When I was growing up, I got the unique pleasure of living all over the world. My elementary school field trips were to Venice, Italy and other such places. By the time I was 12, I had stood on Juliet's balcony, and visited Rome. These were the perks of being an Air Force Brat...and I was damn proud of it. That was the silver lining to a world that wasn't always easy to live in. The hard parts were far more frequent. My Dad would be gone for months at a time, even a year on two occasions. He'd be off "saving the world" as he put it, and in my mind, that's exactly what he was doing. My dad would miss Christmas, Thanksgiving, Halloween, and countless birthdays. He wasn't there for my Sweet 16, a party i never did get to have. I hated it when he would go, and i thought selfishly of all the things I was missing out on, with no regard to the things he was missing, and how that probably hurt him. I grew up though, and went to high school where i never in my wildest dreams imagined I'd end up graduating and joining the Air Force, but that's just what i did.
Basic Training was and probably always will be one of my greatest achievements. Let people say what they will about AF basic training, it was rough. I'll give it up to the Army and the Marines, they probably have it harder, but basic training sucks regardless what branch of the military you're going into. It was 6 weeks then, and full of things i HAD to learn. Military traditions, and the importance of them. The TRUE meaning of the flag and how to honor and fold it. And then...there was the physical stuff. PT always seemed so stupid to me. Where in the world, in my DESK job, was i going to ever really NEED to be able to run a mile under 12 minutes, really? I figured no where, but I sure learned how to do it. By the time I was done with Basic, i was running the mile under 11 minutes. They work you hard there. Every Sunday, we'd go to church...whether you were religious or not, you went. They played this video there...at the start of every service:
And it's funny because...we all cried. We all related. We all knew, in that few minutes the magnitude of what we'd signed up to do. We realized that we were going to fight. We were going to leave the people we love behind...and some of us, might never come home. That song, every sunday...made it really real for us. And it made us PROUD. We'd start each new week after that with determination and animosity...anger. Everything we NEEDED to get through the day, to become who we needed to become...to finish. And eventually we did.
I didn't stay enlisted, as my obligations to my family became more that I could handle and still be active duty. I tip my hats to those who do it. A vast majority of the friends I made however, DO still serve. They go on the deployments, they are kept away from family, they're fighting for us...and just as they were in Basic Training, they're aware of the sacrifice they're being asked to make...and they'll make it if they have to. THAT'S what Memorial Day is all about. Answering the call of duty. Past, Present, and Future....and doing it with courage, strength and honor. I consider myself privileged to have worked with such amazing people for the years that I served, to have such amazing friends that continue to serve everyday, and such dedicated family, that did what they didn't HAVE to do...they served our country.
To The Heroes That Wear Dog Tags And Combat Boots Rather Than Capes, I Salute You.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Friday, May 25, 2012
Mean Little Girls Grow Up To Be Catty Little Bitches....
I always thought it wasn't so bad to be a girl. We get all the cute stuff, we get sparkles, and glitter, and CUTE. And when I was younger, that was really all that mattered. What, in this whole wide world could be MORE important than cute? Not a damn thing. Then I hit elementary school, and I realized something important. Girls are NOT very nice creatures. They start hate clubs, and slam books, and rumors. They hate you for not being cool enough, they hate you for being too cool, and they ignore you if you fall somewhere in the middle. It occurred to me, as I watched my guy friends around me that this "hazing" didn't occur so often. Sure, they had groups, cliques, if you will....but there wasn't a whole hell of a lot of name calling or anything of that nature. And then...I got into high school and these very rude creatures turned into catty little bitches, and have been ever since.
It's true though, we're all guilty. Your best friends become your enemies and your enemies become your best friends and WHY is that, you ask? Because we LIE. That, and...I don't care who says it, and when, women can NOT keep secrets. Never tell your girlfriend something that you don't want ANYONE else to know, because she's telling SOMEONE, and it's likely to be someone you're both friends with. You wanna share secrets? Tell your mom! She used to be a catty bitch, but then she grew out of it. SHE'S the one to share secrets with, she's bound by "mom law" NOT to tell anyone else (except maybe your dad, if it involves sex or money) . Mom's are the way to go.
