Echolocation

I’ve always said that one of the reasons I married my husband is because he makes me laugh.  Most people don’t readily believe me when I say how funny he is because they haven’t seen the witty side of him.  Thankfully he reserves that part of himself for those he knows and loves best.  It makes me feel very special that he shares it with me.  On occasion, his wit is so sharp that it would be unfair of me not to share it with the world.  Last night was one such occasion…

We had been in the bathroom preparing for bed and chatting.  All the kids were asleep and the lights had been turned off throughout the house.  He stepped out of the bathroom ahead of me and into our bedroom.  He was halfway across our room when I stepped out, shutting off the bathroom light.  As the room went pitch black he said, “I can’t see anything,” to which I chided, “It’s not my fault you’re blind.”  Suddenly a loud fart cut through the darkness, followed by the sound of my husband’s voice, saying, “Oh, I’ll use echolocation!”  We laughed so hard together that I was surprised the kids slept through it!

The Right Man

When I was a little girl I had a mental checklist of all the things I hoped for in a man, a husband. I dare say that most girls ponder this question. Commonly, I think the list begins with preferred hair and eye color. Focusing on the tangible for me was just an easy (and shallow) place to start. For the record, my dream man was supposed to have dark hair and blue eyes and in many ways resembled Clark Gable.

It's sad to say that I think the picture in my head of the perfect man was drawn from many a Hollywood character or actor. My dream man would serenade me like Bing Crosby, dance like Fred Astaire, be passionate and soulful like Elvis, be highly educated and a lover of languages, have the ability to fix anything, adore children, be a crime fighter, and generally leap tall buildings in a single bound. This was not an exhaustive list by any means, but you get the idea.

As I moved into my 20's I thought the love of my life was required to sweep me off my feet. I longed for sweetness, romance, and spontaneity. Visions of dancing the night away filled my head. My knight-in-shining-armor would be a renaissance man who would fill my days and nights with meaningful conversation, culture, and playful banter. In short, he would light up a room when he walked in and therefore, my life. Of course, everyone would be drawn to him, but he would reserve himself for me alone.

We recently watched a movie in which a young girl fell in love with a man who very much fit my youthful description of the perfect man. The whole thing seemed very romantic until toward the end when it was discovered that he had been deceptive all along and suddenly left her. All the charisma in the world can't take the place of a man who will be there for you through all the ups and downs in wedding vows and life.

I've now been married twelve years. My husband fulfilled the dark-haired requirement of my youth, but that is nearly the extent of the similarities between my fantasy and real life. He is a good dancer and has wonderful rhythm. Though I'm rarely blessed to hear him, he also has a nice singing voice. He can fix pretty much anything, but can't really clear the ground more than a couple feet in a single bound. What I've learned in our twelve years is that the things I hoped for as a girl couldn't hold a candle to the qualities I've been blessed with in my husband.

He goes to work every morning and comes home every night. I could set my watch by his punctuality. He is dependable and true. Not once have I ever worried, even as I knew he might be faced with temptations in foreign lands during deployments, that he would ever be unfaithful. His commitment to me and our family is solid and he provides a wonderful example for other sailors and men in general.

He anticipates our needs and seems to think of everything I don't. Our brains are simply wired differently. Because we view the world from our two different angles, which are often so opposite one another, we tend to have all the bases covered. It's like doing the sack race with someone who is completely in step with you, allowing you to run to the finish line. We compliment each other.

For many years I had difficulty appreciating his reservedness. Being an extrovert made it hard for me to understand. If I ever thought it was weakness, he has proven me wrong as he has stood in the gap and shored me up during our greatest challenges. When I've needed him, he's been there. He may be a man of few words on most occasions, but when he speaks I have found it important to listen to his wisdom.

Anytime I have struggled spiritually it has been my husband who has brought me back. When church was the last place I wanted to be, he made sure I was there. He lifted up my countenance and set my eyes upon the heavenly places.

He's not the polished renaissance man I dreamed of in my youth, and thank God for that. If he were "Mr. Charisma," he would likely be focused more on pleasing everyone around him instead of living for his family and making us his number one priority. God knew what I needed even as I tried desperately to manufacture my own future. He knew my husband's heart and prepared him just for me. Thankfully, I have found that my dream is further surpassed every year by reality. Ultimately, I found that when I got out of the way, the unexpected happened - the right man was there all along - waiting for me. He will never be perfect (nor will I), but he's perfect for me.

