Christmas from Asia

The last couple weeks have been a whole bunch of crazy. There have been ups and downs... as is life, isn't it? Since I am a woman, I like to blame the vast majority of my madness on my lady business. I mean, men think we're crazy, why not use it to our advantage? Am I right? Even though I think I am entitled to a little crazy now and then, I think a lot of people are giving me much more credit than I deserve.

A lady in my neighborhood, whom I'm told is dealing with her own demons anyway, has been overheard telling people how horribly I'm doing. I've spent a grand total of maybe ten minutes with this woman, but she knows me well... or at least she thinks she does. A friend of mine, whom this lady told I was doing so badly, assured her that I am fine. I'm more than fine... I'm doing pretty well considering the circumstances. She was insistent that I am not. 

So, yeah, Husband is deployed and this is our first Christmas apart. We've been married almost seven years so it's actually kind of a miracle we've skated it this long. Birthdays and anniversaries have been missed as well as a few less important (to me) holidays over the course of our marriage. This might be my first Husband-less Christmas, but it's not my first rodeo.

Luckily because Husband is in Asia instead of the desert, we can FaceTime everyday. We DO FaceTime everyday. The kids get to see him often enough that we don't really miss too much. Husband also got to watch our entire Christmas present-opening extravaganza this morning as you can see above (while I tried to get as many pictures amidst the chaos as possible). I had to stick The Wee in his high chair to save him from attacking Daddy until the big boys were done and then I opened all his presents for him because he didn't give a crap. Husband wasn't there physically, but he was there. He saw everything. He laughed at Bean's reactions and tried to get Cakes' attention when he started wandering or spacing out. He sent me a few things that I opened with just he and I alone in my bedroom, too. One of which was this...

It's a bracelet with puzzle pieces (signifying Cakes' autism, as does the autism awareness bracelet below it) that says "Warrior Mom". I opened it and I cried. He told me that I deserved it and that I was an amazing mom... which is something that, honestly, I long to hear most days when I'm running on empty. Even though I do run on empty sometimes, it doesn't mean I'm incapable. It doesn't mean I'm simply enduring instead of living. Sometimes I'm just exhausted being both mom and dad, but I really wish people would stop assuming that I'm doing so horribly.

There have been people who've lifted my spirits in small ways and I appreciate them more than they can know. I've had a couple people insist on taking my kids so I could have a night off. I've had the snow shoveled from my driveway. I've had treats delivered to my door on several occasions and every single one of them was both needed and appreciated. These little acts of kindness are what keep my spirits up and, in fact, keep me doing better than just "okay". Did I scream into my couch cushion a couple mornings ago when Bean was stressing me out? Absolutely. Twice. But sometimes, something like that is all I need to feel better.

I'm still human; I still need to complain sometimes or cuss at bad drivers or scream into my couch cushions, but I will persevere every single time. I might be a little bit crazy (I think most military spouses are to some degree), but I'm still kicking ass and taking names. What I'm trying to say is, don't underestimate me. Don't underestimate people like me. I'm doing better than you may think (or even more than my late night facebook statuses portray me to be) and even though I miss Husband more than I can even put into words, I will still run over a stroller any day of the week if I have to, to show you who's boss. Run and tell that.

Boys, dude. Boys.

Look how adorable my kids are, dude. I have to give a shout out to FotoFly for the super rad pictures and The Hippie Chick Boutique (who is also my rad friend and fellow military wife) for the super cute shirts that say "All I want for Christmas is Daddy home!". So much rad is wrapped up into this one little picture. And do I even have to mention the miracle that all three of them are not only smiling, but looking at the camera?! Amazing doesn't begin to describe it.

There is a HUGE part of me that is not only excited to have these, but relieved as well. Relieved, you ask? Well, let me tell you a little story.

A couple years ago, Bean (my oldest) fell and knocked his two front teeth on our kitchen floor. We didn't really think much of it. He got a bit of a bloody lip out of it and we hugged him and told him to walk it off and that was that. Sometime later (I'm not sure how much, really), his two front teeth started changing color. I just started brushing the crap out of them thinking it was bad brushing habits. His homies at school were pointing out the odd color of his teeth and I told him his friends were just jealous they weren't as awesome as he was... because that makes the most sense, right? Right.

Fast forward to a few days ago. I sent Bean off to kindergarten as usual. He is walked home by two older boys in the neighborhood from the bus stop everyday, but this particular day I hear a TON of kids at my door as I'm walking up the stairs from the basement to greet him. He's standing over the railing looking at me and 5 or 6 kids are frantically yelling unintelligibly over each other from my door. I look at Bean and notice a black spot in his mouth. As I get closer, I see one of his two front teeth (which were NOT loose, by the way - yes, I've been checking!) is MISSING. Not only is one of them missing, the other one looks like this...

That junk is hanging out, root and all. I yell, "WHERE IS YOUR TOOTH?! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR TEETH?!?!"