Now, i didn't remember that LITTLE girls were mean little creatures until Jason got into preschool. The girls in this class will slap each other, call each other names, rally all the girls in the class against one girl, and then "haze" her. And holy hell, i remember this when i was growing up. One of the girls in the class specifically had a birthday party this last weekend, and it sparked up a conversation amongst the kids in the class. One of the girls asked another if she was going, and she said yes, so the girl said "i'm going too." Another little girl, from out of nowhere goes "well i'm going too!" This caused the other two girls to look at her, sneer, and say "no you're not, because YOU weren't invited." and then laugh as they talk about how GREAT this party is going to be. The girl, looking hurt says "well why not?" and one of the other two girls says "because no one likes you. you're stupid." These are FOUR YEAR OLDS!!!!! I'm baffled by how young this kind of thing is starting.
And then i watch the boys. And the boys, they're simple about it. Some of the boys play with some of the boys, and others play with others, and that's just the order of things. When a boy strays, and asks to play with the other group, they simply look at him, and move over. There's no head games, there's no purposeful harm, there's just a scooch to the right, and then the other little boy goes back to what he's doing. Boys aren't spiteful like we are, at least...not just for the sake of being that way. But women, little girls, they are. They're mean and spiteful just to prove they can be, and truthfully, we allow them to be that way. As parents, we watch them, knowing they're doing it, and realizing "hey, that happened to us too." Its a vicious cycle.
I've found though, in my years, that often, the mean little girls, have bitches for mommas. You know the kind...where you just look at them and you can tell that they think they're entitled...special. They're not. I'd like to think that if i ever have a daughter someday, that she'll be a peace keeper, because...i was that little girl that was singled out and picked on. Me and my best friend in high school stood back to back and fought off all those little bitches of the world together....and we made it through. And we got tough, and we got hateful, and we got mean...because the world turned us that way. I guess the truth is, that whether you're born that way, or made that way, ALL women are catty little bitches. Which is guess is my point in all this. Mean little girls, grow up to be mean older bitches, and we raise our children, and they become them too. Some of them out of the sense of entitlement that their mommy's and daddy's provide to them, and some just because they HAVE to be, to survive. Either way....its happening younger and younger. Our four year olds are fighting the future bitches of America, and they're either turning, or backing down. I'm not sure which is the better choice. The only thing I'm REALLY sure of, is its shocking as hell, and kind of sad to see children so young being so mean....and i look back and wonder, were we that mean at 4 years old? And i imagine the answer is yes....and that's sad too.
It's true though, we're all guilty. Your best friends become your enemies and your enemies become your best friends and WHY is that, you ask? Because we LIE. That, and...I don't care who says it, and when, women can NOT keep secrets. Never tell your girlfriend something that you don't want ANYONE else to know, because she's telling SOMEONE, and it's likely to be someone you're both friends with. You wanna share secrets? Tell your mom! She used to be a catty bitch, but then she grew out of it. SHE'S the one to share secrets with, she's bound by "mom law" NOT to tell anyone else (except maybe your dad, if it involves sex or money) . Mom's are the way to go.
Now, i didn't remember that LITTLE girls were mean little creatures until Jason got into preschool. The girls in this class will slap each other, call each other names, rally all the girls in the class against one girl, and then "haze" her. And holy hell, i remember this when i was growing up. One of the girls in the class specifically had a birthday party this last weekend, and it sparked up a conversation amongst the kids in the class. One of the girls asked another if she was going, and she said yes, so the girl said "i'm going too." Another little girl, from out of nowhere goes "well i'm going too!" This caused the other two girls to look at her, sneer, and say "no you're not, because YOU weren't invited." and then laugh as they talk about how GREAT this party is going to be. The girl, looking hurt says "well why not?" and one of the other two girls says "because no one likes you. you're stupid." These are FOUR YEAR OLDS!!!!! I'm baffled by how young this kind of thing is starting.
And then i watch the boys. And the boys, they're simple about it. Some of the boys play with some of the boys, and others play with others, and that's just the order of things. When a boy strays, and asks to play with the other group, they simply look at him, and move over. There's no head games, there's no purposeful harm, there's just a scooch to the right, and then the other little boy goes back to what he's doing. Boys aren't spiteful like we are, at least...not just for the sake of being that way. But women, little girls, they are. They're mean and spiteful just to prove they can be, and truthfully, we allow them to be that way. As parents, we watch them, knowing they're doing it, and realizing "hey, that happened to us too." Its a vicious cycle.
