There's a WHAT in your yard?

OK, so I got this email today from my schools alert message system..

Centennial Campus only: Ft. Carson Army Post personnel advised our Department of Public Safety that they found a piece of ordnance (some kind of explosive device) near the fence that divides Centennial Campus’ land from theirs. As a precautionary measure only, we were advised to evacuate the Grounds Shop and Fleet Management area of Centennial Campus. There is no danger to Centennial Campus and no need to evacuate any other area. They are in the process of removing the ordnance.

It reminded me of when I lived on Fort Bragg. My house was right next to an elementary school and all the kids would cut across my yard to get to and from school. Well, one day I was standing outside waiting for my kids to come home when I saw a group of boys standing in a cluster in my front yard. I heard this...

"Pick it up."
"No, YOU pick it up."
"No way! I DARE you to pick it up!!"

Thinking it was a dead animal, and with the whole bird flu panic all over the news, I went over to investigate. No.. it wasn't a dead bird, it was a grenade. The pin was still in it, but it was a real one. One of my neighbors stood watch over the grenade and kept the kids away from it while I ran over to the MP that was sitting in front of the school to watch for speeders in the school zone. Poor guy... he just wanted to give out some tickets LOL

So, I knocked on his window and he kind of had this annoyed look about him. He rolled it down and stared at me. This is the conversation, which I will never forget as long as I live....

"Um, hi. There's a grenade in my yard."
"There's a what in your yard?"
"A grenade."
"A real one?"
"It looks real, but I have no intention of testing it out."
"Fuck."

lmao

I had the fire department, EMT's, the bomb squad, CID... EVERYBODY there within 3 minutes. My whole courtyard was evacuated, but I wasn't allowed to go too far in case they needed to question me. So, after they got the stupid thing out of my yard the MP that was watching for school fights and speeders came over to me. He says..

"You can go home now, we don't have any questions for you... oh, and I wanted to say thanks for the excitement. I was supposed to be off as soon as all those little brats got home."

It freaked me out at the time, but looking back... it kinda makes me giggle!!!

Statistic gone right

I was your everyday average juvenile deliqiuent.  I was headed down a dangerous road paved with sex, drugs, and Nirvana.  I stood exactly 100 feet away from my high school so that I could smirk defiantly at the teachers while I smoked my cigarettes.  I skipped more classes than I attended my junior year, and when I did go I had no idea where some of my classes were.  Then I got pregnant at 17 years old.  Yup, I was a statistic destined for poverty and drug abuse.

Seven months after looking in disbelief at the EPT (short for emergency pregnancy test) I held Jay in my arms.  His black hair stuck to his head, his little nose was wrinkled, his foot poked out of the blanket that he was swaddled in, and his eyes looked right into my heart.  It was like I had known him my entire life and a flood of emotions washed over me like I cannot describe.  Even though I was stoned out of my mind.. AFTER delivery... so they whisked him away so that I could rest.  I found myself rubbing my belly and feeling empty inside, I wanted my baby with me.  Even at that point, however, I still don't think that the idea that life was changing had fully hit me.

I was a headstrong and bitchy teenager (shocker right?) and I wanted to see my baby once I got to my room.  Those nurses wouldn't give him to me for one reason or another, and by the time he was ready to come see me... I was hemoraging and terrified.  I can pinpoint the exact moment my life changed.  The charge bitch.. err, nurse... was in my room to monitor my bleeding.  She was refusing to call my doctor and she was chewing me out for sneaking downstairs to have a cigarette before the bleeding started.  A CNA came in, wheeling my baby in his little bassinette and said "Look who came to see Mommy!"  The charge nurse turned around, looked at the girl, and said "No.  She doesn't need to see that baby right now.  She's bleeding too heavy and I need to figure out what to do."

