Just My Two Cents

I'm not a huge fan of social media, but I do have a Facebook account that I check and update regularly because, let's face it, sometimes online interaction is the only interaction I get with other adults and also because I have friends who are scattered across the entire globe, and I like keeping up with what they're doing and how life is going.  

But Twitter?  Twitter I just don't get.  I know, I run the risk of sounding like an old fart when I say that (I can vaguely remember doing my own eye-rolling when my dad would say, "I just don't get this music you young people listen to...."), but really I just. don't. get it.  Tweets and followers and TwitPics and hashtags and runningyourwordstogethersothatIcan'tpossiblyunderstandwhatyou'retryingtosay......

It's all Greek to me.

I had the opportunity to peruse a certain Twitter account a few weeks ago, and let's just say that the things teenagers are posting on social media left me laughing and shaking my head at the same time.  One tweet in particular was posted by a young lady who I know personally, and this tweet shall be the subject of tonight's blog.  Here is what she said:

"Every girl deserves to be treated like a princess."

And here is what I wanted to respond to her and what I would like to say to every young lady who is single and looking for someone to treat her like a princess:

Maybe you should try acting like one.

Seriously, girls....it's not rocket science.  Girls who act trashy will attract the boys who are trashy.  Period.  If you want to catch a guy who will respect you, try respecting yourself, and you can do that by:

• Putting on some clothes.  Real princes want a lady who exhibits modesty, not someone who dressed like a 3-dollar hooker.  When you wear revealing clothing, you send a very clear message:  I'm here for your sexual entertainment. Guys are visually stimulated, so if your breasts are exposed, or your shorts just barely cover your rear end, or you like showing off those sculpted abs, then be prepared to catch the attention of a guy who will objectify you and want you for sex only.  

• Washing out your mouth.  I am appalled at the girls today who are dropping the f-bomb without even flinching.  And just because you "bleep" it out with an * here and there, or use it in an acronym like WTF, we still know what you're saying, and it is NOT attractive.  

• Laying off the booze.  Really, girls, bragging all over social media about being drunk or high is not only stupid (because you're underage and could go to jail...smart one), it's also NOT classy behavior.  Think about it:  you're drunk, you're stumbling around and acting like a moron, you're speech is slurred so you even sound stupid when you talk, and eventually you're going to puke all over everything.  Honestly, do you really think that's attractive?  It's not.  If you want a guy to like YOU, then stop hiding behind a bottle of beer.  

• For Heaven's sake, quit talking about SEX all the time.  We know, you're a teenager.  You're hormones are raging.  You think that sex is the ultimate act of adulthood and you can't wait to do it.  Blah, blah, blah.  But the more you talk about it (or engage in it), the more guys will see you as an object, and you'll end up with the boys who only care about how you can please THEM.  They won't care about treating you like a princess.  They won't put your well-being ahead of their own; they won't love you for who you are; and they definitely won't respect you.  Keep your clothes on and your standards high.  Otherwise, you don't have any room to complain about a guy who's treating you like a piece of meat.  

#JustMyTwoCents

UnPlugging Generation "Plugged In"

Friday was my daughter's 12th birthday.  It's hard to know what to buy a pre-teen girl these days.  I mean, she's too old for Barbies and too young for a car.  What's in between?  So I go to her and ask, point blank, what she wants for her birthday.  Her response:  an iPhone.  

Really?  You want me to buy YOU, a 12-year-old, a $300 phone that is smarter than you and me put together?  Why exactly?  Her response:  because all my friends have one.

(This is where I have to resist the urge to say, "If all your friends jumped off a cliff....."  You get the idea.)

I scoff at the notion that all of her friends have these phones.  I roll my eyes and say, Surely you are exaggerating.  Surely not ALL 12-year-olds are carrying expensive phones.  

And surely I was wrong.

So here we are, having a sleepover for her birthday, and what do all five girls show up to our house with?  Phones.  And what do they start doing the very minute they get together?  Texting.  Boys.  And taking pictures.  To text to boys.  And checking Facebook.  To see if there are any messages from--you guessed it--boys.

May I make a suggestion, parents?  

STOP BUYING THESE EXPENSIVE ELECTRONIC "TOYS" FOR YOUR NOT-OLD-ENOUGH-TO HANDLE-THEM KIDS.

Yes, I put that in all caps because I'm yelling it.  I'm shouting it from the rooftops.  Our children are too plugged in.  They do not know how to relate to one another because all they do is text and surf the web and play games on their phones and iPads and iPods and every other Apple product that is manufactured today.  And here's another thing--they are out of shape and overweight and unhealthy.  Why?  Because they'd rather bury their heads in video games and television than go outside and play.  Or participate in a sport.  Or hang out with friends and.....TALK (gasp!).  The proof's in the pudding, folks (bad pun, I know).  Just last week my daughter (the same one who's mad at me for not buying her a phone) had to take a physical fitness test.  One of the things she had to do was run a mile in 12 minutes.  TWELVE minutes.  I can walk a mile in 12 minutes, right?  That's 4 laps around the track.  I was shocked at the number of kids who couldn't even last one lap without stopping to walk.  Why?  Because the only exercise they get involves their fingers--texting, video games, and working the remote. 

