. I am finally back home, in Arizona, near my family. We bought a house, and the beast will start kindergarten in Arizona. While it didn't all happen and come about the way that we thought it would, we are trying to make the best of an extremely difficult situation.

When Andrew was injured on a jump a year and a half ago, the extent of his injuries weren't fully discovered. Since that injury, he has deployed to Afghanistan, jumped out of more planes, and received orders to Alaska. And then our world came to a screeching halt.

Because of lingering pain in his pelvic region, Andrew went to see the doctor. And after many, many appointments, it was discovered that when he injured himself, well over a year ago, he had actually fractured his pelvis. An injury that continued to receive a beating through the deployment and subsequent jumps from airplanes. Over time, the muscles in the injured area started to tear away from the bone. The army told us that none of this would cause him to not go to Alaska.

We decided that since we were planning on getting out of the military once the Alaska assignment was over, the kids and I would go ahead to Arizona, so that B could start and stay in one school, rather than move around, and so that I could return to school and get my nursing degree, effectively making a civilian transition a little easier on the family. We house hunted, we purchased a home, and less than a week after closing on the new house with the $900 mortgage, and about 6 weeks before Andrew was due to leave for Alaska, we got the news. Andrew's orders were cancelled due to his injury.

It was a devastating blow, because we had purchased our house with the income we would receive from being in Alaska in mind. And there was nothing we could do. The house was ours. Alaska wasn't happening. The kids and I had to come here. And Andrew would end up homeless in NC. You see, the Army doesn't care what happens to you when things like this happen. Thankfully, we have some wonderful friends who have taken Andrew into their home and family.
This period in our lives has probably been one of the most trying I have ever encountered. Between the financial hardships and other strains, our marriage is suffering it's biggest trials ever. While I hate to think that this could be the end, I just don't know anymore. Andrew has completely shut down. His PTSD is in full swing, and the mood swings are unbearable. While I have mentioned counseling several times, it is always met with the same response. Several different versions of "Hell no". I don't know what to do anymore. He doesn't call to speak with his children. They have quit asking for him. I am heartbroken.

I did however make it into school. Not the nursing school I want, but I am in Medical Assistant school, with the hopes that when I graduate, my future place of employment will offer tuition reimbursement while I pursue my bachelor's in nursing. I can only hope that things will dramatically take a turn for the better, or that the transition through separating will not cause the kids to suffer. Something has to change. I really can't live like this anymore.

Hoping for Change

Getting my thoughts in line is really difficult for me. I guess that's why I fail to keep up with my blogging. And the craziest part of it is, blogging makes me happy. Getting my thoughts, however ridiculous they may be, out of me and into written form where I can examine them is how I let them go. I find that if I don't write out my feelings, I have a hard time letting go of things out of my control and moving forward with my life. Lately, I haven't done a good job of letting go of things.

Today, I learned that we could be PCS-ing soon. I expected to not be open or welcome to that idea. I mean, Fort Bragg has been our home for the last five years, and I didn't think that I would ever be open to leaving the place that our son has essentially been raised. However, when it was brought up through email with my husband today, I found that I was actually excited about the prospect of leaving. And that caused me to take a step back. I've been thinking on it for a few hours now, and the only thing I can conclude is that I don't feel that I can be my best self here anymore.

I used to pride myself on being a great mother. I spent hours with my son, playing, creating, imagining... everything under the sun. If he needed it, I was there. Lately, my son has been spending his days in his room, playing alone. Something that even as I write this, makes tears come to my eyes. I hate that I am no longer that mom for him. And of course, a lot has changed with Emma coming along and I no longer have as much time for him as I did before caring for an infant, but it's really no excuse. I'm not taking care of him. Sure, he has clothes, and food and a roof, and regular baths, etc, but I no longer invest time in the core being of HIM. I no longer take the time to teach him the things his mother should be teaching him. I no longer push him to be HIS best self, because I'm not being my best self. I want so much more for him than that, and I feel like I can't do that here.