I thought to myself, "Oh my God, this is bad and she won't call my doctor.  I'm going to die right now and I will never know him and he'll never know me!"  I wondered what would happen to him.  Would he go into child care?  Would John take him or abandon him?  Would my mom take care of him?  Would John's mom fight for him?  Would he know how much I loved him?  I watched helplessly as the young CNA wheeled him out of my room.  Tears streamed down my face as I thought that the tiny glimpse of his black hair would be the last time I ever saw him.  That was when my life changed.  I needed to live because I knew that nobody could take care of him the way that I would.  I needed to survive because nobody would love him like I could.  I had to grow up because he needed a mom, and nobody would ever be that except for me. 

The next day, when the bleeding had slowed down, the same CNA came back into my room with my son.  She handed him over to me and smiled down... then she was gone because it was only me and him in the whole world.  The moment was merely a moment... John, my mom, his mom, my friends all started streaming in after that.  But, I had that one moment alone in the world with him when I knew that he had not only changed my life, but he had saved it as well.  Happy 15th Birthday, Jaydan.  Mommy loves you.

When I grow up

When I was a little girl I frequented doctors offices.  Either for my sister, who had a cleft lip, or for my nephew, who had luekemia.  I sat and watched them go through procedures with a strange sense of fascination and I learned very quickly that it was the nurses that did all of the work.  They were the ones that wiped away the tears, the ones that held the hands of the patients, the ones that brought the medicine, and the ones that brought the smiles.  I decided that's what i wanted to be when I grew up.

Then I went to grade school.  I had to write a story using the word "out" as many times as possible.  I wrote about Johnny the Outlaw who lived way out in the Australian Outback.  He hid his loot in the outhouse out on his farm.  I used the word out 67 times.  The teacher had me read the story out loud to the class.  She praised me and told me how talented I was.  I decided that I was going to be a writer.

In middle school Lorena Bobbit literally threw her husband's manhood out the window.  The court case was all over the news.  Defense attorneys and prosecuting attorneys talked endlessly into the news cameras.  I agreed that what Lorena did was totally acceptable given the circumstances, but she was obviously guilty.  She admitted that she was guilty.  I didn't understand how a lawyer could willingly represent a guilty client.  I went into high school with my heart set on Harvard Law.  I was going to be a DA.

In 9th grade I had to write another story.  This time it was a nonfiction assignment where I had to go out and observe my surroundings.  I rode the bus to the mall, watched people, rode the bus home from the mall, and turned in a 2 page handwritten paper on the experience.  My teacher asked me to make another copy so that she could have it printed in a school publication.  Screw that lawyer crap.. I was meant to be a writer!

My senior year I met a young man that changed my life forever.  He was unspeakably beautiful.  His eyes looked right into my soul.  I ran my fingers through his curly black hair and breathed in the scent of his skin.  I never imagined a love so deep could exist.  Nursing, lawyering, writing... none of that mattered.  None of it was what I wanted but I didn't realize that until I held that 6lb 14oz squirming bundle of pure perfection.  I was meant to be a mom.

Two years later, the decision to be a mom was only solidified with the birth of my beautiful daughter.  The feeling that I had when I held her in my arms with my son in my lap can only be described as completeness.  I knew right then that nothing would ever be as satisfying as being their mom.  I still believe that.  If I die the moment after I publish this blog, I will die knowing that I did not one, but two great things with my life.

When John went to Korea, I was left in North Carolina with two small children, only a couple of friends, and absolutely no family.  I was still a stay at home mom.. but Jay was in pre-K and Kaitlyn was in pre school.  I turned to my computer for solace.  Again, I took to writing.  I journaled, I wrote short stories, I wrote naughty stories, I wrote poetry.  The short stories and journals got deleted.  The naughty stories went to John.  The poetry reminds me of a very dark time in my life.  Those feelings of wanting to be a writer tugged at the back of my brain.  I decided to wait until my kids were in school full time to go back to school.  I wanted to be realistic though.  I was a mom, a caregiver, I would be a nurse like originally planned.

Nursing didn't work out.  I decided that it involved way too much math and science for my taste.  I changed my major to English.  I would teach in a high school and foster young minds.  That didn't work out either.  I decided I don't like teenagers enough to spend all day with them.  Somehow, writing always came back to haunt me.  I switched my major to journalism and in May I will hold a pretty piece of paper that says I have graduated with a Liberal Arts degree with a minor in Journalism. 