So here's my plea to parents everywhere:  Stop with the expensive gadgets.  Stop with the electronics.  Buy your kid a bike.  Enroll your child in gymnastics.  Teach your children to have REAL conversations with other kids.  You know, that whole "relating" to other people thing.  It's so yesterday, isn't it?

#EndOfRant

October and a few more of my favorite things.......

I love October.  So many things about October.  Things like---

My birthday.

My anniversary.  (This is purely coincidence.  Trust me, I'm not trying to double-dip on gifts here.)

Leaves that change colors.

Pumpkins.

Pumpkin lattes, with extra whipped cream and cinnamon sprinkles.

Halloween......and all the chocolate candy that I take from my kids only because I love them and want to protect them and as we all know, there might be some wicked person who stuck razor blades in teh Kit Kats and well, I just can't let my kids eat razor blades.

Cooler weather.  This one is "iffy" because I live in Florida and sometimes those cool fronts that blow in from the north will just blow right past us.  Darn it.

And ever since November 2010, there's one more thing I love about October:  National Down Syndrome Awareness Month.

It was almost 2 years ago that our fifth--and last--child was born.  An adorable little boy we named Luke.  An adorable little boy who just happens to have an adorable extra 21st chromosome, which means he has Down Syndrome.  We weren't caught off guard at birth.  In fact, we had some time to prepare for the possibility that he would have DS, although I never had an amniocentesis to give us a definite answer.  I knew the minute they put him in my arms.  I could see the characteristics of DS in spite of his puffy face!  And I did. not. care.  Not then, not now.  To me, he's just this sweet, run-of-the-mill kid who loves his brothers and sisters, loves to eat chocolate candy (that's my gene), hates having his hair washed or his teeth brushed, and knows---I mean really knows---how to throw a temper tantrum.  (Hello, terrible two's.  Good to see you again, for the fifth time).

I love this little boy.  He has brought so much joy into our home.  Even if I had known in the early weeks of my pregnancy that he was going to have DS, I wouldn't have done anything differently.  I'm really not sure how we've gotten to the point in our society where WE get to choose whose life is worth living.  Whose life is perfect enough to warrant being born.  Since when do we get to play god?  I believe that every life is created by God Himself, designed and planned and purposed by the very same hands that created the heavens and the earth.  Who are we to question His authority??  I shudder to think of the judgement our nation has brought upon itself by choosing to murder hundreds of millions of unborn babies, all in the name of "convenience."

Recently, Fox News conducted an interview with famed actor/director/producer Penny Marshall.  Here's what she had to say about an unplanned pregnancy in her own life:

"In 1963 I got pregnant.  I had a kid.  Abortion wasn't illegal.  I was 40 something years old.  I had a kid already, my womb wasn't crying out.  I talked to my brother (Garry Marshall).  We made the pros and cons.  Joe Pesci offered to be the father.  I didn't want to do that to him.  It was more do I want this other person in my life, for the rest of my life."

Did you catch that last sentence?  Go ahead, re-read it.  She didn't want "this other person" in her life.  Not that she was an unwed, confused, scared teenager.  Not that she was flat broke and couldn't afford a child (later on in the interview she talks about throwing yearly birthday parties for herself that cost about $30,000).  Nope, this woman murdered her unborn child because she already had a child and didn't want another one.  Just tossed away a baby like one would toss out the trash.  She selfishly didn't want another person in her life, and so abortion was her option.  Absolutely makes me cringe how we no longer value life as a society.  Shame. On. Us.

Which takes me back to my original point:  Down Syndrome awareness.  If I weren't passionately pro-life before Luke's birth, I most certainly am now.  I believe every child has a right to life, even the children with so-called "defects."  Those children were also planned with a purpose.  They bring joy and laughter and love into this world.  So many parents like me want the world to know this.  We want to spread awareness that just because our children are different, they aren't any less worth or less important.  They are typical, everyday children who just want to love and be loved.  And for the record, who could look at this little boy and NOT love him??  He's the cutest child ever (my genes, of course), and we are blessed to have him in our family......

                               Luke and his big sister, Grace!

                                     
                                                     I just can't resist that smile......

                                           Luke learning to feed himself with a spoon!

                                Luke and big sister, Rachel! 

An Independence Day Tribute

Today is July 4, 2012, and here I am at home, cleaning the house and watching television and checking Facebook.....every. five. minutes.....because for the first time in I-don't-know how many years, we are not celebrating the 4th with lots of friends, food, and fireworks.  Part of me is somewhat disappointed; the other part is enjoying a day of rest at home with the kids and NO AGENDA.  It's almost.....um, refreshing!


A couple of weeks ago I had a "falling out" of sorts with someone I considered a very good friend.  Actually, she was one of my best friends here in Nowhere, Florida, a town that I have had a very hard time adjusting to since our move in 2010.  I think in part that difficulty comes from the fact that although there is a Navy base nearby, ours isn't really your typical "military" town.  Add to that the fact that hubby's base of station is 50 miles from our house, which means I am not involved in anything military around here.  Kind of hard for a woman who has spent the past 15 years attached to the Department of Defense in various ways.  It's like all of the sudden I'm a civilian.  But not.  And all of my friends are civilian, and to be honest, as much as I love and adore and appreciate my friends, they just don't get military life.  They haven't experienced it, they don't understand it.  Period.