What is it about here that keeps me from taking care of my family in a way that I would normally? Up until a year or so ago, I was trucking along just fine, managing to maintain my identity and still raise Braeden in a way that I'd always dreamed of raising my children. It's like I feel stifled. I feel like the one thing I need, and am lacking, is someone to see that I'm spiraling, and care. I feel like I am so different from everyone else out here. And the funny thing is, I have a lot in common with every friend that I have. It's different from person to person, but ultimately, each of the friends I have out here, I have a ton of things in common with. But I still feel different from them. Most days, I feel like I'm forty years old, trying to live in a world with twenty-five year olds. I'm only twenty-seven! I look around at my friends and their individual little families and I think... Man, they really have their routines and places down pact. Many of my friends could be locked in their houses with their husbands and children and would love every minute of it. And I always think to myself that there must be something wrong with me. Why is it that I can't find that utter contentment with my loved ones? Why isn't their company enough for me?

Because it's not.

Don't get me wrong, I love my husband and children dearly, and I would not trade them for anything in the world. But after 5 days of constantly spending all of my time with them, I can't wait to break free and do something solely for myself. Away from them. And then I feel hateful because I look to my friends and they seem to be at their happiest when they are spending quality time with their families.

I feel like I'm losing my identity. My role in life has become that of Mother, Wife, Friend and then Erin. I used to be so many other things. It's hard to even type this because I'm admitting to myself that I don't know who I am anymore. I try my hardest to be the best person that I can be and to make the best choices that I can make for my family, but I'm losing myself in the process. I'm tired of being presented with the choice of doing the right thing or losing something that is so important to me.

So I'm ready to move. Sure it will be sad. But it will also be very happy. I want to start over. I don't want to be unhappy anymore. I want to start fresh somewhere and be the person I want to be and not question myself anymore. And if that place happened to be closer to my family and loved ones, I would be all the happier. I'm tired of feeling so alone in a place that I used to be surrounded with people in. I'm tired of feeling like I don't matter. I'm tired of being so many things for so many people and having nothing left for myself. I'm tired of being so alone with myself that I loathe myself. I'm just tired. 

Bleh...

My blogging has gotten seriously pushed down on the list lately... I really need to make more of an effort to put it back up towards the top.

So much is happening here lately, that by time it's quiet time around here, all I can do is veg.

But that is all changing.

Today, I ordered a juicer. After watching the documentary Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead, I am taking the plunge and making the commitment to go on a juice cleanse using raw veggies and fruits. I'm starting out with mini goals, and am hoping to go through to 90 days. I need more energy, I still have some residual baby weight and since my doctor pissed in my cheerios and I can't work out, this seems to be a healthy way to jump start my new healthier lifestyle that I am aiming for with my kids.

Actually, the beast is kind of the inspiration. He isn't really a big fan of meat, so we tend to only eat it 2-3 times per week. And whenever I tell someone that my 4 year old doesn't like meat, they look at me like I'm crazy. I, personally, don't think it's that weird. I'm not an idiot, and have researched healthy lifestyles for some time now, so I'm aware that animal protein isn't the best for our human bodies. In fact there are so many scary things associated with milk that it put me off of it for good. Apparently, cow's milk can actually help tumors grown at an accelerated rate. Um. No Thanks.

So, the Monday after Easter, the juicing begins. Technically, I'll be juicing for breakfast and lunch once I get the juicer in a kind of preparation for the juice feast, but come April 9th, it's on like Donkey Kong. And next week I'm finally able to incorporate some light working out into my life, so things should be moving along nicely. Hopefully.

I'm not going to lie... I'm scared crapless. Lots of changes coming my way! Including a new dining room table, new sewing table and new desk... Including a whole new redesigned space to go with it all... Here's hoping it all works out well... Pictures to come!!

Anything to keep busy while the hubs is away!

What Happened To Parenting?

Real parenting? Sit-at-the-table-till-you-finish-your-food, parenting? I can remember falling asleep sitting at the table because I didn't want to eat meatloaf.

Don't get me wrong, I'm totally guilty of going to easy on my kid, and letting him do what he wants, within reason. I'm definitely not NEAR as strict as my parents were. And I regret that. I think I need to change some things up. Just because my world has to revolve around the military, doesn't mean I should get to slack off.