It has taken me almost 10 years to get my 2 year degree.  I went back and forth.. nursing, writing, law, writing, english, writing... it has admittedly been a long road.  But, I have no regrets.  Every twist and turn that I have taken has brought me to a deeper understanding of self.  One way or another, writing has ALWAYS come back to me.  Writing is as much a part of me as the hand that i use to write with.  It comes as naturally as breathing.  The thoughts and ideas that flow out through my fingertips jump around through my brain so much that they are hard wired into who i am.  I tried to go different routes that interested me, but I have learned that they were merely detours that led me back to the main road.  I know, without a doubt, that I will be a writer... when I do finally grow up.

The Empty Chair

I have always hosted big Thanksgiving dinners.  I believe that the best way to honor the holiday is to continue the tradition of sharing a meal with family AND friends.  I can’t begin to count the number of single soldiers that I have welcomed into my home so that they could have a home cooked meal at my table instead of standing in line for a glob of instant mashed potatoes.  I do remember all of their faces though.  I remember the banter, the laughter, their gratitude, and the feeling that I got knowing that I made a tiny difference in their holiday. 

Yesterday, as I stood in my kitchen and watched my guests, I realized how much has changed since the Twin Towers collapsed.  My husband was the only soldier in my home, the remaining 13 people in my home were either women or children.  I realized just how thankful I am for those women.  Three husbands are deployed, one recently deceased, but all of those women were sitting around my table, chatting, laughing, and taking care of their families regardless of the missing men.  Was I that strong during Thanksgiving last year when John was gone?  I don’t think I was.  I think, when I look back on this Thanksgiving in the years to come, I will remember the banter, the laughter, but the gratitude will be my own because those women made a difference in MY holiday.  Family isn’t what DNA we share or which branch of the family tree we sit… family was what I saw last night.  It was the closeness, the togetherness, the love and the memories.

The men that couldn't be there were still honored because among the 30 pounds of turkey, 12 cups of stuffing, 10 pounds of potatoes, two dozen deviled eggs, 25 petite soufflés, 84 ounces of M&M’s, 30 homemade rolls, 5 pounds of candied yams, corn on the cob, green bean casserole, sweet potato casserole,  bottles of red and white wine, beer, a gallon of hot apple cider, there was one empty place setting at the head of the table.   Sitting in the chair across from the empty wine glass, empty plate, and untouched utensils was a pair of tan boots, a Kevlar helmet, an M-16 machine gun, and an ACU jacket for the soldiers, and a white candle for Mike Holiday...  The setting was there to honor all of the brave men and women that couldn’t be home for the holidays… either because they are currently deployed ,or because they were sitting at the feet of their God watching over their families on this Thanksgiving. 

Veterans Day

I went to a memorial service yesterday for three men I never knew that were close to my heart.  They were soldiers, killed in the line of duty far from home in a foreign place called Afghanistan.  I went to support my friend.  I went to support my sister Army wives.  I went to pay my respects.  I went to honor their memories.  I went because it was the right thing to do.

These three heroes left the earthly plain almost a month ago, but their loss was still fresh on everyone’s minds, and heavy on their hearts.  There were no flag draped coffins.  At the front of the church, in front of the American flag, there were three helmets upon the pulpit.  There was a soldier there to give a eulogy for each fallen comrade individually.  It’s hard to accept that these soldiers, the men who go and fight for our country, are human beings… and it’s harder still to watch them tear up, or even hold back sobs, when they speak of the brother in arms that they lost.

At the end of a military funeral/memorial service they do what is called the “final roll call”.  The First SGT stood at the front of the church and called out names of other men in the unit…. After each name was called, someone in the pews would respond with “Here First SGT”.  When he got to the names of the dead, there was no response.  He called their names three times, and with each time the silence was more deafening.  John says that the final roll call is to signify that they are still a part of the unit, but they were unable to make the services because they had made the ultimate sacrifice.  That they did.