So back to my story about this friend.  She betrayed me in what I consider the worst way possible, by sharing something with another person that I had shared with her in confidence.  I was hurt and angered, and the whole situation (which involved a fourth party who was also hurt) set off a firestorm of emotions that left me tossing in the wind.  I called this friend to confront her and tell her how she hurt me.  Maybe she didn't mean to do it.  Maybe it was all a misunderstanding.  But it only took about 3 minutes for me to realize that she was NOT sorry for what she had done.  In fact, she justified her behavior and her betrayal and offered no apology whatsoever.  So I hung up the phone completely unsatisfied with our conversation which was nowhere near resolved.  Then I did what any right-minded person would do in this situation---I e-mailed her via Facebook.  


*(On a sidenote, Blake says that Facebook is evil.  From the devil himself.  Destroyer of friendships and relationships and marriages.  I'm beginning to think he is very astute in his observations).


I let her know in this e-mail how much she had hurt me.  How much I had valued our friendship and how betrayed I felt.  Her response to me?  She told me that I had become so very negative over the past year, and that I needed to "surround myself with positive people" and just "be happy."  She then went on to wish me the best of luck in the future.  What the.....?  What kind of response is that?  Is this the new Christian mantra among women who don't want to accept responsibility for offending another sister in Christ?  "Well, I'm sorry you were offended.  I'm sorry that you feel that way.  But I do wish you the best in the future."  How incredibly lame.  How thoughtless.  How RUDE.


I'll admit that her words stung, and although it's been more than 2 weeks since the incident, I still feel the pain of what she said, so much so that there are nights I can't even sleep because I replay her words.....over, and over, and over, doubting who I am and doubting whether or not anyone would ever want to be my friend.  She was kind enough to say that I hadn't always been negative, just in the last year.  So I began to think about everything that has happened in the last year (or 2 years even).


1.  I was diagnosed with a high-risk pregnancy at 32 weeks and stood a chance of losing our 5th child.


2.  I gave birth to a child with special needs (a little boy with Down Syndrome, who, as it turns out, is probably the most popular member of our family.  Oh, those sweet special needs kids!)


3.  Our "special" baby needed surgery immediately after birth and was hospitalized in the NICU for 3 weeks. 


4.  When our "special" baby was only 3 months old, my husband began a deployment cycle from...well, you-know-where....which left him gone for a total of SEVEN months out of the year.


5.  Two days after he left for the first deployment, our baby was hospitalized again.  This time, I had to do it alone.


6.  I also spent an entire year dealing with another child who has had some serious behavioral issues, partly due to an absent father, partly due to....well, I don't know what.  We're still trying to figure that one out.  ;)


7.  We spent Christmas alone, without husband and father.  Wouldn't it be nice if I could be like my friend and have a husband who never traveled and was home from work by 4 everyday.  Yes, very nice indeed.


Yes, her words hurt, and maybe she was right.  Maybe I have become negative and withdrawn and bitter (although I do think she's exaggerating just a tad).  But maybe I could have used a little more support.  Real, genuine support, as opposed to the casual "Call me if you need anything" that gets tossed about so frequently by civilians.  So, to honor all military families on this Independence Day, I'm sharing a post that one of my friends put on Facebook this morning.  A letter from one military spouse to a civilian spouse.  Heartfelt words that share more eloquently than I ever could what we military wives would like those in the civilian world to know.  That our lives are stressful, emotional, difficult.  That our husbands are in foreign lands for months on end, fighting this unseen enemy and putting their own lives in danger.  That we know and live with the fear of that black car in our driveway and a knock at the door.  That we live in front of Fox News, watching for any news of a plane crash, or a bombing, or an attack on our loved ones.  And we might lose our way.  We might have times of darkness, or sadness, or overwhelming fear.  And what we need, more than anything, is a true friend who can stand by us in those times and love us and encourage us, even if we're a little more "negative" than one would like.  I am very thankful for those friends who are ever so faithful.  And for those who aren't?  Well, I won't lose another minute's sleep over them. 


Happy 4th to all those military spouses who keep the world running in the midst of it all.  I salute you.

What I Wish my Civilian Friends Knew: A Letter from a Military Wife
by JOCELYN on JULY 2, 2012
by Catherine Fitzgerald

Dear Civilian Friend,
The other day you said to me, “I always want to minister to you, but I don’t know how.” I know I haven’t made it easy on you to figure out the “how.” Blame it on Rosie the Riveter and her “I can do it all” attitude or perhaps Lifetime’s Army Wives and their ability to solve all the drama of military life in 60 minutes or less. Blame it on the pride that comes with this lifestyle, constantly whispering in my ear, asking for help is showing weakness. It’s not fair to you. Or me. Because you want to help and I need it. So here it is. Everything I wished you knew but I can’t seem to tell you.

First and foremost, I need your prayers. Pray for strength and endurance during yet another separation from the love of my life. Pray for my kids because they are struggling without daddy right now. No matter how old they are, no matter how many deployments they’ve been through, every separation is hard on them. And nothing hurts a momma more than to see her kiddos hurting and knowing there is nothing I can do. Pray for my husband. Pray for his safety. Pray for his mind to be able to process the ugliness of war. Pray for our marriage, that it can endure the trials and temptations that come with every departure. Pray for our country and the leaders in charge of putting our husband and father in harm’s way. Just above all else, pray for me, friend.