He calmly replies, "It got knocked out" as though it was an everyday occurrence. I finally get all the kids to take turns telling me what happened and from what I gathered, he was standing on the bus and got told by the driver to sit down. In the process of trying sit down, he slips and smacks his mouth on the seat in front of him and knocks the tooth out. No one knows where the first one went, but apparently it was pretty bloody and the bus driver stopped to clean him up.

I'm now faced with trying to figure out what to do about that wonky tooth. It was REALLY loose and the root was out on the one side. Ironically, I was in the process of getting our dental insurance in order. Since Husband is deployed, I have to fax in my Power of Attorney along with a bunch of paperwork, but haven't had anything finalized yet. Even so, I needed to see a dentist. I wanted to make sure his jaw was okay and see what needed to be done about all this.

I call a local pediatric dentist and of course, they're closed. Barely. The dentist's cell phone number was listed on the voice mail for emergencies, so I called him in a panic. He only answers "Hello?" and I had forgotten his name and had forgotten to write it down so I reply ridiculously, "Hi... umm... are you a dentist? Because I forgot your name already if you are.". Luckily he was cool and he laughed. I told him our story and he had us come in an hour later to check it out.

After some x-rays, laughing gas and an episode of Phineas and Ferb, Bean had his tooth pulled. Come to find out, the first smack he incurred on our tile when he was two or three had cracked both his teeth in half and the odd color they'd become was because they were dead. Yes, it's true. So, because of them being dead, they popped out easily during this exciting school bus adventure. Bean is only five and his adult teeth are nowhere near ready to come out, so the dentist guessed he'd be toothless for the next two years.

So, I guess he's going to be wanting his two front teeth for another couple of Christmases. He's pumped because his friend said he looks like a pirate... at least he's a cute pirate.

One Uppers

I don't know if you've ever met a military spouse, but we're a bunch of one uppers (most of us, anyway). I'm totally guilty of this nonsense, by the way. I've learned to take it down a notch over the last year or two, but I find myself regularly wanting to one up my very own friends when I sift through my facebook news feed.

It's not even on facebook that I have to bite my tongue. There are a bunch of very well-meaning ladies in my currently civilian-only neighborhood that try to sympathize with me and I find myself having an inner battle to keep my mouth shut. It usually has to do with how long our husbands have been away from us. Now, let me just clarify before I go offending people I know and love... If your husband travels regularly, I know you have an idea what I'm going through. Having no husband around when you actually like the dude is not the funnest junk ever. What I hate is the "Oh, my husband left for ten days once, so I TOTALLY know what you're going through!" type stuff. I have learned to not say it out loud, but here in the anonymity of the interwebs, let me just say... No. No, you don't.

Husband has been gone three months with nine months remaining on his stupid deployment to Asia. I knew this would come eventually. In his career field, it's inevitable. I just had hoped that after him being gone 200+ days a year for the last three years with the air demo team, that they'd let me see his face for longer than a few days before sending him off. In fact, we planned The Wee's pregnancy specifically around him leaving the air demo team so that he could actually watch one of our kids grow up. THANKS UNCLE SAM! YOU DOUCHE!

I just really wish I could stop even having these ultra lame thoughts of wanting... nay... needing to one up people. It's almost like all the hormonal rage I didn't explode all over people in my 29 years wants to come tumbling out of my mouth in one moment. It was at it's all time worst while I was pregnant with The Wee. My best friend's husband was deployed to Afghanistan (also while she was pregnant) and Husband was on a six week tour to Europe at the tail end of our three years of his never-ending travels. I had posted something like "Three weeks down, three to go" and she and I then had a super fun battle of one-upsmanship via my facebook wall. We worked through it, of course. We always do. I just look back and think, why was I arguing with a woman who was about to have her third child without her husband being present while he was in the middle of the desert? Husband was in EUROPE, but I was arguing that I'd had it worse because Husband was gone cumulatively longer than hers. What?! In hindsight, I am really dumb.

So, let's turn my idiocy into a public service announcement, shall we? If you ever run into a military spouse (or you are one who is dealing with another who is like me), just know that she probably doesn't intend on one upping you. If she has even the smallest conscience, she probably also feels bad while doing so or perhaps even after the fact. Sometimes we crave a pat on the back for doing hard stuff alone and go to great (and stupid) lengths to get it. So, pat a military wife on the back sometime. Instead of saying "Oh man, that must be hard for you", say "You are rad. Seriously." and you'll have made her day. Bring her some cookies. Take her kids for a couple hours. Invite her to a girls night out. Just don't give her an opportunity to one up you if you like her even a little bit because chances are, she will take it.

Adorable. Freaking adorable.

This is Bean. He is five. Today I'm going to share with you the ridiculously adorable (but mostly ridiculous) things he says wrong, but I don't have the heart to correct. I know that someday he will be all big and smelly and teenagery, so I'm choosing to cherish this junk as long as possible.

I'm going to have to spell the incorrect words phonetically... both because they aren't real words and so you can get the idea of what it is he's saying. There are a few cute phrases as well. Here we go...

