That's what I'm talking about.

I love to read.  I haven't always loved to read, but I would say about 10 years ago I really developed a love of reading.  It is my crack and Borders is my dealer.  Just sayin.

Anyway, it is rare that a book comes along that absolutley stops me in my tracks.  I just finished a book entitled Goddess of the Sea by P.C. Cast.  You may recognize her name because she wrote the "House of Night" series (which I will be reading after I finish this series).  It's not some spiritual, self-help book, but it did affect my life.  It's a novel.  A fantasy-romance novel at that.  But there was something about this story that I just needed at the very moment I read it.  It centers it's story around a woman (in the Air Force of all things) who trades places with the mythical mermaid, Undine.  Some of you already know this, but as a child, after watching "The Little Mermaid" (my favorite Disney Princess movie) all I wanted to do and all I would dream about was trading places with a mermaid.  Every time we went to the beach I would wait on the edge of the tide for a mermaid to pop out of the water and grant my wish.  It never happened, of course.  But this book is like my childhood dream personified and developed into a story that surpassed my wish.  It's a powerful love story with enough passion to make you go blind.  This book may not do the same thing for anyone else that it did for me, but it literally breathed new life into my relationship (at least on my end of things) and recharged my battery, so to speak.  It was, as I said, exactly what I needed and I will read this book over and over again.  There are more books in this author's "Goddess" series and I am very excited to read them all!  Yay for reading!

The Inner Workings of My Insomnia

Most of you know by now that I don't sleep...at night.  I could sleep the day away with no problem, which of course is not possible...kids and all.  They keep waking me up for silly things like food and water.  So I trudge through the day in first gear, never quite making it to second, until the sun goes down.  Maybe I was secretly bitten by vampire, hence my nightly tendencies...Edward, here I come!  Or Eric, I'll take either one!  Oh, sorry, I was having a little daydream.  Anyways....

So nighttime comes and I face the dreaded bed knowing that even if I'm drop dead tired, I will toss and turn for hours never quite getting the pillow right, always searching for the last cool spot in the sheets with my foot, going back and forth between pulling the covers up to my chin and throwing a leg out when I inevitably get hot.  Most of you also know that I sleep with the t.v. on and it is always tuned into TV Land.  In the background while I'm channeling my inner flounder I can hear the shows that are on and I can tell where I am at in the night by which show is on.  I will now break down my super secret bat-code for you all because, well, because it's 2:30 AM and (surprise!) I'm awake!

If I fall asleep before...

• Everybody Loves Raymond - it's just unheard of, moving on...
• Roseanne - I'm in very good shape and will most likely graduate from resembling the living dead to a crusty pirate the next day....Argggg!
• The Nanny - I'm still in fairly good shape although I will probably have to forfeit the hairbrush in the morning in order to get Gracie to school on time.  They should be pretty used to that by now, at least the staring has stopped.
• Cosby Show - Starting to get a little chancy here, this is pretty much the threshold between life and death.  This is when I hear Mike saying "Eject, eject, eject! Watch the canopy!"
• Home Improvement - This is bad news.  This means not only will I not be coherent enough to dress myself in the morning, but Gracie may suffer a mismatched sock or two in the process.  Oh, the innocent children.
• Three's Company - Go ahead and hang it up because at this point it would probably be easier to just stay up rather than try and salvage the few hours left until dawn.  This is when I drive to school and back realizing when I get home as I look down at the keys in my hand that I have no idea how I got there and have no recollection of that morning's drive.  I have a halo of frizz around my head, a full set of luggage under my eyes and someone has managed to fill my shoes with lead, not to mention the fact that I'm still in my pajamas and yes, I drove my child to school that way.  This will be a nap day.  Bad Three's Company...don't come knock on my door anymore!

Good Night!  Oh, and by the way...Home Improvement is on right now.  Look out!

The Evolution of a Woman's Rage

WARNING: This post contains a maniacal rant about woman-things.  Aka, menstration.  Continue at your own risk.

As I sit here holding my middle waiting for the vice to be removed from my lady parts, I pondered the woman's life cycle and how much of it is spent pissed off.  We can be unpredictable, irrational and downright angry creatures at times.  But this anger is not random...it is cultivated and occasionally poked with a stick.

Think about it.  As teenagers we have the humiliation of puberty thrust upon us.  We suffer the same hormonal rages, out of control skin and the ever changing landscape of our body as the boys.  Only add in nature's cruelest joke with no punchline...the period.  I seriously thought I was going to die the first time I had mine.  Then after I figured out that I wasn't going to die, but in fact was going to live with this affliction for many, many, many years to come.  Well, suddenly death didn't seem so bad.  Thus begins the monthly cycle of rage.  We are forced to deal with high school (and middle school for some of us lucky ones), peer pressure, growing pains (figurative and literal ones) all while wearing a Simmons Beauty Rest in our pants and tiny knives stabbing us in the abdomen and back incessantly for 5 days a month, while we hemorrhage. 