You should know that I probably won’t ask for much. In fact, you should probably just adopt a “don’t ask, just tell” policy with me. I am coming to watch your kids Monday night. I am coming to mow your lawn next Tuesday. This will be much more effective with me than a blanket “Let me know if you need anything.” Like I said, blame it on Rosie the Riveter or this stubborn pride of mine, but I probably won’t ask you for the help I so desperately need. And if I do, know that it took A LOT for me to get to that point so never make me feel bad about it because I may not ask again. I know the air filter was really dirty and should have been cleaned months ago, but I’m just doing the best that I can, a day at a time.

I need you to walk with me through this deployment. How this translates in real, practical terms is different for each one of us but try and figure it out. Many days I am treading water and can feel like I am about to go under. It may be a break from the kids. Sometimes a trip to the grocery store alone can feel like a day at the spa. Come give my kids a bath and help me get them to bed and I will feel like a new woman. Carry the baby asleep in the carseat to my car and the burden will literally feel lighter. Take my trash can to the curb every Wednesday night so I don’t awake in a panic at midnight and have to run outside to do it. Invite me for dinner so the nights don’t feel so lonely. Ask me to spend the holidays with you because I am so far from my family. Drop off dinner so I don’t have to cook one night. Help fix that leaky faucet so I don’t have to figure out which plumber won’t rip me off in this town I am new in. Come clean my bathrooms because I can never get to them. Mow my yard without even asking. Change the oil in my car, something my husband usually does, so that I don’t have to lug the babies to Jiffy Lube. Watch my kids while I go to the doctor so I don’t have to pay for another babysitter. Offer to come stay the night so I can sleep soundly and not jump at every creak I hear. Just come over and chat, I missing having someone to talk to. Listen to me and you will probably figure out quickly some ways you can show me you care.

Keep encouraging me. Bear with me through this whole deployment. It is like a death. At the beginning, the offers of help and words of encouragement are plentiful, but as I near the end, weary and tired, when I need it the most, they trail off. Remind me of God’s word and His promises. I can become consumed in missing my man and I need to constantly be told that God has a purpose and plan for me in this life just as much as he has one for my husband. Help me find it because sometimes my vision gets so clouded with tears.

I know you don’t every understand everything about my life. Don’t be afraid to ask questions. It’s taken years for me to learn this many acronyms. I want you to understand more and I don’t mind explaining. You don’t have to pity me, but I want your empathy. If you see me huddling with my fellow military wives, don’t think I don’t want to let you in. It’s just that we speak the same language and we have seen each other at the lowest points so we are bonded in an incredible way. That doesn’t mean I don’t desire to have a close bond with you too. But, they are just my default. You can offer me a perspective outside of this life. I need that.

Please know I am grateful for all your help. Though I may not write you a thank you card for each and every act, know I so appreciate it. I know I can get wrapped up in my own hardships and sometimes I forget to ask how I can pray for you. I am sorry. I know God’s comfort so I should be comforting you in your difficulties with the same comfort I have received. I need to work on that. And I need to help you with your needs as well and use the gifts and talents He has given me in ministering to you. Just because my husband is gone, doesn’t mean I can’t serve you. I know it is better to give than to receive.

We are not that different. My husband just took a job where the uncertainty of life is simply in our faces all the time. You sometimes can pretend you are in control of your life. I know I am not. God can use that as a launching pad for an incredible faith and trust in Him. Or Satan can use that to send me into a whirlwind of fear. Help me out of the spiral of anxiety if you see me spinning in it.

I’m glad I was able to tell you all the things I never did before. I hope this helps you figure out how to minister to me. I should have told you sooner, but I just didn’t know how. I need you more than ever these days as the deployments keep coming and the challenges get harder and harder with each moment. Our family can’t do this calling without you so thank you for noticing us and caring enough to show us we aren’t alone in this.

Thank you, friend.
Love,
A Military Wife

2009-2010: YEAR IN REVIEW....sort of.

It's been 18 months since my last post, so let me sum up some of the bigger events that have taken place in the Smith family during this time....

1. We had another baby. Yep, call us crazy, but we decided to have another baby so that Rachel would have a playmate and not feel like an only child! Our precious little boy, Aaron James, was born on June 10, 2009, and let me tell you, they ADORE one another. It was definitely one of our best decisions yet (those are rare, you know....smart decisions, so we revel in them when they happen).

2. We got our European adventure cut short, courtesy of the US Air Force, and in November 2009, received orders to Hurlbert Field, Florida. I could start a whole other blog on my experiences in the last six months here in northwest Florida....but I won't. I think I've reached my complaining quota for the year, and it's only August. More on that later....

3. Troy made Eagle Scout. Yahoo! He worked hard during his scouting years, and in December 2009, just before we left Germany, our first-born was awarded the highest rank that a scout can achieve. This was a major accomplishment for him, and yes, we've all earned bragging rights.