1. Brave-orite (Favorite): "Batman is my brave-orite!"
2. Moozed (Used): "I moozed the crayons at school."
3. Zizzors (Scissors): "I need to cut with the zizzors."
4. Nember (Remember): "I nember him from my old school."
5. Tah-got (Forgot): "I almost tah-got my coat."
6. Reg-yer (Regular): "I want some reg-yer milk." (as opposed to chocolate milk)
7. Mame (Name): "What's your mame?"
8. "I don't know idea."
9. "I don't want to listen to Christmas season right now!" (Christmas music)
10. Mare-cuh (America): "Look at this Captain mare-cuh!"

I know there are a couple more that he says that crack me up, but my brain stops working after 9 PM, of which it is. I will correct him soon... but let me enjoy this for a minute! Jeez.

Free Keurig???

If you wanna win this bad boy, head on over to The Screaming Owl now by clicking the link below and enter their giveaway! Good luck!

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The new "R Word"

When you look at this little boy, what do you see? I see a boy who has a hold of my whole heart. I see a little boy who has one of the best laughs in the entire universe. I see a little boy who has grown more in a year than most people do in a lifetime. I see a little boy who I couldn't live without. I see my sweet little Cakes. Do you know what I don't see when I look at this little boy? Autism. But guess what? He has it.

Tonight while Husband was on his lunch break clear the hell in Asia, we had a quick video chat. He told me a story; a story that both choked me up and infuriated me at the same time. It goes a little bit like this...

Husband recently overheard a conversation in his shop between some guys, one of which was drawing a picture. Somebody asked, "Are you an artist?" and another fellow said "No, he's autistic.". Husband ignored this first encounter. He thought it perhaps seemed innocent and he was irritated, but bit his tongue. Tonight the same fellow was on the computer at work looking for some one on the internet to ask them a question. While doing so, he referred to said person he was in search of as autistic much like the other conversation, but this time in a much more derogatory manner. I can't remember the exact phrase he used as I was in too much shock from hearing the story to recall. This time though, Husband approached him and said "Excuse me, why are you saying that?! My son has autism and it's not [bleeping] funny!"

Autism is not funny. It's heartbreaking and it is not something I'd wish upon anyone. My beautiful little boy does not have an easy life. He goes to full-time preschool Monday through Friday from 9-4. He has two hours of behavioral therapy three days a week. He's done all of this for a year straight. In this year, he went from saying zero words to 15-20 words. He's gone from having a complete meltdown both at home and in public to hardly any meltdowns at all. He's gone from injuring himself when he's overwhelmed or overstimulated to calming himself rationally. He's four years old and he's learned all this. Is he "normal"? No. Has he met the "milestones" set for his age group? No. But you know what? He's by far the smartest kid I know. He may not do typical things the way he's supposed to, but if you met this little boy, you'd understand that he's far beyond his years in intelligence. What's more, this little boy is one of the loves of my life and I will fight to the death for him.

Autism is not a derogatory word, joke or put-down. It is is a developmental disorder that appears in the first 3 years of life, and affects the brain's normal development of social and communication skills. It is not funny. It is not something to be taken lightly. It is not the new "R Word" and I will do my best to make damn sure it never gets to be that way. 

The Wee turns ONE!

This was me about 11 months ago. There was a whole lot of baby in that belly. I have to thank my dear friend Jessica of Gertie Lu Photography for capturing me this way. I don't know how she did it because I did not look like that all the time. Hardly ever for that matter. I was usually wearing sweat pants, one of Husband's shirts, no bra and had food stains on my belly looking entirely disheveled. It's how I roll.

The Wee was a dude we waited awhile for. Husband traveled 200+ days a year from August 2009 to this July as he was on the maintenance crew of The Thunderbirds. He went to airshows anywhere from 5 days a week to six full weeks from March to November every year. Because of all this traveling, it made it hard to think about having babies, let alone conceive them. Not only that, but Husband was the only dude on the team who did his specific job during the vast majority of his three years with them which meant he had to go to every show whether he wanted to or not. Once he found out he had a counterpart arriving by the end of the 2011 season to assist him, we decided it was time.

Luckily for us, I'm friggin' fertile as they come. I removed my birth control March 7th and found out I was pregnant March 22nd. Yeah. True story. So, thus began my pregnancy journey, more or less alone. I knew I wouldn't have Husband home a lot, but that didn't make it any easier with what were then a four-year-old and and almost three-year-old. My pregnancy was rough. I had contractions starting at about 20 weeks and they went through all the way until the day I had him.

The Wee was a STUBBORN baby. He was breech (aka his bum was stuck in my pelvis) for almost all of the third trimester. I tried some weird stuff to get him to flip around. I laid with my butt on the couch and my head on the ground upside down whilst icing The Wee's head where it was positioned in my ribs because my doctor told me that it'd make him turn head down. Um... yeah... all that did was give me some insane contractions and I'm pretty sure I could hear tiny, maniacal laughing inside my stomach. My doctor also suggested I tried acupuncture on my feet because that apparently helps the baby turn, too. Well, it didn't.