So we make it through the end stages of puberty and things slowly start to even out in our twenties.  By now we've figured out how to anticipate D-Day and may have even graduated from the mattress to a less bulky, but much more invasive form of absorption.  Now we have moved on to the joys of PMS.  When we were teenagers and the hormones were raging all the time, we didn't really notice a difference.  Now, however, there is at least one week out of every month before D-Day where you turn into another person.  We turn into a raging, crying, bi-polar train wreck with cravings.  Cravings that if go unsatisfied will only result in senseless violence.  Just eat the chocolate and save a man.  Also around this time we have probably become acquainted with a man.  This is where we get to the "poked with a stick" portion of our rage cultivation.  Men, knowingly or not, will inevitably always say or do the wrong thing at the wrong time.  They are not trying to be provoking, they really just don't know any better.  They are the children with a stick poking the snake to see the reaction.  Curious creatures, they are.  Well, men, let me ruin the ending for you...eventually when the snake is poked enough, it will strike, with more venom than you can possibly fathom.  Go lick your wounds, you'll be fine.  The snake, however, will just be that much more primed for the kill next time.

There is short reprieve if pregnancy is achieved, but let me tell you, pregnancy comes with a whole new set of delightful hormonal tidbits...so don't get too excited.  But, that's another topic all together.

Then what?  We have about another 20 years of this up and down funhouse of horror before...menopause!  Well, gee, THAT'S something to look forward to.  We've come full circle, I suppose, back to the constant hormonal rage of puberty only now we get have hot flashes and irregular periods.  And this can last for years.  YEARS!!! 

So it's no wonder that we can be a tad irrational at times or maybe even a bit demanding or harsh.  I don't even like myself when I'm PMSing.  But considering the incredible amount of bull snot we have to put up with for half a month, every month, I think maybe we deserve a reprieve.  Just keep yourself "busy" with other things so you don't become a victim of our often ugly and uncontrollable rage.  We probably don't want to see you either, so win-win.

I can't remember the name of the comedian who said it but this is one line I will always remember.  "There is no other creature on earth who can bleed for 5 days straight and NOT DIE!"  That's right.  Fear me. 

Get a little crafty.

So some of you may have already seen this little craft project if you happen to be a recipient of the Echo Co. Newsletter.  But for those who haven't and quite frankly, for lack of a better post for this blog, here ya go.  I made these the other day and I have to tell you that using No. 2 pencils does not work as well as colored pencils.  Just a little FYI from someone who learned the hard way!

Materials Needed:

glue gun (and glue sticks of course)

small cylindrical bud vase

colored pencils (any color combination you'd like)

ribbon (whatever color or pattern that will coordinate with your pencils, or not, if you live on the edge.) Haha.

Then just glue the pencils in whatever color pattern you would like around the vase and when you are done, tie the ribbon around the pencils, tie into a bow and glue to secure it.  Place the ribbon wherever you like, in the picture it's at the bottom of the vase and I did it a little more towards the top and it turned out fine.  These are really cute and make great teacher gifts!

What the....?

It can be an agonizing feat trying to navigate my way through the ups and downs of deployment.  Sometimes I think I am just blaming the ever-convenient deployment for my own natural ups and downs.  But, in my defense, my moods do seem to be soaring and plunging more frequently through peaks and valleys since the deployment...so the blame is justified, at least in my worbled mind.

I have felt so weird for the last few days.  Weird is such a general term but I honestly can't think of another way to describe it because I don't know what I am actually feeling.  If someone were to ask me right now the question that is so often asked, "How are you doing?", I would not be able to answer with a customary "fine".  I am not good, I am not bad, I'm just here.  In limbo.  It feels like I am in this state of perpetual waiting.  Like my life has turned into a really bad doctor's office waiting room.  I don't know what I'm waiting for.  Yes, I'm waiting for Mike's R&R, both with anticipation and anxiety.  I'm waiting to figure out what the next chapter of my life will entail.  I'm waiting to find out what mine and Mike's futures hold.  So many things are uncertain and for a person who generally likes to have a road map and destination, this makes for a general uneasiness.  I guess that's what I would call the weirdness.  I'm fidgety with the vagueness of our future.  Sure, he comes home and I will be giddy with relief but then what?  Will we stay here, where will he live, will we be transferred, how are we going to survive...it never ends.  These are questions I would like answers to, but not really questions I want to ponder.  Because in doing so will probably mean some unwanted reality checks and some unwanted answers.  I guess it would just be nice to know what I'm supposed to be doing, because I have that nagging feeling that I'm missing something.  I know that I'm not supposed to have all the answers...where's the fun in that, right?  But I do know that sometimes there are hints along the way and I just feel like I missed one, leaving me unprepared for the test.  Patience has never been my strong suit...I'm an instant gratification kind of gal.  But unfortunately patience is probably the one thing staring me in the face saying "duh".  Sometimes I'd like to punch patience in the face and move on to solution.  But, I guess for now I will begrudgingly sit next to patience in the waiting room hoping my name is called next.  I did hijack all the good magazines, though, so try being patient and bored.  Stupid patience.  It's the small victories.