4. We finally did some serious traveling in Europe, with our last-minute/pre-PCS trips including Munich for Oktoberfest; Pisa and Rome, Italy for Thanksgiving (by the way, we have officially been added to the Pope's "Most Wanted" list and are banned from Vatican City until 2021); and Edinburgh, Scotland for Christmas 2009. All three trips were amazing, and reminiscing about them just makes me miss Germany even more.

5. We moved to Florida. As for whether or not we like it here, the jury is still out.

6. We got pregnant again. And in case you're wondering, YES, we do know what causes it. Baby (boy) #5 is due in November, so at this point, I have approximately 14 weeks of pregnancy left. God help me. Three babies in 3 1/2 years is just plain insane. What was I saying about "smart decisions?" Nevertheless, we are anxiously awaiting this little blessing's arrival. I just pray we have a name for him before he starts Kindergarten.

7. Troy got his learner's permit. It was about this time that I started taking Xanax. Coincidence? Nope.

This about covers all the big news over the past year or so. I could tell you countless humorous stories about our "adventures," and you probably wouldn't believe half of them.....my life is incredibly interesting. Sometimes stressful, always tiring, but never without a dull moment. And I wouldn't have it any other way, let me assure you. My goal for the school year is to start writing again, but please don't hold me to it. After all, with four kids and another on the way, I barely have time to brush my teeth. I know, I know....TMI.

RACHEL'S FIRST BIRTHDAY!

It's hard to believe that a whole year has gone by since the birth of our precious baby girl, Rachel! It seems like only yesterday that I was peeing on a stick and then crying because there were two lines instead of one! What a shock, what a surprise, what a big adjustment....and what a major blessing to the Smith family!! Rachel is her own unique little person, and she is so much fun to have in our house! She looks like Daddy but acts like Mommy, in a good way, of course! She is smart, funny, beautiful, charming, and loving...everything you'd expect in a good Southern girl! So hats off to baby Rachel---HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SWEET RAY!

Oh, the humor....

Just the other day I e-mailed a friend of mine with a funny story about Grace. Grace, my middle child who acts like, well, a middle child. Always pushing the limits, always in trouble, and always getting away with murder because she has the sweetest face on earth. Yeah, that Grace. So I'm sharing my story with you to lighten your day, give you a laugh, and remind you that despite the frustrations and failures of parenthood, having children is the smartest, most wonderful thing I've ever done.

For any of you who think that the pressures of this world to be beautiful don't affect children, perhaps my anecdote will change your mind. About a month ago, Troy came to me and said, "Mom, I'm tired of having a uni-brow. Can you do something about this?" Now I'm not one to push vanity around here, but Lord knows I can relate to the whole uni-brow thing, and it would have been nice when I was a teenager to have had someone tell me how ridiculous I looked with a giant eyebrow across the top of my head. So I told Troy that we had 2 options: wax or tweeze, his choice.

The thought of putting hot wax in between his eyes and having someone rip off the hair didn't really appeal to Troy (imagine that), so he opted for the tweezers. A few days later I was talking to Grace and noticed that her eyebrows looked different, so I asked her what happened. Apparently, Troy told her that she, too, was sporting a ridiculous looking uni-brow, and this upset her greatly, so she decided to tweeze also. I explained to her that she is a beautiful little girl who needs no help in the eyebrow department, so from now on, to leave my tweezers alone! I explained to her that she is too young to worry about makeup and tweezing. I encouraged her to be a kid and save the grown-up years for, well, when she's grown up. She cried a few tears but nodded her head in agreement.

And my words went in one ear and out the other.

Last week Grace came to school with a very stylish hat on her head. I wasn't phased at all by this; Grace loves to wear hats and looks pretty cute in one, I might add. But during math, she kept playing with the hat, pulling it further and further down over her eyes. I finally got tired of the distraction and said to her, "OK, that's enough. Take the hat off and let's get serious about school." Blank stare. Dead silence. "Did you hear what I said? Take it off. Now!" Still no movement from Grace. When I started to take the hat off myself she held on to it for dear life and started bawling. I managed to get the hat off her head and then saw what she was crying about. Her eyebrows. Not tweezed, but GONE. She had decided to shape her eyebrows by shaving them and had managed to shave them half off!

My first reaction was anger because she had disobeyed me. I ranted and raved and spanked her for disobeying, but once I calmed down, I couldn't help but laugh. Why in the world is a 7-year-old worried about her stinkin' eyebrows?? What does she know about shaping eyebrows, and why does she even care? Shouldn't she be playing with dolls or riding her bike? This is the same child who went to the bathroom during church one Sunday and came back with boobs. Oh yeah, she stuffed her shirt with toilet paper, gave herself some boobies, and pranced in to church with her shoulders back, head up, thinking she was 15. The real kicker to that story? I didn't even notice.

Geez, nobody ever told me motherhood would be this hard. But I wouldn't change it for the world. So after you read this, go hug your kids and remind them that you would do it over again in a heartbeat. Just be sure to hide your razors.

If you've ever read Shakespeare's ROMEO AND JULIET (and let's face it, who hasn't been forced to endure Shakespeare at some point in his or her life?), then you'll remember that the star-crossed lovers were from an Italian village called Verona. Verona, Verona...just a short 40-minute drive from Vicenza, Vicenza, where we spent our awesome Italian week. OK, so it was mostly awesome. Except for the "oh, let's go to Verona today!" decision that was made on Thursday morning sometime around 9 a.m.

