Please Don't Wreck Because Of Me

**This post is a cross post from my other blog.  I have a weight loss blog with a really cheesy name that I have just started writing in again. If you want to read about my goal to not be fat, please start reading the other blog as well.  **



I may have said this before, but as a general rule, until I got very serious about losing weight, I never ran. Running was reserved for things like hurt children that I had to get to, zombies or other predators following me, or bees.
Quite frankly, the thought of running didn't even appeal to me, in the least.  I thought people who ran were a little nutty in the head.  I mean, there are a thousand ways to exercise besides running down a a sidewalk in skin tight clothes for every one on the face of this earth to stare at.  I like those other ways.
However, no matter how much I like them, I haven't been doing them enough, because I am still fat.
 
Before getting pregnant with The Littlest One, I was actually trying to run at least once a week at an actual track.  I used a couch to 5k app that I put on my phone.  It was kicking my butt.  I was losing a ton of weight with everything that I was doing, though.  Then, I did get pregnant and I gained 45 lbs or so.  Yes.  It sucks.  I am now re losing everything that I had lost before.  Totally sucks.  Every drop of sweat shed, just to have to do it all again.  So, here we are.  I don't have that track to run on anymore, though, and i need to do this a little more faithfully.  Most of the time I used to exercise, it was using DVDs inside.  Now, though, The Littlest One doesn't appreciate being put in baby jail, aka the play pen, for 30 minutes or so to watch me sweat, followed by another 20 minutes in the pen so that I can shower.  In fact, it kind of pisses her off.  So, I bought a really good jogging stroller, and I decided to use it.  I had to.  My husband said with as much money as we spent on it, it better have some "damn dirt on those damn wheels".  I agree.
Now, I go out three times a week, and use the couch to 5k app.  For the first week, that means a warm up walk, followed by intervals of walking and jogging.  Its great and all, except I don't exactly have a place to run, so I run around my neighborhood, down the side of the street, for everyone to watch.  Not in skin tight clothes, though, I promise.  I wouldn't do that to my self or anyone else.  No matter what I wear, though, I'm still out there bouncing around for all to see.  Between my gigantic boobs, and the spare tire midsection, there is a whole lotta bounce going on, too.  I have had some serious stares.  I thought I was going to cause a wreck the other day.  I try to purposefully time my list jogging interval to be a down hill run, because i need the assistance to finish it by that point.  So, I run, down hill, as hard as I can.  It stop at a 4 way intersection.  The thing is, the cars coming to that intersection can see me coming.  One particular car not only noticed me, but I think they were concerned.  They were staring hard.  I'm not sure if they thought the fat girl was being chased,and were looking for the zombies or bees,  thought I lost control and were waiting to see be go head over heals down the side walk, or simply couldn't take their eyes off my bouncing melons, but they just kept sitting there.  Other cars were coming.  Other cars were waiting at the stop signs.  Still, they sat.  It wasn't until I actually came to a stop they they were able to move on.  Perhaps they had assured themselves that there were no zombies chasing me, and all was safe in the world.
No matter, though, I will keep running.  I have to.  I have set my own goals, and I really want to run a 5k. Moreover, though, I really want to be healthy.  I am going to do this.  I am going to keep working hard, and I will get back down to where I was, and beyond.  In the mean time, when you see me running by, please don't stop and stare, and really please dont' wreck.