Today is Veterans Day.  It’s more than an excuse to close your business, take a four day weekend, or to get drunk.  Today has been set aside for a small population of men and women that risk their lives every day, that have given up a piece of their very being –either physically or emotionally- or have sacrificed themselves for something they believed in.  Thank you to ALL Veterans, past and present for standing up to protect me, my family, and my Country.

My Boy of Fall

When I was 17 years old I remember sitting on my dad’s recliner in the living room watching TV.  A Pampers commercial came on and the babies were all cute and squishy.  Then an anti abortion commercial came on, and after that a Baby Your Baby commercial came on.  By the end of that minute and a half, I was bawling like a baby myself.  As I wiped the tears from my eyes, wondering why I was crying over stupid commercials, it occurred to me that I hadn’t had a period in quite some time, and I had been suffering from the “stomach flu” for about a month and a half.  Since then, my kids have always been able to make my eyes well up and overflow with tears on a moment’s notice.  I cried when I sent them off to preschool, elementary school, middle school.. and this year, high school for Jay. 

Yesterday was Jaydan’s last football game.  I’ll admit, they did not have a good season, but they had a good team.  They didn’t go completely defeated, they won one game, but they obviously didn’t do too hot.  Last night they played Mullen HS in Denver.  I’ve been told they are one of the top rated schools in the state.  The entire team was worried, none of them were too sure about themselves, and several of the parents just wanted it to hurry up and start so that it could be over.

The boys amazed us.  It was like it was a completely different team.  They held the other team back for the first half of the game, and while they still lost… they played hard.  I went down to the sidelines after the game was over to help Jaydan with his gear, and the energy down there was amazingly positive and happy.  I looked at Jay and mentioned that they were all in an awfully good mood, and I had about four boys respond excitedly that it was because that was the best game they had ever played.  I heard several of the boys telling the coach that next year, they would come and play down with the freshmen early so that next years team wouldn’t have to suffer like they did. 

Jay rode home with me because he didn’t want to ride all the way home from Denver with a bunch of smelly guys.  Once the bus got back to Rampart, one of his buddies texted him and we went back to the school to turn in Jay’s gear.  I pulled up and he started getting his stuff out of the trunk.  As soon as I parked Kenny Chesney’s “Boys of Fall” came on the radio.  I sat in the car and watched my son with his teammates.  They hugged each other, they talked smack, they laughed, and they helped each other out.  It amazed me that this was the same group of kids that played together way back in September at Gateway HS in Denver.  Back then, they weren’t a team.  They were a hodge podge grouping of children with a similar interest.  There were a few superstars that obviously didn’t understand the concept of teamwork.  There were a few that had never played before.  And there were a few that played but didn’t have enough confidence to bring it forward.  Between then and now those kids grew into a team of hardworking young men with a special bond and memories that nobody that them will ever understand.  And yes, I cried like a baby.

Here is a link to the video to the song...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AlXDo5WhQXI&ob=av3e

Suburbia

Suburbia

            In the 1950’s June Cleaver set the standard for the American woman.  Today, post Women’s Rights Movement, the perfect woman is expected to have an education, a career, a family, and still have time to look good while doing it all.  Realistically, many women do not believe that there is enough time in the day to do everything that is expected of them, so they will go from one extreme to another.  But, it is possible to be a modern day June Cleaver.  Just follow these simple guidelines and you’ll soon be the poster girl for the Mrs. Suburbia competition, which as you may know, is hosted annually by the Jones’.

Appearance, obviously, is the first step toward transitioning yourself to perfection.  Retire your threadbare jeans, ratty sweatpants, and screen printed T-shirts, from now on you will be wearing nothing but knee length skirts, dress slacks, ugly cardigans and always a pearl necklace.  June Cleaver would be nothing without her pearls, and so would you.  Don’t have the money for a whole new wardrobe?  Not a problem, simply hit up the local Goodwill store and rummage through the racks of Grandma’s cast away clothes.  A good wife is a thrifty wife!  After your attire is suburban appropriate, the next makeover is you.  Letting anyone, including your husband, see you without makeup on should be treated as a capital offense.  Forget about the sloppy ponytails and hooker red lipstick.  From now on it is hair sprayed locks and shimmering lip gloss! 