Don't Tell Me to Come Out of the Closet

When I was a little girl, I used to spend a lot of time in my step-mom’s closet. What took me there was as varied as the imaginings of a child. One day might have found me crying over an argument with a friend, while the next day I’d have been pondering my adolescence or maybe even “What do I want to be when I grow up?” No matter the reason, one thing was certain – Dad would always join me there if tears were involved.

There were several reasons I chose that particular closet of all the places in the house. First, it was a place I knew no one would come and interrupt me. There was simply no reason for anyone to knock on that door and ask if they could come in, like the bathroom. Second, it was large enough that it didn’t make me claustrophobic and I could conceal myself behind the hanging clothes at the farthest recesses of the closet. Lastly, and perhaps most importantly - I could turn off the lights and vanish. I spent many hours like that, wishing I could disappear. This was my haven; a place of refuge from the storms that brewed in my life, both real and imagined.

Dad and I like to joke about the times we spent in that closet, bonding. Sometimes we even moved a fan in to get some circulation going. It could get pretty stuffy. He gave me fatherly advice and listened when I cried. In many ways I grew up in there. I can’t recall the exact words of wisdom that emanated from that room and though there’s no doubt they helped to mold and shape me as I stumbled through adolescence, more important was the fact that Dad took the time I needed to see me through it. Thank God for Dad. (Of course thanks to Mom too. What she and I shared wasn’t a closet, and will be addressed in a later writing.) Thank God too for a place I could go to figure things out - away from my siblings and the other craziness of life.

Speaking of craziness. Today I was nearly a crazy woman. At first glance it’s going to be difficult to see how this day and the days of my closet adolescence are connected, but it’ll soon be clear.

We headed out to Virginia Beach to buy Koen’s Boy Scout uniform, looking forward to having lunch together at our favorite place, Chipotle. Everything was going smoothly until we pulled out of our driveway, and the tears began to flow. Karter and Lisse cried inconsolably for the first hour we were out. Here is where I will tell the story slightly in high gear so as not to mentally wear the reader out. I wound up sitting on the floor of the van between the front and middle seats feeding them their lunch while we were stuck in traffic. With me turned around backwards and on the floorboard, hence not navigating, Arie dislodged us from the traffic, only for me to realize he was going the wrong way on the interstate. After lunch, Koen spilled an entire soda on the floor of the van. Then we were off to the Boy Scout store where they didn’t have one item of clothing in Koen’s size after we drove nearly 1.5 hours one way to buy his uniform. We then made our way to run another errand, during which time my normally wonderful husband morphed into a jerk. Out of respect for my husband I’ll spare these details. We were sitting in a parking lot while Arie looked for directions to our final stop when I decided to get out of the car and walk over to a Starbucks. I needed a few moments alone and I was annoyed with Arie, so the thought of a frappuccino was consoling.

I was slightly steaming as I stood in the store contemplating the notion that I’d somehow got back at Arie by not offering to get him a Starbucks. If you know Arie, you know this would be a major letdown for him. I felt justified, even triumphant, and finally peaceful just getting away from the stress that was in the van. As the glow was just building in me, either from the triumph or from my previously noted steaming, I got a text message and photo from Arie. He said, and I’m quoting here, “:( I’m sorry I was a..."



I about died laughing! After chuckling at Arie’s photo and feeling like he had sufficiently apologized, I texted him back with an offer to buy him Starbucks. He responded with a request for an iced coffee and I patiently waited in line not realizing the horror that had begun unfolding in the van. Yep, it only got worse from there, just when I thought things were looking up.

I crossed the parking noticing that Arie was no longer in the front seat. As I opened the door he said something like “you have no idea…” Lisse, who had not pooped at all the previous day during our trip to Busch Gardens had had massive diarrhea while sitting in her car seat and blew out her diaper. Arie said he actually heard it. He might have even gone on mumbling something incoherent about a geyser afterward, but Koen distracted me with a request to go in the grocery store for something to drink. I think he was partly trying to get away from the smell. Climbing out of the van, Koen inadvertently kicked over my mocha frappuccino, spilling it on my floor mat. I could tell he felt horrible for spilling another drink, so after my initial ARE YOU KIDDING ME? reaction, I dialed myself back and told him to let it go and that it was okay. I handed him my wallet and sent him off for his drink.