Its All Bitter Sweet

Today is The Fourth of July.  Today we celebrate our nation's birthday.  This is the day we all wear red, white, and blue, and come together to show our pride as a country.  It is also one of those days when we are especially thankful for those who have served in uniform.  The members of our military, who have kept our nation safe, and have ensured we are able to enjoy all of our freedoms, today and everyday, are in the for front of many of our thoughts.  I know they are in mine.  I have spent Independence days with out my husband.  We have been separated, instead of celebrating, while he was out keeping us safe, patrolling our water ways, transporting enemy combatants, airlifting the injured to medical help, and what ever else our nation ask of him.
So, today, I think of all those families around me right now, and how their lives are impacted this July Fourth, by the vital jobs someone in their families do.
Then, I think about next year, when we won't be a military family anymore.  This is very likely the last year we will get to see "The Big Bay Boom" with all the fireworks displays over San Diego Bay, an incredible sight to see.  We won't be driving on base next year, since even if we stay in Southern California, we will be too far away, to enjoy the show, and pal around with the people he works with on the roof top of his building.  We won't be dong any of that.  He won't even work with those people any more.
I find myself trying to enjoy things a little more, maybe looking at the little things a bit differently, because I realize how final it all could be.
The military, and the lifestyle that accompanies it, has been a part of everything we do, for the entirety of the time that I have known my husband.  I see that ending, and honestly, its a little like seeing a death coming from far out.  I try not to be morose about it all, but when you are staring down the barrel of a very uncertain future, its hard not to be.
I need to take the time to enjoy what we have, and not miss it now, but again, that's hard to do.
I will try, though.  For the next 3 and a half weeks, because that is all we have left, I will try my best to celebrate the life we have had, and not mourn it.  I will try to enjoy the time, places, and people that we know, and not miss them before I am gone.  I will.  More importantly, I will try my best to look forward to our future, instead of constantly looking back.  Its hard, but I will try.
no one ever told me, though, that one of the hardest parts of being a military family is the leaving, and I wish they would have.  Perhaps then I would have been more prepared for this.  Perhaps.
So, Please enjoy your day.  Celebrate.  Take pride in everything that makes our nation great.  Remember those who have fought, or are fighting, to keep us free.  Thank you, and happy Fourth!

Thank You Is Not Enough

Today is Memorial Day.
I guess the impending retirement for my husband is making me sentimental of all things military, or maybe I get this way every Memorial Day and don't realize it, but I am very grateful today.  I spent the day, just the girls and I as My Husband is currently out of town trying to find a new job, thinking over and over about all the people I know who have served.

I thought about my grandfather who served in World War II.  He fought under General Patton, and when his unit was over run by German forces, he was forced to play dead.  As if that wasn't enough, he had to be totally still and silent as someone ran a bayonet through him to be sure he was really gone.  He survived, though and came home with a Purple Heart for his trouble.

I thought about my own father, who served in Vietnam.  I called to ask him again what medals he received for his service, so that I could tell our girls about him.  I ask him to tell the the story one more time of how he received is own Purple Heart, the one he won't wear, though I know it well.  He was out on patrol, and a motor came in screaming in.  He started running for camp as fast as he possibly could.  It wasn't fast enough.  The munition exploded behind him and sent him flying.  He wound up with shrapnel in his legs and was awarded a Purple Heart.  He believes, though, that he isn't deserving.  It isn't that he wasn't injured, but he did nothing heroic, and he doesn't feel this his injury deserves the same award as the men and women who have lost arms, and legs.  He feels what he went through is nothing in comparison, and shouldn't be treated the same.  I respect that, though I respect the Purple Heart he was awarded as well.  He still has some of that shrapnel in his legs, and from time to time some works it way out.

I thought about my husband, who is trying his best to find a new position in this world.  I thought about how thankful I am he didn't take after my family, and end up with a Purple Heart of his own.  He has served so faithfully for the last 20 years, and I am so proud of all he has given in support of this nation.

I thought about a friend who lost her husband a few years ago, and how her life has changed.  I remembered him.  I remembered the phone call telling me that the crash we were all waiting to hear about was him.  His flight.  His helicopter.  Spending part of that night at her house, just standing there, all of us that could get there.  Not knowing what to do.  I remember mobilizing our moms group, and taking so much food every day she had to tell me to stop.  When I think of it all, my heart still breaks for her, and their children.

Other faces flash before my eyes.  People I knew of.  People My Husband knew.  People that left so much pain behind.

They gave all.

Great-full is not even enough of a word.  I doubt very seriously that there truly are words that would ever show the depth of my appreciation.  I try my best to use all the words I can to explain to my own children what today is about, not food, or beach trips.  Not grilling, or anything like that.  Today is about memories.  Today is about gratitude.  Today, is about thanks.  For without those brave men and women, we would not be the nation we are, imperfect though we may be, we are still great.  Without them, we wouldn't be at all.
So, thank you, to everyone who has ever donned the uniform and to those who were left behind when the ultimate price was paid for that freedom.  Thank you.  For all that we are, thank you.