I've found though, in my years, that often, the mean little girls, have bitches for mommas. You know the kind...where you just look at them and you can tell that they think they're entitled...special. They're not. I'd like to think that if i ever have a daughter someday, that she'll be a peace keeper, because...i was that little girl that was singled out and picked on. Me and my best friend in high school stood back to back and fought off all those little bitches of the world together....and we made it through. And we got tough, and we got hateful, and we got mean...because the world turned us that way. I guess the truth is, that whether you're born that way, or made that way, ALL women are catty little bitches. Which is guess is my point in all this. Mean little girls, grow up to be mean older bitches, and we raise our children, and they become them too. Some of them out of the sense of entitlement that their mommy's and daddy's provide to them, and some just because they HAVE to be, to survive. Either way....its happening younger and younger. Our four year olds are fighting the future bitches of America, and they're either turning, or backing down. I'm not sure which is the better choice. The only thing I'm REALLY sure of, is its shocking as hell, and kind of sad to see children so young being so mean....and i look back and wonder, were we that mean at 4 years old? And i imagine the answer is yes....and that's sad too.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Happy Mother's Day...From Heaven.
"Happy Mother's Day!"
"Thanks!"
"How many kids do you have, just the 2 boys?"
(insert awkward silence)
"No, I have these two boys, a baby girl, and another boy (yes, i always refer to him as a boy)
"Aw, I bet that will be fun! How old are they?"
(insert extra awkward silence.)
"Well, my baby girl, Bella...was stillborn at 23 weeks, and her brother died in utero at seven weeks."
(insert painfully awkward silence)
"Well, at least you can celebrate with your boys."
Holidays can be hard. Even in the midst of all the celebration, there's still that moment when you have to stop and say to yourself "damn...she should be here for this." But then you keep going. Mother's Day, for some is not such a celebratory occasion. For some, its painful, its raw, and it's hard. Those of us who have children in Heaven, feel we are celebrating a day about being a mother without one or more of our children. That's a void that nothing really can fill. Those people, like my own momma, who have mothers in Heaven, are sending their love to the clouds, in the sky...and hoping it reaches that precious person. For us, mother's day isn't so special. It isn't so great. Its just another holiday, full of expectations, excitement...and despair. A day full of activities, missing someone that should be experiencing them too. That's a hard pill to swallow. Mother's day isn't hard just for people who have already lost...its also hard for people who are losing, or will be losing soon. So this..is also for all those children...who are losing their mommas. Momma's that are fighting the good fight. Cancer, disease, heart failure, you name it...Fighting....everyday, and knowing that each new morning could arrive without them. Celebrating holidays aren't so easy when you're so aware they could be your last.
That's not to say that there isn't some sweetness in this holiday, because there really is. As much as my angels in Heaven SHOULD be a part of this, let me not forget that i have two very alive and breathing boys whose tiny little worlds revolve around me. They made their mother's day presents for me at school, and Logan invited me to a Mommy's day tea party that his class was throwing. He was so excited when i came. My own mother is healthy, and happy (for the most part) and always has an ear to listen when i'm just too frustrated to function. Little things like that weigh out some of the hurt, and make this holiday what it really is...bittersweet. Little bits of really amazing wrapped up in a world of confusion and pain.
God, since i can't be there to celebrate Mother's Day with my sweet babies, can you please let them know that we're thinking of them here. Let them know that if they want to get me a present, they can see me in my dreams. If they want to make me smile, they can make it rain....they can plant a flower, they can cast down a rainbow. If they want to make me happy, they need only be happy themselves...because all any mother can really hope for her children is all the happiness in the world. I guess i did right by them, because Heaven seems like the best place to do that.
I'll celebrate the day tomorrow like i always do. I'll take the focus off myself, because i prefer not to think about it, really. Being a mom is a job full of thanks, gifts, and little blessings every single day, I don't require one special day to focus on that. I'll spend the day with my boys, so grown up, and not at all the little babies i imagine them to be...they're little people now. But at some point, when the world gets dark, and things calm down, i'll have a few minutes of silence. When that happens, i'll sneak away to her corner, close my eyes, take in the quiet, and talk to her. Not out loud, no words spoken...but quietly, inside my head, straight to her heart. I'll share with her things i want her to know, things i want her to share with her brother.
Mother's day happens differently for people like us. We do our celebrating in pieces. Rejoicing and celebrating with the living and mourning and missing with the dead. Holiday's can be like that.
Happy Mother's Day...to all you mom's out there. Whether you're holding your children close, or sending kisses through the clouds...whether you're sending flowers to your mom or sending bubbles to Heaven. Whether you're visiting her at home, or at the hospital...this one's for you. It's ok to be a little bit bitter...it's ok to embrace that sometimes you're not strong. It's ok to cry. And while you're crying...tell yourself...someone else is crying too. I know i will be.
"Thanks!"