Upon pulling out the mat to clean it, I unveiled a soggy floorboard indicating a possible problem with our a/c leaking under the carpet. Then Arie, while cleaning up Lisse, began to laugh hysterically. I turned thinking I was about to witness my husband’s nervous breakdown when I heard him say, “She’s peeing!” He could barely get the words out of his mouth from laughing so hard. Whatever parts of her clothing that weren’t covered by poop were at that point soaked in urine, as was a portion of the carpet where it had run off the pad.

The next thing I knew, Koen was opening the back hatch with no drink in his hand and he was crying. When I asked what was wrong and why he had no drink he said, “I can’t do anything right today.” I consoled him and had him repeat after me saying, “Today is the day from hell.” I thought I said it as calmly as I could and though I was giving him permission to say his first ever 4-letter word the day seemed to warrant it. His lips parted into a strained smile that said “I don’t really want you to make me smile while I’m trying to feel sorry for myself.” Once I told him about Lisse peeing on the floor we both fell into each other laughing. I told him, “I KNOW! IT’S A HEAVENLY CONSPIRACY! All the drama,” I said, “must be a heavenly conspiracy to keep us from going home.” Maybe God was keeping us out of some sort of trouble by stalling us with so many distractions.

There are detailed portions of the story I have left out, like Karter almost ripping the signal arm off the steering column, Arie missing our exit (again), and Lisse biting me, but you get the gist I’m sure. It really WAS the day from hell. At the time I could only imagine that short of an auto accident, an acute medical condition (each of us was already having an acute mental condition), or a death in the family, nothing could have made the day more stressful. I said as much to Arie, then thought better of it and acknowledged it could have indeed been much worse.

Speeding as fast as we could safely get away with, we bee-lined for home. After more screaming, all three kids finally fell asleep, leaving me and Arie with some much needed quiet time. For a time we sat silent or maybe I should say shell-shocked before I inquired, “How’s pizza for dinner? I’m not cooking.” Arie asked if I meant the frozen from the store variety. “I said I’m NOT cooking,” shooting him a playful, yet serious look while he laughed.

We eventually made it home, fed and bathed the kids and played until they were exhausted from repeatedly climbing onto the couch only to be dragged off again each time. After one last bottle and teeth cleaning, they went down without so much as a whimper. Here is where I was thanking God again.

After lying Karter in his bed I stepped into the bathroom to brush my teeth and carry on my nightly routine, which includes stepping into my closet so that my electric toothbrush doesn’t wake the baby if it rattles against my teeth. (He’s sometimes a very light sleeper.) I stepped in and out of my closet a few times before pausing inside. With the door pulled shut and the light on, I looked around and pondered the quietness of the space. Actually, it was more like I was soaking up the peace. I began having flashbacks of my childhood days in the closet and what it meant to me then. It occurred to me that at that very moment I was doing exactly what I did as a kid – taking refuge from the storm that was my day.

Thankfully, nowadays I have better coping skills than when I was a kid. However, admittedly there are still days when I step back into my closet, shut the door, turn off the light, and hope no one comes looking for me. Having kids can drive parents to get creative with their hiding spots. Sometimes you just can’t get away from all the noise, sometimes you don’t want to, but during those inevitable times when life gets to be too much or too loud - there’s always the closet. :)

Ergonomic Boobs

Sharing a room with an infant can be a challenge, especially at bedtime. Our son goes to sleep hours before us and while we prepare for bed we have to pay close attention to not making an abundance of noise so as not to wake him. Tonight we were in the bathroom doing our usual prep routine, which recently has included rubbing lotion on my mastectomy scars. The lotion, Elta Lite, has helped to soften and smooth the scarred area. According to the doctor this should make my reconstruction look nicer.

Arie and I were joking around about something completely unrelated to my boobs, when we both began laughing and couldn't contain our noise. I leaned in to whisper something in his ear and when he stepped back he laughed even harder and told me he only heard half of what I'd said. The rest, he said, had sounded like swishing noises. I invited him into my office, a.k.a. my closet so we wouldn't wake the baby. We laughed so hard we fell into each other, hugging, and I told him how grateful I am that we understand each others sense of humor. Trust me, if I told you what had us laughing so hard you'd think we were quite strange. Some things are meant to be kept just between a husband and wife. Having said that, you are seriously going to wonder what I would feel the need to hold in such close confidence given what I'm about to divulge. . .