Husband gets up at 6am you say?  Not a problem… simply set your alarm for an hour sooner, that will give you time to cook breakfast for your family!  Proper nutrition is a very important aspect of keeping your family healthy and happy.  Throw out those boxes of cereal and donate the frozen meals to a neighbor.  From now on, all meals served to your family will be prepared fresh and hot to order.  While you cannot prepare a hot lunch for them while they are at work or school, you must prepare a fresh lunch for them each morning while they eat breakfast.  If they request take out or fast food for dinner, you may secretly be grateful, but, you must pretend to act shocked and disgusted before you give into their whims.  Rest assured the pearls will not clash with the décor at Burger King.

            Simply because you have assimilated into Suburbia you may still reserve the right to cheer at your child’s sporting events; you just have to resist the urge to be obscene.  While it may be tempting to shove the referee’s yellow flag up his ass and out through his nose, violence is strictly prohibited while mimicking the life of a modern day Stepford Wife.  It is best to clap enthusiastically when appropriate, and to shove your hands in your pockets when it is not.  While in the company of other suburban mothers it is best to avoid providing grain for the gossip mill.  Actually, having your child in multiple sports and music lessons will raise your social standing.  If you manage to get your children to football, volleyball, piano lessons, guitar lessons, voice lessons, and Tae Kwon Do without accepting help from your spouse you will be treated with respect by your peers.

            Remember your wants, needs, and desires come second to those of your husbands and children’s.  If you are working on a project of your own and your husband wants to go hiking (for example) you must drop what you’re doing and go hiking for the good of the family.  Wear your pearls if you have to, just as a reminder of why you are doing it.  It doesn’t matter if he’s in better shape than your or if you have to jog to keep up with his long stride, you have to carefully pick your way along the dried out creek beds and animal trails that he chooses and you better pretend to have a good time.  There will be no bitching, complaining, or huffing and puffing about something you cannot change.  And, when you make it to the top of the mountain it won’t matter if you’re too sick from your fear of heights to eat, that simply means there will be more to fill your darling husband’s tummy.

At some point, your friends will start to miss the pre-suburbanite you.  They may make fun of your pearls.  Your children and husband will start to become weary of the new, improved, better dressed and always smiling you.  You, too, may also begin to covet your daughter’s denim blue jeans and your son’s smelly sneakers.  You can peek into the back of the closet at the 5” red “ @#!$ me ” heels that you wore last Valentine’s Day, but do not give into the temptation to throw the pearls into oncoming traffic.  If you take the time to notice, you will see that people around you are starting to treat you differently.  Your friends won’t cut their eyes over to you with weary amusement when they say something like “One slip of my hand and it was all over.”  The employees at the grocery store will come to assist you without you having to hunt them down.  You will notice that people are treating you like a lady.

Once your family members realize that you’re sticking to your plan of becoming the perfect housewife and mother, they will get used to the idea that your sole purpose in life is to spoil them.  You will never be bored again.  Your son will feel free to yell at you when he’s upset with his father.  Your daughter will think that it’s okay to treat you like a servant.  Your husband, freaked out by the new you, will start to hang out in the basement to give you space to vacuum and mop in peace.  You might feel a little sad or even perhaps a tad bit lonely, but just rub the pearls around your neck to remind yourself why you’re making such an effort to be perfect.

You see, perfection through the eyes of society is not hard to achieve.  Sure, it comes with a little price to pay.  Your children lose respect for you as an authority figure.  Your husband avoids you because you’re not the woman he married.  You lose the sense of self and become uncomfortable in your own skin.  Your laughs, your smiles, and your every happiness is not your own but the laundry will be finished, the dishes will be done, and you will look damn good for your husband so you will have fulfilled your obligation to society to be the perfect housewife.