I Don't Want Him to Go Quietly

My Husband's retirement is coming up very, very quickly.
We have been a little worried, and stressed, about getting our lives rolling, and generally looking toward building our future for a while.
There is one thing, though, from our present, soon to be our past, that really hurt me this week.
When he first found out that he hadn't made the last rank he needed, and was being forced to retire, My Husband was hurt.  He was angry.  I understand that.  This is actually a job he loves, and he is good at, and he is being forced to leave it.  While I am thrilled about no more deployments, or moves after we make our next one, leaving this life is hard.  This is all we have known together.  For the last 12 years, I have been a military fiance or wife.  My children have never known anything else.  They don't understand a civilian life, where Dad comes home every night for dinner.  They don't know a world where Mom and Dad are there for every birthday, holiday, or any special event they have.  This isn't their world.  At least, not so far.
Now, that this is all winding down, though, and we are transferring to a new life, I think we need to mark this very momentous occasion.  Normally, there would be a retirement ceremony where we could do just that.  However, going back to the point that My Husband was upset about his retirement, he refused one.
He simply said no.  Over and over again.  I ask.  Gently.  He refused.
He was ask at work, repeatedly.  He still refused.
He felt like he didn't accomplish everything that he wanted to in the time he was given.  He feels he had more to do, and more to give, and is hurt that he can't.  So, no ceremony.
Instead, there was supposed to be this beach barbecue, where he and someone else he worked with who is also retiring, were to have a simple going away party.  We could have seen him get the shadow box they are making for him.  It wouldn't have been a ceremony in uniform, but it would have been something.
Then, this week, he gets a text message, telling him that they are holding a going away party for not just the two retiring, but everyone leaving his department at work, even those just transferring out to new commands, at a local bar.  They are all lumped in together, and this is what they normally do for anyone transferring out.  No more.  No less.
I am hurt.  Truly hurt.  We get nothing.  It isn't even that I want acknowledgement of all we have gone through for us, but I want closure.  I want to see him retire.  I want to see him wear his uniform, all buttoned up and polished one more time, and I want our children to see that.  I want memories and pictures.
Instead, he will simply quietly go from being active duty, to retired.  All on paper.
No more.  No less.
I feel completely robbed.  I feel like my children have been robbed of something special, too.  I've demanded that he don the uniform for formal pictures with the family then, but that won't be the same.  Nothing will. I'll never get the chance to smile, with every once of pride I have, at him, with tears in my eyes, as they say all the traditional things they say at a retirement.  I'll never get to see my children get excited to really know that our time is over, in a very formal manor.
Its all gone, and there is nothing I can do about it.  I am a little bit heart broken.  Its a very sticky situation, too.  The last thing I want to do is make him feel worse.
For me, I guess it is just another of the many heartbreaks we have had to endure in this phase of our lives.  There are a lot of beautiful memories also, though.  As he moves without notice in to the next part, I suppose I'll just have to focus on those, scrap book all the home comings, and let that be that.  I'll move on from being a military wife, to hopefully a police wife, but you can believe that it won't be quiet.  I'm throwing my self a party, and I expect an award for survival from my friends.  Seriously.

Twenty Years On A Piece Of Paper

We are really winding down in the military phase of our transition to civilian life.  My Husband goes on terminal leave in four days.  That signifies the end of his time at work.  From that point until he is actually out of the military this summer, he has time to try to find a job, and get us moved, so that we can begin our lives all over again.
Today, though, he was able to complete one very monumental piece of the entire retirement process.  He picked up his DD214. This is the form that he will use for the rest of his life to identify his military service for anything and everything.  He as been working on it for a bit, ensuring that everything is correct from his records, etc.  He went in to pick it up, found a couple of small errors, like my name as usual, and had them corrected.  As soon as they were done, he was handed a piece of paper that means everything at the moment.  It may not seem big, but believe me, it is.  He called to tell me he had it.  It was kind of a sad moment.  "The last twenty years of my life, on one piece of paper" he said.
I know this has been hard on him.  Even though he has a very hard job, something that is full of the kind of stress you can not imagine unless you are there, and this is a hard life for us as a family, he loves what he does.  He is the kind of guy you want going into the military.  He is dedicated to his job.  He is a bit of a perfectionist when it matters.  He loves to fly.  He is fantastic at what he does, but, he has been in for 20 years, and even though his command wanted him to stay, even though they requested a waiver for him, because of all the military budget cuts, etc, he was forced to retire.
I was hurtful.  Even more so when you see some of the morons who are left in, who are allowed to move up because they kiss the right rear end, even though they don't know their own from a hole in the ground.
He moved on, though.  I think he made peace with the idea of retirement, as much as he can, once he saw how much we missed him, and began to focus on a life with his family.  Even being a police officer, which is what he wants to do, and being gone as much as they are, he will still get more time with us, than if he were to deploy for 8 months at a time again.  That really helps.
No matter what, though, this is a major move, and a major transition in his life.  He went into the military when he was 18, before he had even graduated from high school, under a delayed entry program.  This life is all he has know.  Now, at the age of 38, they reduced everything he has worked for, everything he has accomplished down to one piece of paper and handed it to him on his way out the door.
Its hard to live this life, but in many ways, it is harder to leave it.  I'm really not sure what all life will hold for our future.  I'm not even sure what state we are going to live in by this fall right now, but I do know that i have I hopes.  I hope he find a career that he loves as much as this one.  I hope he has another twenty years or more doing something else the he is so wonderful at, dedicated to, and that allows him to fulfill his potential like this one did.