After spending Wednesday in bed the whole day (sinus infection---don't 'ya love those?), I knew we had to make the most of our last 48 hours in Italia, so on Thursday morning we made a last-minute decision to head to Verona, home of Romeo and Juliet and a gaggle of ancient Roman ruins that the kiddos were just dying to see.....right. Anyway, I debated and debated on whether or not to take the train (which would have taken an extra 30 minutes because I could only afford the el cheapo slow train) or to brave the lunatic Italian drivers and take the car. I settled for the car. How hard could it be? Famous last words....

It really wasn't so bad getting there. All autobahn. Pretty safe. Finding parking was a challenge, but it only took 25 minutes of Mr. Tom Tom telling me to "make a U-turn whenever possible" because I kept missing my stupid street. I finally found the parking lot I was looking for, the one pretty close to the Roman amphitheater. I loaded up my backpack with necessary baby items, credit cards, euro, and keys, placed it on the passenger's seat next to me, and headed around to the other side to get little Rachel out of the car. As I was positioning her in the baby carrier, I heard a clicking sound, followed by the slamming of a door. Only then did I realize that Grace had locked the car with my backpack safely secured inside. Inside the car, that is. With my keys safely secured inside my bag. Along with my money. And my cell phone.

At this point I did what any level-headed, calm, sophisticated southern girl would do: I yelled a not-so-nice word about 14 times and then sat down to have a good cry. Of course I had to apologize to the children later on for my profane response, but they were more than understanding. To make a long story short (too late), I had to play charades with the parking lot attendent to explain my situation, waited 45 minutes for a locksmith (who showed up armed with the latest coathanger technology), and then waited another hour for same locksmith to call the garage and request a tow truck. Yup. I had to have the van towed to a garage to get my keys out. So, 4 hours and 200 euro later, we hopped back in the car and headed back to Vicenza.

Now I know the real reason Romeo and Juliet killed themselves. Stinkin' Verona.

Ok, so it's been a while. And when I say "a while," I mean almost 4 months. And a lot has happened in that 4 months. Way too much to blog about in one sitting. So I'll just start by telling a funny story. A funny Grace story....

Our trip home from the States after Christmas was an eventful one. We missed our connecting flight in Detroit, got put on a different flight to Amsterdam (not Frankfurt), and had to catch a third flight home to Frankfurt after flying for nearly 12 hours. The only rays of light in all this madness: we got to fly business class from Detroit to Amsterdam (by the way---caviar is DISGUSTING); and my children.

As we were waiting to board the flight to Amsterdam, I suddenly remembered that we had forgotten to pray. Now, if there's anything that will bring me to my knees, it's having to fly in an airplane. I hate it. Don't ask me how I ended up married to someone in aviation. It terrifies me. So I've made it a tradition to pray before every flight. I pointed this out to the kids, of course, as we were standing at the gate. Our conversation sounded something like this:

Me: Kids, we forgot to pray. We HAVE to pray before we get on this plane.

Troy: Mom, no, we can't. Remember those Jewish guys a few months ago that got in trouble for praying on a plane?

Me: No, Troy, you're thinking of the Muslim clerics that started praying in the terminal and made some other passengers suspicious and nervous, so they reported them to security.

Grace: Mommy, what happened to them?

Me: Well, honey, they threw them off the plane.

Grace: (with look of horror on her face) YOU MEAN, WITHOUT A PARACHUTE?

Yup, traveling with my kids is a blast. They keep me grounded. They keep me laughing. And by the way, we said our prayers without being thrown off the plane. Life is good.

I've rewritten the words to the Happy Birthday song. The new lyrics go something like this:

Happy Birthday to me,
I'm as old as can be.
My boobies are sagging,
Right down to my knees.

Just in case you're wondering what it feels like to be 34.

Flashbacks...


You'd think after almost 34 years of living, I would know by now that any hair-related decision I make impulsively is going to turn out bad. Very bad. Hideously bad. And yet, I keep on doing it. Deciding on a whim to cut my hair, color my hair, perm my hair, and every time it ends up being a disaster.

Like today, when I decided during lunch to have my bangs cut. Never, ever make a serious hair decision while ingesting copious amounts of pasta. There is a chemical in the pasta that relaxes your brain to the point that you shouldn't even be allowed to drive, much less make important decisions.

Or was it the wine?

Either way, my grand idea to whack off my bangs has left me in a sullen mood. Why, you ask? Because the woman decided to give me bangs that are so thick and heavy (girls, you understand what I'm saying), that I look like a reject from a bad 80's movie. These aren't cute, choppy, stylish Sandra Bullock bangs. These are the bangs I had in the 5th grade, which I happily wore along side my hot pink corduroy jeans, jelly shoes, and matching twist-a-beads. I'm getting woozy just thinking about it.

To make matters worse, a rogue band of pimples has overtaken my face in the last 4 hours. I'm living a pre-teen nightmare. Let's face it--I'm the poster child for DORKS-R-US.

May as well have another glass of wine.

I Think I Need to Go Home.....