"How many kids do you have, just the 2 boys?"
(insert awkward silence)
"No, I have these two boys, a baby girl, and another boy (yes, i always refer to him as a boy)
"Aw, I bet that will be fun! How old are they?"
(insert extra awkward silence.)
"Well, my baby girl, Bella...was stillborn at 23 weeks, and her brother died in utero at seven weeks."
(insert painfully awkward silence)
"Well, at least you can celebrate with your boys."
Holidays can be hard. Even in the midst of all the celebration, there's still that moment when you have to stop and say to yourself "damn...she should be here for this." But then you keep going. Mother's Day, for some is not such a celebratory occasion. For some, its painful, its raw, and it's hard. Those of us who have children in Heaven, feel we are celebrating a day about being a mother without one or more of our children. That's a void that nothing really can fill. Those people, like my own momma, who have mothers in Heaven, are sending their love to the clouds, in the sky...and hoping it reaches that precious person. For us, mother's day isn't so special. It isn't so great. Its just another holiday, full of expectations, excitement...and despair. A day full of activities, missing someone that should be experiencing them too. That's a hard pill to swallow. Mother's day isn't hard just for people who have already lost...its also hard for people who are losing, or will be losing soon. So this..is also for all those children...who are losing their mommas. Momma's that are fighting the good fight. Cancer, disease, heart failure, you name it...Fighting....everyday, and knowing that each new morning could arrive without them. Celebrating holidays aren't so easy when you're so aware they could be your last.
That's not to say that there isn't some sweetness in this holiday, because there really is. As much as my angels in Heaven SHOULD be a part of this, let me not forget that i have two very alive and breathing boys whose tiny little worlds revolve around me. They made their mother's day presents for me at school, and Logan invited me to a Mommy's day tea party that his class was throwing. He was so excited when i came. My own mother is healthy, and happy (for the most part) and always has an ear to listen when i'm just too frustrated to function. Little things like that weigh out some of the hurt, and make this holiday what it really is...bittersweet. Little bits of really amazing wrapped up in a world of confusion and pain.
God, since i can't be there to celebrate Mother's Day with my sweet babies, can you please let them know that we're thinking of them here. Let them know that if they want to get me a present, they can see me in my dreams. If they want to make me smile, they can make it rain....they can plant a flower, they can cast down a rainbow. If they want to make me happy, they need only be happy themselves...because all any mother can really hope for her children is all the happiness in the world. I guess i did right by them, because Heaven seems like the best place to do that.
I'll celebrate the day tomorrow like i always do. I'll take the focus off myself, because i prefer not to think about it, really. Being a mom is a job full of thanks, gifts, and little blessings every single day, I don't require one special day to focus on that. I'll spend the day with my boys, so grown up, and not at all the little babies i imagine them to be...they're little people now. But at some point, when the world gets dark, and things calm down, i'll have a few minutes of silence. When that happens, i'll sneak away to her corner, close my eyes, take in the quiet, and talk to her. Not out loud, no words spoken...but quietly, inside my head, straight to her heart. I'll share with her things i want her to know, things i want her to share with her brother.
Mother's day happens differently for people like us. We do our celebrating in pieces. Rejoicing and celebrating with the living and mourning and missing with the dead. Holiday's can be like that.
Happy Mother's Day...to all you mom's out there. Whether you're holding your children close, or sending kisses through the clouds...whether you're sending flowers to your mom or sending bubbles to Heaven. Whether you're visiting her at home, or at the hospital...this one's for you. It's ok to be a little bit bitter...it's ok to embrace that sometimes you're not strong. It's ok to cry. And while you're crying...tell yourself...someone else is crying too. I know i will be.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Rambling. A lot.
I keep thinking about you. Both of you. It's hard not to, when there are so many things going wrong in the world. There's so much I wish I had done differently, so many things I wish i could have done better. The truth is that i can't go back. I can't fix it, this life doesnt come with a redo button...but boy if it did....i'd fix a lot of things. There are a couple of people in my life that are pregnant now...and i'm excited for the new lives that are coming into this crazy world. But honestly...i worry. Too much. I over-analyze, i'm over protective. If it were up to me, they'd both be in bed all the time, feet up, without a care in the world...but life doesn't work that way. And it occurs to me, for a minute...that i've forgotten that not everyone has it as hard as i did. Not all pregnancies are complicated. They don't all require weekly checkups where we pray for a heartbeat and rejoice at an inch of growth. They don't all require ultrasounds where they're told their child might not live...or that worse....they might not live either. In fact, some pregnancies are normal. Normal like Jasons, and Logans. Normal like they used to be. I forget sometimes that they can be like that. And so i worry. And i freak out. And i guard them from the worst because I can't let them go through this. I can't let them deal with this pain. This constant, aching pain. The kind that makes it hard to wake up some morning...and hard to smile. The kind that makes me feel fake...for smiling, for laughing....when deep inside i feel like i should be crying...all the time. The pain doesn't go away, never really. You just make room for it. You rearrange the space in your heart, and you allow the hurt somewhere to live. A quiet, constant reminder of what you've lost....while trying so hard to move on and enjoy what you HAVENT lost.I have to remember though, that they haven't lost...and its not hard for them. They're normal. Let them be normal, and watch for familiar signs, be on the lookout...but try not to be so freaked out ALL the time.