I had all my babies at 38 weeks. My doctor knew this and was worried that since The Wee was not flipping around and since I was also dilated to a four at 37 weeks, Doc decided to do a manual aversion. Basically, from the outside of my stomach, they flipped The Wee head down. They gave me a spinal to do so just in case it put him in distress and they needed to do an emergency C-section. That crap felt WEIRD. Even though I had a spinal, I could still feel the two doctors performing the aversion squeezing the ever-loving shiz out of my stomach as well as The Wee slithering from one position to another. I was a little bit loopy at this point and I remember saying "Have you guys seen Alien? It feels like that's what's going on with my stomach right now, dude! Something wild is going to pop out of there!"  I'm cool. Now you know at least one very good reason why I don't drink.

All went well with the aversion though and I hoped they'd just induce me then so that he wouldn't flip back around, but they made me wait until my 38 week mark to do so. The morning I hit 38 weeks, my doctor called me and told me to come to L&D to have my membranes stripped. If you don't know what it is, you're lucky. That shiz is PAINFUL. Not only did she do it once, she did it twice within ten minutes. Awful. Freaking. City. She checked me again before I left and said I was maybe dilated to 4.5 and said to come back if I had any close contractions later that day and that if I did, she'd just admit me anyway to make sure The Wee didn't try to flip the wrong way again.

We were stationed in Las Vegas at that point and my parents lived about 6-7 hours from us. My mom and one of my sisters drove down after I told them about my morning just in case I went into labor because they were going to sit with my other two boys while I was at the hospital. About an hour before they arrived, I went to the grocery store to get a few things I needed. I figured the walking around couldn't hurt anyway. As I'm pacing the grocery store with my cart, I start contracting. I'm talking awful contractions. I was already there, though, and I wasn't leaving without my needed items because I'm stubborn like that. I'd stop every 6 minutes and bend over while holding the cart and moan louder than some people probably liked. I got some weird looks and I got asked if I needed an ambulance at some point. I just waved and yelled "I'M GOOD!" and would keep going once the contraction wore off. I pushed my cart to my car and then screamed as I loaded my groceries into my trunk. I can only imagine being a witness to this madness... typing it right now sounds pretty freaking hilarious as I recall how it may have been for a bystander.

I finally got home and called my doc to see if I should come in at which point I was told yes. My mom and sister were still not there, so my rad neighbor took my boys until they arrived. Because they don't let you eat at the hospital while you're in labor, I stopped at Jack in the Box on the way to the hospital with Husband. I chowed down in discomfort and moaned/screamed my way all the way up to L&D.

Once we arrived, I was admitted and was definitely dilated quite a bit more than I when I was there earlier. Once my doc arrived, I was told I had to wait until I got to a 7 before I could get my epidural. My anesthesiologist, as it turned out, was married to a lady who went to my high school, but was like 5 years older than me. So, we talked about that and cupcakes. Retro Cupcakes to be exact. If you're ever in Las Vegas... EAT THEM. They will melt your face. Once my epidural was done, however, I dilated to a ten VERY quickly.

Six hours after my arrival to the hospital, I had The Wee at 11:36 PM. 7 lbs 10 oz and 20 inches long. It was funny because my sister text me like 5 minutes after I gave birth to ask how things were going and I replied "I just pushed that dude out a few minutes ago. Updates soon.". She was pretty shocked that I'd responded when I was still being cleaned up from all that mess. Meh, whatever.

So this brings me to today...

The Wee is ONE today! This dude is, by far, my chillest baby. He's happy all the time and he is a major smarty pants. I am constantly impressed by how rad he is. This picture was taken yesterday, so it is the most recent portrayal of the cuteness that is The Wee. I love him bad. I know that's not grammatically correct, but I don't care. It's how much I love him.

I'm sad that Husband couldn't be here to partake in his first birthday, but we had cake last weekend in which Husband was able to witness via FaceTime. God bless Steve Jobs and his Appley friends. So grateful for the technology that makes all this happy junk possible. So, Happy Birthday WEEEEEE!!! We love your whole little face!!

My spazzy sleeping habits

I have always had a problem with sleep walking and talking in my sleep. My dad said that when I was little, you could walk into my room at 11:00 PM and on the DOT, I'd start talking. I don't really know why, but it's just one of those super awesome things I do.

After I had my three boys, I did another awesome thing in my sleep. I'd usually have them sleep in our bed for the first couple weeks after being born until we got them on a schedule. Every single time I'd finally move them out of our bed with all three of them, I'd "wake up" in the middle of the night (aka sleep walking) ripping the blankets and sheets off our bed looking for the babies. I'd be freaking the freak out, screaming "Where's the baby?!" all the while Husband was sleepily trying to get me to chill out. I usually would snap out of my sleep walking frenzy and lay back down.