Let me be clear about something. I wanted to come here. I wanted to live overseas. I prayed....or rather, begged.... that God would give us orders to Germany or Japan or England, or any place that didn't include the words "little" and "rock" in its name. I want to make that perfectly clear so that when you read the next few paragraphs where I whine and moan over everything that I absolutely hate about living here, you'll understand that it's just a phase. I will overcome. I will get better. I will survive.

The main problem here is that I haven't been home in over a year. For any of you who know me, you will know how that is killing me. Family is everything to me. I am extremely close to both parents, my brother and his wife, not to mention a gorgeous neice who is about 18 months old and transforming into a young lady before my very eyes (via e-mail, of course). She is walking, talking, clapping her hands, playing in the swimming pool....all the things you'd expect a toddler to do. When I left her, she was sleeping and pooping. See what I'm missing?

My father, a Baptist minister, took a job at a new church in March. I have yet to meet any of his church members, or even see a picture of his new church. In the past year, my parents have removed a huge tree from their backyard, added on to their patio, rearranged furniture and hung new pictures. I've missed all of it.

I know that people back home take it for granted, but I'd give my right arm to go shopping at Walmart.

I think Sunday was the breaking point for me. As we were driving to church (of course, because don't all the bad things happen on your way to church???), this German guy came screaming up on my butt, driving like a madman (which is the only way Germans know how to drive), yelling at me and motioning for me to get over. This is a huge pet peeve of mine, tailgating, and I'm pretty sure it was the Germans who invented this, so I did what any good American would do: I tapped my breaks and slowed down to about 30 km/hr, which is about 18 miles per hour. Translation: really, really slow.  The whole time I was sobbing and yelling, "I hate these people! I hate this country! I want to go home!"

So that was my low point. I've managed to pull myself together, but the emptiness lingers just the same. I miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss Outback. I miss Wendy's. And no matter how much I love Germany; no matter how much I love the travel; no matter how thankful I am for the experience, sometimes a girl just needs the comforts of home.

I Remember, Too....

September 11, 2001

My day started like any other. Up at 7, get dressed, get breakfast, get Troy ready for school. Sweet Troy. My baby boy, who had just started the first grade. I took Troy to school, then returned home to feed Grace and get ready for my Tuesday morning Bible study. I remember exactly what study I was doing....Beth Moore, Jesus, The One and Only. We were only two weeks into the study, and already Tuesday mornings had become the highlight of my week. I loved the fellowship, I loved being in God's word, I loved it all. As I drove off base, I sang songs of praise to God for all that He had done in my life, for all the blessings He had given me and my family. My heart was so full of joy.

Little did I know, that at the exact moment my car left the front gate of base, the first plane was crashing into the World Trade Center tower.

When I arrived at church, I headed right for the nursery to drop off Grace. I walked in and saw several ladies gathered around the radio. I couldn't imagine what they were listening to so intently. I asked, "What's going on?" to which they replied, "Shhhhh!" I put Grace in the walker and went to listen. I only heard bits and pieces...."Plane....crash...trade center....dead." I was stunned and confused. We all decided that it was such a tragic accident. And then I kissed Grace goodbye and headed to class.

It seemed like only minutes later, the secretary of our church came into the classroom to tell us that another plane had hit the second tower, then the Pentagon, then news of the crash in Pennsylvania. Of course it was clear by this time that this was all a huge terrorist plot. We all began to sob. We prayed and cried, then prayed again, then cried again. We didn't study at all that day. Later on I found out that the base had been completely shut down, and only housing residents were being allowed to enter. The school was also dismissing the children. I rushed to pick up Troy, headed home, turned on the TV to pictures of fire and ash, and held on to my precious children for dear life. Blake was working in Georgia, and I felt so alone. I was scared. Very scared.

People say that hindsight is 20/20. Sometimes we can look back on the pages of our life and see so clearly how God worked. How he protected us. How he used the bad to bring about such good. September 11, 2001 was one of those times. A few days later, Troy was asking me questions about life and death, Heaven and Hell. I explained to him how Jesus died on a cross for our sins; how He loves us and wants to live in our hearts; how we can trust in Him and live forever with Him when we die. It was a casual conversation, but Troy was hanging on every word. That night, as I tucked my precious baby into bed, he said, "Mommy, I want Jesus to live in my heart. When I die, like the people in those planes, I want to see Jesus. Can I pray now?"

Yes, good can come from bad. From the ashes of September 11, 2001, my son was given life...Eternal Life in Christ. And that is something I will never forget.

Don't Try This at Home....

This is one of the pieces of construction equipment that has been tearing up our road for the past 2 months. This particular road is the ONLY way in or out of our house to the rest of the civilized world. The top of this big hoe can swivel 360 degrees so that the driver can dig dirt from one side of the road and drop it on the other. Do you see where I'm going with this?



And this is what happens when the driver of the hoe doesn't see you coming around him. Wait, I mean when he doesn't even bother to LOOK to see if you're coming around him.....

The hoe (which weighs in a several tons, I'm sure) hit Grace's side of the car. Fortunately (but not coincidentally), Grace had asked to sit on Troy's side today. Still think there's no God?

The driver of the equipment told the German POLIZEI that he was to blame....The police didn't even question me after the driver made his statement. (By the way, this picture was taken through the big hole where dark glass used to reside)

Here's a better view of the impact site. In the States, this damage would probably be repairable. Over here, they'll most like consider my van a complete loss. We were only 6 months away from having her paid off. Maybe I'll get my mini Cooper after all.