I think it's time to outline some new rules around here. The beast used to have specific chores that were his and changed as he got older and was able to handle more stuff. Ever since I got pregnant with Gigantor, that has fallen by the wayside. The rules that were in place have become mere suggestions now that my energy is zapped by the 2 little ones. I think tonight, I'm gonna have to sit down with a pen and paper and set up some goals for myself when it comes to what priorities I have and what can stay a little more relaxed.

And I see a crafting project in my future... A laminated weekly calendar for the Beast with pictures of specific chores for each day of the week that have a Velcro backing so they can be interchangeable... Tomorrow is a new day... And pretty soon, my ornery child who doesn't listen will be a beautiful little stepford-child who is seen and not heard...

A girl can dream, can't she?

Wow! It's been awhile!

So much has happened since I last posted... I had a baby, I finally got around to making the house more a home, and my husband left for the sunny Middle East... And finally, I can relax!

Gigantor showed up on January 14th weighing in at 8lbs even and 19 1/2 in long... After some crazy complications on my end, I was finally released from the hospital four and a half days after I got there. Then came the ever crazy barrage of parents coming in to visit the new baby. And it goes on and on and on...

But finally, I can let my hair down.... It won't go very far because I chopped it all off after having Gigantor, but it's down none the less.

OK, let's get real. I can't let my hair down. I still have 2 kids who are constantly up my ass. Today for instance, is grocery day. As I type this, I'm supposed to be cleaning out my fridge and getting rid of stuff for the serious amount of food coming in. And I mean serious. When it's just me here with the kids, I stock up like I'm preparing for a natural disaster. I like to only have to go to the store like every three weeks or so, barring the occasional milk run. Or cheese run. That's pretty important too.

After the grocery shopping of epic proportions, its home again for me, where I'll prepare all my food for the week and put all my meals and snacks away so I can just grab and go. Which is important because I'll be spending my nights this week making superhero capes and masks and making everything to turn my freshly decorated house into a superheros wet dream... Which is probably inappropriate because it's a birthday party for a four year old, but whatever. I'm an inappropriate kind of person. I'm OK with it.

I'll post pictures of everything when I sit down at the computer later because, let's face it, I'm not here for anything other than procrastinating on the things I SHOULD be doing... Oh well.

Probably total TMI...

I hate being pregnant. For many reasons. Today, though, probably takes the cake.

**Warning: Lots of vagina talk ahead!!**

Shaving becomes a massive pain in the ass when you're pregnant. I'm not talking about your armpits. That's easy. Everything south of your belly button is the problem. You can't see, you can't bend, and lets face it, you don't have motivation to be in the shower longer than 5 minutes.

That's why your vagina ends up looking like a Peruvian jungle. Maybe it's just me. If so, I don't care. I have no shame. I don't think it is though. I think lots of pregnant people out there pretend to keep up with the hoo-hoo grooming just to save face. No one wants to be THAT guy.

I don't care. I'll be that guy. As I recently described to a friend of mine, shaving in the no-no zone while in your 3rd trimester requires the use of a fog free mirror and the National Guard. You can't see a damn thing. And your blindly scraping a sharp ass instrument over the most sensitive part of your body. No thanks. Isn't it bad enough that a flippin' human being is going to come out of there soon enough? You'd think, that since we have to be pregnant and all, God would stop the hair growth for us. But no. We get to pay for a crime that happened at the beginning of time. I DIDN'T EAT THE DAMN APPLE!!!! And technically, if Jesus died for our sins, then wouldn't that erase Eve's sins, therefore letting us off the hook? I've always wondered about that. Anyway, that's a topic for another day. Hairy vaginas are the topic of today.

So today, I realized that things were getting uncomfortably out of control down south. Both my legs and my hoo-hoo were ridiculously hairy. Something had to be done. After trimming down the excess (I told you it was bad. I didn't want to clog the tub drain. Explain that hairball to a plumber.) I hopped in the shower and hoped for the best. I have no idea what the end result is. I can't see it. And I didn't want to examine it in the mirror. I would imagine it isn't pretty. But it's much more comfortable, so I must have done something somewhat right.