Another time, I was really into a ridiculous facebook game called Cafe World. It was short lived, but when you're a stay at home mom and Husband is traveling 5+ days a week (at the time anyway), you do what you can to keep your mind busy. I'm not proud of it. Once while Husband was actually home, I arose amidst my slumber and ran to the top of the stairs screaming "They're here! They're here! They have guns, they're going to rob us!" which obviously shot Husband out of bed in a panic. He ran to where our gun was locked up and loaded it and eased his way quietly downstairs to check on what I'd be screaming about, all the while I'd laid back down and was fast asleep. When he came back after evaluating the lack of people with guns, he asked me what my problem was. Turns out I was dreaming my virtual Cafe was being robbed and I'd acted it out while totally passed out.

Last night, Bean woke up to bad dreams and came to sleep in my bed. He took Husband's empty spot next to me and we both went back to sleep. At some point I had a dream that there were TWO Beans. One was real and the other was an imposter of the spy persuasion. I'm not sure what exactly I'd done in my sleep, but I woke myself up holding the sides of Bean's sleeping face and had been yelling something at him, though I'm not sure what. I was startled awake by the sound of my own yelling. I have no idea how Bean slept through it, but I'm glad he did. I really need a reality show of just me sleeping. I'm pretty sure I'd be rich.

Beanisms

My five-year-old says some CRAZY junk. I had to document said junk for future blackmail as well as for your entertainment. So thus begins the Beanisms (at least the ones I can remember, anyway)...

Upon seeing a wiener dog: That thing is so cute, I might DIE. 

Me: You know you're awesome, right?
Bean: Yeah. I know you're beautiful, 'specially for dad. 

Bean: Mom, do you like helping kids? 
Me: Yes, sometimes, why?
Bean: Can you help one now? (Long pause and a sigh) It's me. 

My sister is watching my kids while I'm taking a night off. Bean rubs up against her unshaven leg...
Bean: I think you might be turning into a boy!
Sister: Why?!
Bean: Because you have hair on your legs!

Me: You're my favorite five-year-old.
Bean: Ugghh... I KNOW.

I was crying (happily) because some one anonymously paid to fix our car.
Bean: Did some one die? 

I got home from a party I did for the direct sales company I'm a consultant for. Bean shows me the above picture as he's cuddle up next to the cute, blonde teenage girl who babysat him and yells, "MOM! It's me and her! She told me she LIKES me! She's my lady!"

We pulled off the freeway to go to my parents for dinner. A homeless guy was standing next to the exit holding a sign asking for money. I said nothing, as this was a common occurrence at our last military base in Las Vegas. Bean: Looks like that guy needs a job. 

I'm certain I'll recall more or add more as he says more random stuff. So, this list will probably grow over time. For now, that's all I've got. He's so rad.

What happens on the freeway, stays on the freeway?

I was an obnoxious kid. I can't say that I've overcome this particular trait entirely, unfortunately. I was the kid who did weird stuff to embarrass my mom at the grocery store. I did a lot of weird stuff by myself at the grocery store, actually. Exhibits A & B...

This was me about 8 years ago. This character was lovingly named Regina Phalange. I'd wear a hoodie and stick my friend's dummy head used for practicing hair cuts in the hood on top of my own dome. I can't tell you how many times my friends and I got booted from stores for rocking Regina. I once walked through Wal-Mart (you know, since this kind of stuff seems normal there) as Regina yelling "I'M BEAUTIFUL!" while my friend held my hand and led me along because, despite popular belief, I can't see a damn thing in there. I'd imagine my friend should have felt more embarrassment than I did, but usually whoever was with me was cool with it.

This is a really long introduction to the really short story I have to tell. So, yeah... I'm pretty obnoxious from time to time. Not as much now that I'm 29 as when I was younger, but the trait hasn't completely dissipated.

Earlier today, I had to run an errand about fifteen minutes from my home with my sister's company. We got on the freeway and started our journey. We're chatting about nothing in particular when we pull beside a school bus. I glance over as I'm driving due to a lot of movement out of my periphery. I then see what I'd guess is a nine or ten year old girl waving hysterically as she smiled at me with crazed eyes. Most adults would shake their head and ignore the kid... not me.

I matched her expression as best as I could, but I'm pretty sure mine was more maddening. I waved as though my life depended on it and my eyes got wider and my smile got crazier. Soon, this little girl not only stopped, but she looked confused and, dare I say, a little bit scared. I'm not sure if I taught this little girl a lesson or scarred her for life today, but either way... mission accomplished.

Freaking Telemundo

The title of this post might seem way more off-putting than it's actually intended to be. When I shake my fist at Telemundo, it's not for the reason you'd think.

We subscribe to Comcast for our cable and internet needs at our current location with the good old Air Force. We have way too many channels for our needs, but it's nice on nights when I just need to stay up late by myself to regain some of the sanity I've lost throughout the day. Honestly, if I could only subscribe to 15 of the fuhfillion channels we have, I'd be happy... but that's not how cable works.

In the amazing age of technology, Comcast has an iPhone app that connects your cable box directly to your phone and essentially turns your iPhone into a remote control. This seemed ingenious initially; especially considering I lose my remote fairly regularly, whereas I have my phone attached to me at all times.