Where are You From?

I was in Gracie's school today paying her monthly fee and there was a guy who works there standing at the counter.  I recognized him from around the school.  Anyway, he asked me how I was doing and I replied with the cursory, "Fine and you?".  Immediately he asked me where I was from because I had an accent.  First of all, I always thought of my accent as actually a lack thereof.  Secondly, I hate this question and unfortunately I am asked this all the time.  It's like the first date question upon meeting new people, right after, "What do you do for a living?", another one I dislike answering.  The reason I don't get warm fuzzies from this particulor information probe is because I never really have a ready answer.  We moved around a lot as a kid and we are moving around a lot as an adult.  I have lived in a lot of places and liked something about all of them.  I have fond memories of Savannah as a kid and the best memories of Kingston as a teenager.  I really loved that place.  But this guy was asking where I was from because of an accent??  So here's what I told him.  I said, "I was raised in the South by a pack of Yankees."  That should pretty much answer any question of a supposed accent.  I've always just absorbed whatever accent was being spoken around me.  If I'm in the South and around people with a Southern accent, I will have a Southern accent.  If I'm around my family or anyone else from the North, I will pick up the Yankee accent and so on.  This gets kinda embarassing when I'm around someone from the UK or Australia, because I start to pick up their accents and they always think I'm either A) trying to be super cool or B) making fun of them.  Both scenarios pretty much make me look like a douche in their eyes.  Sorry, can't help it.  Oh, well.  I guess I will have to come up with some wild stories to tell people when they ask me this question, just to throw them off.  "I was born into the mob, but had to be placed into the witness relocation program as a kid and moved in with a family from the Deep South...they aren't my real parents...shhhhh, you didn't see me."  Hehehehehe. 

OCD Baby

My son has OCD.  I'm convinced.  You think I'm being dramatic?  Wait until I list my evidence before you come to any conclusions.

1.  Waking up.  He gets out of bed and has to turn off the TV himself.  Then he proceeds to hand me, one by one, all of his stuffed animals including, but not limited to, Big Puppy, Old Little Puppy, New Little Puppy, Giraffe and his blanket.  I have to hold these things and bring them upstairs or he will collapse on the floor in a fit of despair.  Then he has to hold my right hand to walk up the stairs, again if he doesn't have a hold of my right hand...floor...despair.  This routine is the same for morning wake up and naptime wake up.

2.  Eating.  In the morning he sits in the chair on the left side of the table, this is also the chair used for snacks.  However, for dinner, he must sit at the head of the table, no exceptions.  He has to be the one to put the straw in his drink and he has to have his hand on the cup while water is being dispensed or he will not drink it.  Do not try to take his plate until he has left the table.  Even if he has said that he's done, if you try to confiscate his plate before he has exited the table vicinity trouble will ensue.  Make sure all food is cut up before the plate hits the table or he will not let you do it afterwards and then will proceed to try and shove the entire thing in his mouth which you will then have to dig out of his mouth.  I have only made this mistake once...never again.

3.  Car Rides.  He must be the one to open the door, climb in the car and into his seat.  You may not help him do any of these things or, once again, floor...crumble.  Then he has to open the DVD screen and adjust his air vent.  Yes, he does this every time he gets in the car.  He will allow you to buckle him in, but you'd better have the car running and movie engaged by the time you shut that door.  Then upon exiting the car, if he was really into the movie they were watching then he will not let you unbuckle him for at least a few more minutes.  I use this time to gather my purse and any other odds and ends I may need to carry in because the passenger door needs to be closed and locked by the time he gets out of the car or he will open it, jump in and climb into the driver's seat.  He's quick and he's sneaky.  If this happens, chances of getting him out of the car and walking into the house under his own recognizance are slim.  Once he is unbuckled he has to reverse his entry process by closing the DVD screen, closing his air vent and then closing the door (under close supervision to prevent squished fingers...usually mine).

I'm sure there are more things I am not remembering right now, but you get the picture.  His sister was never like this!  Does he just find extreme comfort in routine or is this child really OCD?  I think he is starting to resemble his Daddy more and more every day.  :)  At least I know what to expect (usually)!