I see you in my dreams a lot. On those nights, i never wanna wake up. I walk through the fields of Heaven with you. We're holding hands....we're talking. I hear all about how my babies have been growing up...and what Heaven's like. I hear about Grams and about Jim, and I hear how happy they are. I get kisses and snuggles and hugs, and I hear your voices. Bells, you're always like Daddy. Always. Fire red hair, bright blue/green eyes....sparkling with mischief. Pigtails that you wear down by your shoulders like mommy, and the prettiest curls i've ever seen in my life. Your gramma ransom all over again. And my Baby G. Part of me keeps telling myself i should name you...in my dreams i never know what to say. In my heart of hearts, in my dreams...you are a little boy. But...i was convinced from day one that you would be...so no surprise that i see you that way. I wonder if you truly were. But you...are the spitting image of your momma. Dark hair, green eyes (which you got from your daddy) and my skin tone. Your dark features remind me of Logan's, which makes me smile, because i realize he looks more like me than i thought he did. But I walk with you both as you grow. You're never as old as you should be, always older...and wise beyond whatever years you may have. Its like in each dream, its important that i know something. Something that makes me wake up smiling...something that tells me that you're ok.
I think that's the bitter truth about Heaven. If there is a Heaven, the people that we love are there. Happy, smiling, playing, laughing....and we're left here. Waiting. Picking up the pieces continuing with a life that is only tolerable while we stand by, praying for the day we'll all be together again. You learn how to get along, how to start over...but you never forget, and you don't move on. You just move....its like pedalling a bike on cinder blocks. You can do it as fast as you want to, you're not any closer to winning the race. I wonder why Heaven should be so amazing...when it's so miserable here. We're left with tears, pain, regret, and god knows what else...and the ones who have passed get...peace. Seems cruel. But i guess...if death can't be an escape from the pain...from the hurt...what else is there?
I see you in my dreams a lot. On those nights, i never wanna wake up. I walk through the fields of Heaven with you. We're holding hands....we're talking. I hear all about how my babies have been growing up...and what Heaven's like. I hear about Grams and about Jim, and I hear how happy they are. I get kisses and snuggles and hugs, and I hear your voices. Bells, you're always like Daddy. Always. Fire red hair, bright blue/green eyes....sparkling with mischief. Pigtails that you wear down by your shoulders like mommy, and the prettiest curls i've ever seen in my life. Your gramma ransom all over again. And my Baby G. Part of me keeps telling myself i should name you...in my dreams i never know what to say. In my heart of hearts, in my dreams...you are a little boy. But...i was convinced from day one that you would be...so no surprise that i see you that way. I wonder if you truly were. But you...are the spitting image of your momma. Dark hair, green eyes (which you got from your daddy) and my skin tone. Your dark features remind me of Logan's, which makes me smile, because i realize he looks more like me than i thought he did. But I walk with you both as you grow. You're never as old as you should be, always older...and wise beyond whatever years you may have. Its like in each dream, its important that i know something. Something that makes me wake up smiling...something that tells me that you're ok.
I think that's the bitter truth about Heaven. If there is a Heaven, the people that we love are there. Happy, smiling, playing, laughing....and we're left here. Waiting. Picking up the pieces continuing with a life that is only tolerable while we stand by, praying for the day we'll all be together again. You learn how to get along, how to start over...but you never forget, and you don't move on. You just move....its like pedalling a bike on cinder blocks. You can do it as fast as you want to, you're not any closer to winning the race. I wonder why Heaven should be so amazing...when it's so miserable here. We're left with tears, pain, regret, and god knows what else...and the ones who have passed get...peace. Seems cruel. But i guess...if death can't be an escape from the pain...from the hurt...what else is there?
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