Husband has this app on his phone too, but he's in Asia where his phone is essentially now just an iPod until he comes back home. You'd think that this wouldn't make a difference, right? WRONG. Husband can, in fact, change the channels on my TV here in the good old United States all the freaking way from Asia via wifi. His channel of choice? Telemundo. He'll do it most times if I'm video chatting with him while the TV is on in the background. He has, however, done it at random when we're not talking and when I least expect it.

Husband has been known to do some weird stuff in his sleep (although not as weird as me, but that's another story for another day). Yesterday, I had turned Adventure Time on for the kids so I could get some work done, but only left it on for a moment before I popped one of Cakes' favorite movies in. After the movie ended, I switched the TV back to cable and the channel was on Telemundo. FREAKING TELEMUNDO!!!! The best part? Husband was in Asia, sleeping. He doesn't remember doing it, but I'm certain he sleep telemundo'd me. If I could hi-yah him through the interwebs like he invaded my TV, it'd have been done by now. Believe it. In the mean time, a fist shake will have to suffice.

Holy. Crap.

Bean is terrified of the dark. We've only lived at our current residence since August, so I think he's still getting used to the fact that he not only has a new bedroom, but that he no longer shares it with Cakes like he did at our last house. He's actually asked for bunk beds several times because then Cakes can sleep with him again and keep him company. We'll only be here until next August, so I'm just hoping that he'll get to the point where it's not a big deal.

Since Husband left, Bean has found his way upstairs (his room is in the basement) and into my bed on several occasions when he's had a bad dream or heard a weird noise. He sleeps like a freaking crazy person, so I've grown accustomed to starting my nights out with a pillow laying vertically next to me so that if he does get in my bed, he only kicks the pillow instead of me. It's not ideal, but it's better than getting throat chopped by a little foot.

Usually when Bean does come upstairs though, he is loud. He's a stomper and he stomps wherever he goes, but especially when he's tired. Plus his stomping usually includes a loud, whiny "Moooooom! I had bad dreeeeeeams!!!!". Last night, however, was different.

Around 5:30 this morning, The Wee started crying from his crib. He's slowly getting better about sleeping through the night, so this is about the time he wakes for a new diaper and a bottle. I usually lay there for a couple minutes trying to get the motivation to tend to him. This morning as I laid there trying to gain said motivation, I open my eyes only to see Bean wide-eyed and inches from my face, staring me down. I jumped out of my bed quicker than I think I have ever jumped out of it in my life. He scared the CRAP out of me. I stood there next to my bed for a second watching him as he continue to lay there silently staring at me. I was too stressed out to make sure he was breathing in that moment, so I ran to make The Wee's bottle.

As I'm making sure The Wee is taken care of, Bean starts chanting in a weird, monotone voice, "Five. Two. Seven. Five. Two. Seven." at which point I almost lost it. I literally thought, "I should stop watching American Horror Story because I'm fairly certain my son is now possessed.". I walk into my room slowly to see what he's doing. He's facing the clock as the time changes. He now starts chanting "Five. Two. Eight. Five. Two. Eight.". It was just the time! 

Holy. Crap. I don't know how he not only made it upstairs quietly, but climbed into bed without me noticing. Consider this the scariest morning I've had in a LONG time.

How to deal with a military family

I've noticed an odd trend lately and it compelled me to write an impromptu how to post. The trend I speak of is "civilians" not having a clue how to handle me or my family. I will say, however, that this is not true for everyone. There are a couple super rad chicks in my neighborhood that I don't have to censor myself around and that have brought me treats and/or company in my time of need. As for everyone else, this is for you.

Husband is gone for another 10 months. Is this hard? Yes. Is this frustrating? Yes. Do I want to talk about it every spare second of my day? No. This is the first time I've lived in a civilian-only neighborhood in six years. On a military base, I've found that most people not only know what you're going through, but some of them are going through it with you. They don't act as though this is the hardest thing you'll ever endure, they just ask if you need anything and you take turn watching each others kids so you can have a break. You have dinner together, your kids play together, you whine together on bad days and laugh your faces off on a good days.

Here, I've found that's so very different. People don't know what to say so they either don't say anything or they try to be empathetic which sometimes comes off very awkwardly. I can appreciate the effort, but I'd rather that they say "Hey, if you're not doing anything, (insert fun alternative to my intense boredom here)!" instead of "I don't know how you do it!" or "You poor thing!". My situation is one where I don't think about how I do it, I just do it. There's not much to it besides that. My kids still have to eat and bathe and go to school, so I make all that happen. While I appreciate the sympathy, I'd rather we go to lunch or get ice cream. The sympathy is actually, most days, counterproductive to my attitude.

I just want to make it clear that these people are GOOD people and I appreciate every single one of them regardless of how they react to me and my situation. I just want to make it known that you don't have to talk about it... treat me like you'd treat any other person you'd encounter. Just don't judge me when I cuss or mention my intense need to hi-yah one of my kids when they're being naughty.

Hide your kittens.