I don't plan on doing this again until I'm coming up on my due date. It's incredibly stressful, and requires a lot of creative bending that they don't teach you in yoga. But I'll do it right before my due date. I don't care about pooping on the table, but I definately don't want nurses and doctors judging my vagina. That's embarrassing.

4:05am... And here I am... Awake...

with heartburn. I hate heartburn. This is the third time this week that I have awakened to nastiness in my esophagus. And the second night in a row that the beast had night terrors. 2:15 like clockwork, he woke up screaming. Thankfully, he went back to bed immediately, but it definitely scared the be-jeezus out of me.

The worst part is, I have no one to blame but myself.

I scare my child. I don't mean that I yell at him until he quivers and trembles, or beat him senseless, or anything like that. Essentially, I lie to him and.... exaggerate situations so that he listens. I see nothing wrong with this. I mentioned before his fear of the Easter Bunny. It started out harmless enough. We went to the mall to get a picture of him with the giant bunny. He was excited. Until it was our turn. The beast didn't realize that the bunny was alive. When the Easter Bunny reached out his arms to hold the beast on his lap, chaos ensued. The situation ended when my just-turned-three son picked up a pink, glittery decorative egg and chucked it at the Easter Bunny with all his might and then ran screaming from the little fake cottage area. Needless to say, we didn't get the picture.

Anyway, my mom felt really bad for him... Her poor poopy-head and all. ((She's called him that since birth... Ironically, it has nothing to do with actual poo.)) I saw a golden opportunity. One day the beast was being particularly beastly. And before I knew it, I told him the Easter Bunny was upstairs hiding under mommy's bed waiting to come get him if he didn't start listening. And it worked. The kid hid under a blanket on the couch watching his shows quietly. He got up only to pee. Ever since that day, the Easter Bunny has been the boogy man of our house. The story has gotten more elaborate. Eventually he got so scared that we had to promise him that the police had locked up the Easter Bunny in jail. Now we tell him that the police will let him out if he's bad. So we've instilled a healthy dose of fear of police to our 3 year old. Great.

But that isn't why my child has had night terrors the last two nights.

Yesterday, we made a quick run to Wal-Mart. As in the usual Wal-Mart manner, four of their 30 lanes were open, and the lines were wrapped back into the clothing section. A very nice employee glanced in my cart, saw my 7 items and told me to go check out in the jewelry dept. My kind of service. I hauled ass over there, hoping no one overheard her tell me we could check out there and inadvertently beat me to the oasis that would allow me to get out of there quickly. And damned if someone didn't beat me there. So while we stood waiting our turn, the beast was checking out the Halloween section that was just across the aisle. Up on top of the shelves was this giant yard inflatable of a spooky house with trees and ghost all around. Here's how the conversation went down.

Beast: Look, Mommy, a Halloween house!
Me: Yeah! And look at all the scary ghosts!
Beast: Those ghosts aren't scary.
Me: Those ghosts work here.
Beast: Nuh-uh.
Me: Yup. When kids are bad, they fly down from the tree and eat their faces off. Then they chop off the bad children's feet and send them to jail for the Easter Bunny to eat them.
Beast: Oh no.
Me: Yup... On Halloween, you'll see the kids who were bad in the store. They have to wear masks cuz the ghosts ate their faces off.
Beast: I'm going to be a pirate for Halloween. ((at this point his eyes will not leave the display))
Me: Yup... So you better be good because we didn't get you a mask. And if you don't have a face, you can't go trick or treating.
Beast: Mommy, can we go home?

The guy in front of me was laughing so hard he had tears, and he gave the cashier the wrong amount of money. The cashier stared at me in stunned belief. The look on her face told me everything. While she was amused at the situation, she clearly did not agree with my parenting style. Not that I cared. It worked. He was good in the store. What's a little fear when you can get through a Wal-Mart trip unscathed?

And now he has night terrors and I have heartburn.

Thank you, Karma... You've been very helpful this week. Hopefully we get along better next week.