And You Thought I Was Teasing....

Here are just a few of the Czech vans gearing up for junking in our village....


And here are some of the junk piles you'll find along the streets......

By the way, I snagged the kids' coat rack for Grace and Troy. Did I mention that I'm pathetic?

Mysterious German Pasttimes

It's hard to believe that I have never blogged anything about junking. Junking is a national pasttime around here, at least with the Czechs and the Poles. So what is junking? Junking, which takes place in each village only twice a year, is when people throw out any household items that are too big for the regular garbage can, and the city garbage folks come around and pick up and dispose of everything properly (if I haven't said it before, Germans are super sensitive about protecting the environment....yet another one of my gripes about living here). Anyway, there are no thrift stores in Germany, no Salvation Army upon which to dump your unwanted trashy items; no garage sales allowed; no super-sized garbage cans for disposing of things like couches, bookcases, mirrors, cabinets, carpets, etc....So people just put it out on the streets.

Now here's the fun part. Once it goes out on the street, it becomes fair game and anyone can pick it up. This is where the Czechs and the Poles come in, for when it's a junking day around here, you'll see tons of big, white vans with CZ or PL license plates cruising along, ready to snatch up any half-way decent items for future sale at their flea markets. I had heard about these folks when I moved here last year. I heard about junking, and how it's addictive, and how many of our wives will snatch up items just to keep the foreigners from getting said items, whether those wives want the stuff or not. I heard these stories, and laughed, and thought how pathetic it all sounded.

Why am I telling you all of this? Besides for your cultural enlightenment? Because today I participated in my first junking. It almost sounds illegal, doesn't it? I found this awesome tall cabinet--with drawers--on the side of the road, stopped in the pouring rain, and loaded it in my car. (It definitely needs some paint, but I'm thinking it will be great for storage...assuming I ever take it out of my van). What's even worse is that I was so excited, I spent most of the next hour driving around my stupid village looking for other junky items I could take home and use to clutter my house.

I'm pathetic.

It's official.

Summer is over.

At least for people in Germany, that is. I realize that the rest of the world may be broiling in 100 degree temperatures, but here at home it's a whopping 57 degrees, as in FARENHEIT. This is August, right? Did I overdose on Ambien and sleep through 3 months of my life (say it isn't so!)? Is this my fault? Did I complain too loudly? Can't I just get a happy medium? We missed spring all together, and now it seems our summer has been doomed to only last a mere 3 weeks. At this rate, we'll be taking our family ski vacation over Labor Day. What's wrong with this picture?

Even worse--I finally got our winter clothes packed away at the end of June, and I can't remember where I put the boxes.

Joke of the Day


A friend of mine sent this to me. Considering all of the antics of left-wing lunatic Democrats I've read about recently, I find this one pretty amusing! Enjoy.....


A driver is stuck in a traffic jam on the highway. Nothing is moving. Suddenly a man knocks on the window. The driver rolls down his window and asks, "What happened?"

"Terrorists have kidnapped Hillary Clinton, Ted Kennedy, Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton. They are asking for a $10 million ransom. Otherwise, they are going to douse them with gasoline and set them on fire. We are going from car to car, taking up a collection."

The driver asks, "How much is everyone giving?"

"About a gallon."

Today's forecast for Weilerbach, Germany: HOT.

Tomorrow's forecast: EVEN HOTTER.

Next week's forecast: DAMN HOT.

Seriously, this is what I get when I search Yahoo for our weather forecast here in Germany. The temperature has finally climbed into the lower 90's, which makes for excellent swimming at the pool every day and oh-so-miserable sleep at night. I'm sure all you folks in south Georgia are screaming at me right now, probably something like "WE WOULD SELL OUR SOULS FOR 90 DEGREE WEATHER!" But you must keep in mind that we don't have air conditioning here in Germany, so when it's 90 degrees outside, it's at least 85 inside my house. And the stores where we shop. And the restaurants where we eat. Sometimes I feel like I'm living inside a huge crockpot and slowly cooking from the inside-out. Last night we all decided to sleep in our basement apartment, which is about 10 degrees cooler than our house. It was the best night of sleep I've gotten in weeks. If I had a working TV down there, I'd just move in permanently.

I guess some people are never happy. In January it was too cold; in July it's too hot. As my daddy would say, "I'd probably complain if they hung me with a new rope." Hey, in all fairness, I'd complain if they hung me with an old rope, too. Wouldn't you?

If you didn't read my previous post on our visit to London, GO READ IT! If you did, here are a few pictures of one of the coolest places on Earth, so far. Enjoy.......

Trying to give away the kids in the tube station.....we had no takers.



Traveling down Buckingham Palace Road on the top of a double decker bus


Westminster Abbey


Dad with the Tower Bridge in the background


Troy and Grace with the "Royal Guard" at the Tower of London

Our "beefeater" gives us the history of the Tower of London


Dad, Troy, Mom, Grace and Blake in front of the Tower of London


Troy, Amy, and Grace in front of Big Ben (or the clock that holds Big Ben!)




Grace, Blake, Troy, Mom and Dad stand on the bridge overlooking the Thames River and the London Eye