This evening has been one of those times where I want to punch a whole liter of kittens. Bean has been a mouthy punk and it's disappointing because I've gone out of my way to be extra gooey and reinforce him positively all day.

You see, ever since Husband left for Asia, Bean has had an intense separation anxiety. He has improved slightly over the last two months, but he has days where he just suddenly decides to stick it to the man (a.k.a. me). What's interesting is when he gets in these funks, he also refuses to talk to Husband.

This episode began when Bean arrived home from school. He came in the door and decided he didn't want to do homework. He missed school yesterday due to a stomach bug over the weekend, so we had to get on top of it to be sure to catch up since his teacher thinks he needs more homework than my 16 year old brother. As he's writing the numbers two and seven over and over, he looks at me and says "The jerkface kid at school told me to call my friends names, so I missed recess!" I told him it wasn't cool to call people names, especially if jerkfaces said it was. I also told him to stop calling the jerkface a jerkface and if I heard he was being naughty again, I'd wash the naughty words out of his mouth with soap.

This threw him into hysterics. I'm talking, he slammed a couple drawers and the pantry door. As calmly as I could, I told him to knock it off... "or else!". He then screamed in a high pitched, demonic voice, "I DO WHAT I WANT!". This initially created three reactions in me simultaneously. The first was, of course, kitten punching. The second was the urge to laugh. The third was, "Crap. I need to stop saying that out loud."

The night continued with a bunch of his mouthy junk and a bunch of me trying to calm him in a way that helped him see that I understood why he was frustrated, but that it was still not okay that he was acting that way. Then Husband calls via FaceTime. Husband prefers that we turn off all the electronics in the joint when he calls because every single one of us has, at one time or another, gotten distracted and ignored what he was saying. So, as my phone rang, I turned off the show Bean was watching.

Bean throws himself on the ground, sticks his face in a pillow, screams and kicks his legs like a crazy person. I just ignored him and talked to Husband as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. I told him after Cakes and I had gotten our chats in that if he didn't talk to his dad, I wouldn't turn the show on. He ran away and refused and then screamed in his demon voice again that I couldn't make him do anything and he wasn't scared of me. I promptly got off the phone with Husband and almost literally (but not literally) threw him in his bed. Once he was in his bed, he screamed, "IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!". Well, I'm not sure what exactly "it" is, but I don't care anymore tonight. I was glad that I got him in bed a half hour early so I could watch Cupcake Wars in peace.

The Jeep that kills dreams

This is Husband's Jeep. It is ginormous. The picture really doesn't do justice to the magnitude of giganticness it beholds. One of my best friends is on the small side (she comes to my shoulder and I'm 5'9"). She stood next to the Jeep after Husband purchased it and noticed that the bottom of the door was above her waist and said, "This thing is taller than my v****a!". So perhaps that can give you a visual. Maybe not the right one, though.

ANYWAY... This thing was made to rock crawl. It can climb rocky terrain with ease. I had my first experience as such just a few short days ago.

I have these kids that live across the street from me that, I've gotta be honest, I'm not a fan of. One of them is mean to Bean every single time they encounter, so I tend to avoid them at all costs and send Bean to other friends' houses when he's hankering to play. These kids also leave their crap everywhere. I've found random articles of clothes (socks and shirts being the most frequent), toys, a TV remote and their razor scooters in my yard more times than I can count. All I can say is that I'm thankful I'm only renting this joint until Husband returns from Asia, because if I had to endure this craziness any longer, I might spaz out.

Last Friday evening, I was due to meet a friend for dinner. We'd had plans for at least a month. My two little sisters were going to watch my dudes, but were also due at a family function elsewhere, so I let them take my Xterra where all the car seats are so that they could take the dudes with them. I don't drive the Jeep much. I start it every week so it won't die, but I think I've only driven it once to the gas station since husband deployed. So, this was going to be my first real drive in it since we left our last military base.

Back tracking, I go walking every weekday morning with one of my homies and our kids. After I put Cakes on his bus, I stuff Bean and The Wee into my old, crappy double stroller and we walk for an hour. This stroller sucks. It sucks bad. It squeaks and it always veers to the right even when you're trying to push it straight. I hate this stroller, but I couldn't afford to replace it, so meh... whatever. After each walk, I park this beast (fully assembled) behind the Jeep. This is where the story resumes.

In my hurry to get to dinner, I totally spaced that the stroller was behind the Jeep. I backed out with ease and I did feel as though I was running over something... but it only felt like something the size of a razor scooter. The very scooters that are left in my yard from time to time. As I recounted this story briefly on facebook, I mentioned that I was slightly happy with this because I am, from time to time, a horrible person. I should have gotten out and looked, but my smug attitude kept me rolling. It didn't feel like much at all.

As I leave my driveway and hit the stop sign at the end of my street, a neighbor stops me and points behind me saying, "Is that YOURS?!". I look behind me to see my still fully assembled, mangled double stroller dangling behind me. Yes, yes it is. I couldn't believe that I had not only run it over, but that I'd mistaken it for a freaking razor scooter! How is that even possible?! Well, I assure you, it is.