While we were hugging and laughing, I half jokingly asked him if he wanted to "feel me up". This has been a constant ritual since the inflations of my tissue expanders began. I think it's important that my husband really like the size and feel of my boobs since he's the one who will get all the pleasure from them once this whole reconstruction is complete. (Sounds like we're renovating, which I guess is sort of accurate.) This was his first opportunity to feel them since I had my last inflation. As he reached for my boobs with both hands - now mind you this wasn't a sensual thing by any means, but more like holding a peach firmly in your hands while contemplating whether it's the perfect firmness that makes you want to buy it - I told him he might want to feel the right one because it's more round. First he felt only the right one, then the left, and agreed with me that the right side was indeed more round. The left one feels slightly misshapen because the tissue expander has inflated somewhat more awkwardly than the other side. That's normal.

I said, "Aren't you glad the implants won't feel like these?" What I have now actually feels like rocks under my chest, a.k.a. (according to Arie) man pecks. I can actually make them flex up and down like Hulk Hogan, but I digress. Arie then reached up and put both hands on my boobs. He gave them a few good squeezes, then declared they'd be good for push-ups because they're "ergonomic". We both about died laughing! I never thought of having ergonomic boobs, but I guess that might be the best thing that comes out of this whole mastectomy. My husband will be happy and his hands will never grow weary because his wife's boobs are custom made to fit his palm size! I'd like to think he'd be equally considerate if he were having penis reconstruction. LOL

Changing the World One Little Heartbeat at a Time

Recently my husband was watching our newly-turned-one-year-old twins. He had been watching them for most of the day while I finished up some end-of-year testing with our older, home schooled son. At the end of the day when children were fed, bathed, diapered, dressed, and in bed, my wonderful husband met me in the kitchen where I was continuing to work toward cleaning house at the end of a very long day for the whole family. The words that came from his mouth made me pause and delivered the greatest surprise of the day. With a look of exhaustion, both mental and physical, and a slight sigh he said, "I couldn't do what you do." Short of committing himself to me on the day we were married, when he said, "I do," I believe no other words he's ever spoken to me meant more.

I'm currently reading the book by Dr. Laura Schlessinger entitled In Praise of Stay-at-Home-Moms. Those simple, yet powerful words my husband spoke were just the sort of validation women often need to continue feeling they are making a difference in their family and in the world, when all the world around them is conversely trying to make them feel they are wasting their lives, talents, and educations by being "only a stay-at-home-mom." Well let me tell you, I may not get paid for what I do, but there is no job I'd rather have. There is no job more important, more frustrating, more rewarding, and more vital to the future of our country than people who choose to put their children before the almighty dollar. Like Dr. Laura says, "...the pain and aggravation that go along with...parenting don't feel fulfilling at all. So, that means that tilling the soil, planting the seeds, watering and fertilizing, protecting from the elements, aren't worthwhile activities because in and of themselves they are not fulfilling? How, then, do you ever get a harvest?" She goes on to say that, "Life is just not always fulfilling...yet it is in these efforts that we perfect the world."

I submit that I'm not wasting my education, I'm passing it on to my children and using it to teach them the value of life-long education, all the while helping them learn all the little things along the way that adults take for granted. Mostly, I'm here to love them in a way that no other person could ever do. They will grow-up knowing that Daddy and Mama felt they were more important than having two incomes so that we could spend more money on things we didn't need anyway...and they'll never hear us say something as horrible as I've heard other parents say, even in front of their own children (praying their kids don't hear them when they're saying it)..."I don't know how you do it. I could NEVER stay home with my kids. They would drive me crazy!" I would be heartbroken if our children ever thought we felt that way for one moment. I couldn't be happier to be a SAHM and I will never apologize for not punching a clock. My difference is being made within the walls of the place we all call home.

Being a military family places us in a unique situation.  As active duty members of the military, our spouses are on call 24/7, which truly means the whole family is as well.  We must all be ready to flex and yield to the demands of the mission.  Arie and I decided early on that we were unwilling to place finances and careers above the needs of family.  Since I was active duty at the time we became pregnant with our first son, we made the decision that I would not reenlist.  We strongly believed that it was important for me to provide stability and security for our family in the midst of Daddy's ever-shifting schedule of work, schools, deployments, and TDY's.  It was a difficult transition, but one that we have never regretted making.  I used to feel self-conscious that I was not a financially contributing member of the family.  Now I like to think of it as a change in my mission.