Its Official. She's Broken.

Today pretty much sucked.
When you are a parent, the last thing you want is to see your child hurt or hurting, and know there is nothing you can do to change it.
When your child breaks a limb, there really isn't anything you can do to fix it.  You can hold them.  You can snuggle them.  You can whisper in their ear and tell them it will all be ok, but none of that really makes it better, or takes the break away.
Today, we found out The Biggest One really did break her ankle.  It sucked.
First, I had to deal with Balboa.  Not a happy camper.  An appointment that we were told would take about 30 minutes lasted 2 hours and 45 minutes.  I was overwhelmed by their inefficiency once again.  I got argumentative with the Physician's Assistant who ended up taking me into a room and going over the x-ray with me very slowly to make her case.  If she had only led with the statement that the ankle was broken, versus "we treat it like a break no matter what" I might have been more receptive.  She didn't though.  We were shuffled around for what seemed like forever, between exam rooms, x-ray, back to the lobby, again to exam rooms, back to x-ray again, etc.  When it was all said and done, though, what mattered is that she broke her ankle.
     She was a trooper at first.  She was ok until they sent us for a second set of x-rays, to be sure she hadn't broken her foot, too.  As we sat down, she lost her composure completely.  I got her up, sat down, and pulled her on my lap.  "I'm too big to sit on you, Mom."  She didn't want to hurt me.  "Never", I told her. I pulled her to me, and just hugged her.  I told her that I knew it sucked.  It was terrible, but it was simply part of life.  Things happen.  Balloons pop.  We would just have to get through the sucky part, to get back to the good part.  She was so unhappy.
We got a cast put on, and thankfully, they decided she could have a walking cast.  That was a serious blessing, because not being physically gifted to begin with, the crutches were just another accident waiting to happen.  Seriously.
Walking out made her happy.  She walked funny, but she could walk.
Then, we got home, and she started to worry.  She worried about what people would say to her.  She was honestly worried about people picking on her for having broken her leg.  We talked.  We snuggled some more.
Sometimes, being a parent is just heartbreaking.
I wish I could take it away.  I wish I could make it better. I know that I can't, though.
She will be fine in a few weeks.  It is going to suck.  It is going to be a crappy thing to get through, but she will get through it.  When she comes out, she will be a stronger person for having dealt with it all, too. At least, that is my hope.

Hip Hip Hurrah!

Today is a fantastic day.
Forget the fact that I didn't go to bed until about1:30am, got back up at 2:30am to see my husband off to drive hours away to take yet another application exam for a police officer, and didn't get back to bed until 3:30.  Then, I was woken up at 4:30 for milk.  None of that matters.
All that matters today, is that it is The Littlest One's birthday!!  She is one today.  I really can't believe how fast this year has gone by.  With the deployments, and trying to transition our lives, it seems like everything is moving so fast, especially her.  I want her to slow down.  She is my last baby, but she won't be a baby much longer.  She has been walking for months.  She is super strong willed, very curious, and full of so much personality that she amazes me all the time.  She loves to play games with us already.  We don't just play peek a boo, she plays hide and seek.  She chases use around the house in an actual game of chase, and she loves it.
As if today wasn't special enough just being about her, she decided to show us how big she is by saying The Medium One's name.  She says it just beautifully, too.  She has been trying for a while, but she got it today. She loves to stand at the bottom of the stairs and call for her.  It's incredibly cute.  I'm pretty sure it won't be any time before The Medium One is tired of hearing it, but for now, we all love to hear The Littlest One say it over and over again.
She is definitely growing up.  I love her deeply, and can't wait to see what the future holds!