As you can see, it leans to the left now instead of the right. So much so, that the front right tire no longer touches the ground and it falls over whenever you try. I know it doesn't look as bad in pictures as it does when you try to actually PUSH this thing, but I assure you... it not longer works. Luckily for me, I was able to barter for a used double stroller that actually works even better than this one did before I ran it over.

Wake up call

Around 2 AM last night, Bean comes into my room screaming "WHY IS IT BROWN?!?!". I was super disoriented and had no idea what he was talking about or what time it was; I just knew I wanted him to knock it off so I could sleep. He stands at the foot of my bed ripping his shirt off and continues screaming his random question. After I get him quiet and calm enough, I've come to find that he has thrown up in his sleep.

I clean him up and then walk downstairs to evaluate the situation. I smelled it before I saw anything. I walk into his room to find that he did indeed vomit and it was indeed brown. It looked like a gallon of chunky chocolate soup had been spewed on his pillow, mattress and wall. Yes, the wall... which had dripped angrily on to the carpet. I lifted up his pillow to take the case off for washing to find that the entire left side of the pillow had absorbed and was dripping in puke. Awesome.

I took all the sheets off and left the pillow inside the massive mess and just threw it in the washing machine as quickly as I could since I was holding my breath in an effort not to puke myself. I then wiped the wall and carpet down with Lysol wipes and then sprayed it down with Lysol spray to be doubly sure that it was clean and hopefully no longer smelly.

After all was said and done, I washed my hands and went back to bed with Bean at my side (and a giant bowl at his). Then, an hour later, Bean gets up to pee. I sat up from my bed and glanced over at him in the master bath to witness him then both pee and puke at the same time. I'm going to have to say, I was impressed. His aim during both was nothing short of amazing. If there were awards for such a thing, he'd take first place. The rest of the day has been about the same. Let's hope tonight fares better.

To pee or not to pee

Tonight as I was bathing Cakes, my mind ran across something that it actually bumps into often at bath time. I have no idea if I'm just totally odd or if this is something a lot of parents think about. With Cakes having autism, he's not especially verbal. He has a handful of words he knows and uses, but the vast majority of what comes out of his mouth is screams (the majority being happy/excited) or gibberish. Because of this, a lot of  what should be easy tasks to the "typical" kid are not so for Cakes.

For example, he is four years old and is not potty trained. I think he grasps the dynamics of what it's all about, but I don't think he understand how to make his own body perform the function. This is not for lack of trying, however. Both his teachers and aides at school as well as his in-home therapist take him to the bathroom several times a day and have charts breaking down each step of the process. In his four years, though, he's only actually peed in the potty twice. Two nights ago... he peed in the bathtub right after I took him off the potty.

This lead me to wonder: how many times has Cakes (or any of my kids for that matter) peed in the tub without my knowledge and I totally bathed them in it? Have I done it? I mean, I know urine is sterile, but that is still unnerving to think about. Gross.

Well, here we are...

I have this problem where I'm an over-poster on facebook and I think that at least half my friends list has me hidden from their news feed. I needed a place to say what the heck it is I'm thinking about right now for people who may feel the same way. I'm going to have a plethora of subjects to (more than likely) complain about, but in one of those upbeat ways that will perhaps help people relate. Or you know... not. Either way, here it is in all it's glory. Hot, right? Right.

So, I may as well introduce myself and the folks I'll be speaking about frequently.  Me... I'm the Rachie. In reality, I really freaking hate it with a fiery passion when people I don't know and/or don't like call me Rachie. Consider it a privilege to refer to me in such a manner (because I'll probably tell you to stop otherwise). I'm an unconventional military wife of the LDS persuasion. I like to use substitute cuss words when I'm not actually cussing my face off. I'm a mom of three super cute dudes and I'm a little bit out of my mind. Some people think I'm funny. I find that that's only true when I'm not trying.

Husband. He's in the air force and he's rad as crap. Is crap rad? I don't know. Just know I love him a whole bunch and he melts my face. He's currently deployed until next fall somewhere in Asia. Where in Asia? Wouldn't you like to know.

Bean. He's my eldest child. He's in kindergarten and he is a character. He says some of the most random stuff that is almost always good for a laugh. He's got a temper, but when he's lovey, he loves hard. He makes me want to punch kittens a lot of days, but I wouldn't trade him for anything.

Cakes. He's the second dude of three. He has a super power as far as I'm concerned. Most people may disagree... society calls him autistic. I call him my hero. He has amazed and shocked me more than any one soul has.

The Wee. He's a mega chubby baby guy. He's wants to party like a grown man, I've come to find. He's all up in everyone's business and walking around like being a baby was so five minutes ago. People don't say that anymore; I'm bringing it back. I like to smooch his chunky cheeks and I'm excited to see what kind of crazy junk he'll come up with the bigger he gets.

My family is my life and I will fight to the death for them. Here I will be word vomiting as I see fit and if you feel like indulging in my nonsense... take a seat. Enjoy.