A song by Steven Curtis Chapman reminds me often of why Arie and I chose this life; him active duty and me staying home. This song is called One Heartbeat at a Time. You can watch the beautiful video and listen to the song at the link on You Tube. Here are the lyrics:

One Heartbeat at a Time

You're up all night with a screaming baby
You run all day at the speed of life
And every day you feel a little bit less
Like the beautiful woman you are

So you fall into bed when you run out of hours
And you wonder if anything worth doing got done
Oh, maybe you just don't know
Or maybe you've forgotten

You, you are changing the world
One little heartbeat at a time
Making history with every touch and every smile
Oh, you, you may not see it now
But I believe that time will tell
How you, you are changing the world
One little heartbeat at a time

With every "I know you can do it"
Every tear that you kiss away
So many little things that seem to go unnoticed
They're just like the drops of rain over time
They become a river

And you, you are changing the world
One little heartbeat at a time
Making history with every touch and every smile
Oh, you, you may not see it now
But I believe that time will tell
How you, you are changing the world
One little heartbeat at a time

You're beautiful
You're beautiful
How you're changing the world
You're changing the world

You, you are changing the world
One little heartbeat at a time
Making history with every touch and every smile
Oh, you, you may not see it now
But I believe that time will tell
How you, you are changing the world
Oh, I believe that you
You are changing the world
One little heartbeat
At a time

And you're changing the world

Accentuate the Positive!

While standing face-to-face, looking into the eyes of my loving husband, I quickly popped a dark chocolate into my mouth. With a surprised look on his face, he went into interrogation mode. "Where is it, honey? I need my antioxidants too!" I tried to feign ignorance as he began combing through the pantry in search of his treasure. Stepping away from the pantry, I turned to see him holding a bag of Pepperidge Farm Deli Flats hostage. He gave me a semi flat look and said, "Tell me where they are or the deli flats get it!" I responded sternly that I was not going to find dark chocolate wrappers all over his desk. "I'm rationing them," I said, "and if you step out of the kitchen, I'll get you one." At that point, he mildly gave up and stepped into the garage. I grabbed a piece of the coveted dark chocolate and trotted to the garage. He said thanks as I tossed it to him.

At this point, let me say that the dark chocolates of which I speak are the Dove variety. Specifically, the Dove Silky Smooth Dark Chocolate Promises. Each wrapper contains what is supposed to be an inspiring message.

My husband joyfully opened his wrapper and partook of his prized chocolate. I asked, "What did your wrapper say?" My husband, being the ever witty person he is, looked at the wrapper and said, "Your wife is the devil. How did THAT get in there?" I shot him a shocked, playful look and said, "Okay, what does it really say?" He replied that the real quote was, "Accentuate the positive." I smiled and said sweetly, "Would you like to rephrase your comment?" He didn't skip a beat when he replied, "Your wife is the devil, but she has pink horns?" I about died of laughter at that moment! I love my husband!

It got me to thinking. What am I doing to accentuate the positive in my life? Am I surrounding myself with positive people? Am I creating opportunities for positive interactions with my family, friends, neighbors, and other members of my community? What AM I doing that is purposefully positive?

For starters, I am giving myself permission to take the time to write. It allows me to indulge the creative side of me. Taking the time to nourish myself in that way puts me in the right frame of mind when giving the rest of my time to my family or other endeavors. If I don't take that time for my own peace of mind, then I'm doing a disservice for my family and myself.

I'm also making the time for exercise. It's a challenge for us all. Working around work and/or school schedules and the plethora responsibilities we all seem to have can be daunting. We can come up with endless excuses for why we aren't taking that time, but in the end it's a choice.

Meal thinking is another area for which I'm making time. Why didn't I say meal planning? Planning sounds like it takes SO much time. I think people tend to shy away from meal planning because the mere term intimidates them. We think we just don't have time for that kind of thing and that we must be super organized people to accomplish the task. In truth, it's more important to do "meal thinking". I spend time thinking about the impact my meal is going to have on my body, my plan. I find that if I consider the consequences of having that chicken fried steak or that plate of fried catfish, I'm more likely to choose a healthier option. So, I think about my meals and consider what I need to eat to balance my nutritional intake. It's not hard to remember that I haven't eaten a fruit or vegetable all day, unless of course I'm trying to avoid considering that while I'm pulling my ice cream out of the freezer. My meals turn out more balanced as a result of thinking about what my body's needs are...NOT just what I'm in the mood to taste.

I could go on to list other areas where I'm practicing purposeful positivity. To be honest, there are certainly areas where I'm lacking, but I have to start somewhere. It feels great to be on the road to great health, but I can't become complacent. After all, well begun is half done.

What are you doing to accentuate the positive in your life? I'd love to hear about it.