Left Meets Right

I'm facing a political struggle.  I'm fairly vocal about my political beliefs and don't have a whole lot of issue arguing with others who are vocal about their own (different) political opinions.  In fact, I think it's good fun.

....however...

Now we've moved to the political hotspot of our nation, and while Virginia turned blue during the election (thank goodness), most of my old friends and a few family members are quite conservative.  To a fault.  If I'm diving into the Pacific, they are backstroking in the Atlantic.  Back in Michigan, I had little problem sparring with various friends who had differing political beliefs (although there were only a few, as most folks I knew there were quite liberal). 

But being here is different.  And this political climate is different.  Conservatives, Republicans, Tea Party-ers...they actually seem to HATE our President rather than just disagree with him.  There is an animosity, a vitriole that I never saw exhibited toward Clinton.  And it gets my hackles up.  So I get fired up and want to debate.  Especially when I see really poorly-thought-out, misleading and misinformed posts by people on Facebook.  Normally I engage, but these days I've been holding back.  As Adam has put it, "You live here now.  You have to find a way to get along with everyone, which probably means putting your political dialogue by the wayside." That's not exactly normal for me--keeping my thoughts to myself (hahaha)--but I suspect he might be right.

So, for now, I'm keeping mum, keeping calm.  But this leftie is still steaming inside.

It's Been So Long I Almost Forgot My Password

Not really, but I was nervous for a minute there.

Not that I expect that anyone really reads this blog, but my humble apologies for keeping my non-existent audience waiting for the past month and change.   We packed up our Michigan selves and made the twelve-plus hour trip to parts southeast-ward, finally settling in our new abode in Virginia, my old stomping ground from 15+ years ago.  As Adam has finally gotten me to admit, I have mixed feelings about this move...happiness to have our family back together under one, permanent roof; and to be close to both sets of relatives; and to have moved somewhere thriving with possibilities for all of us...sadness to be away from friends, community and employment I had in Michigan.

You give, you take.

But things are good here for the most part.  We have great wildlife in our backyard--a red fox, an amazing songbird community, a Northern Harrier, and (supposedly, though we haven't seen them yet) eagles and deer. Great viewing for this unemployed wildlife biologist!

B is overjoyed to have her dad back in her life on a daily basis, and the feeling is mutual.  Now she's gotten so used to him being around (and being a short walk from his office) that she gets annoyed when he doesn't come home for lunch.  I'm grateful life has suddenly gotten so easy for her, considering how much she's dealt with the last few years.

I'm typing now while Ads is trying to sleep, so I'll sign off for now and write more tomorrow.  Tomorrow we get our Christmas tree so perhaps I'll have some pix to post.

Back before another month passes by...

Movin' On East

Our Move, by the numbers:

6 more days of work left

5 different good-bye lunches and 1 farewell party

12 more days here in the place that has been our home for the last 10 years

Countless friends and memories to carry in my heart

Zero tears shed as we say good-bye

One big fat lie (see above)

In Sickness and In Health

Two weeks ago, I did the unthinkable--I ate a cookie.

Such a simple and benign act turned into two weeks of gastrointestinal hell.  But, let me start from the beginning.

One Tuesday evening, after a filling dinner, I treated Bryony and myself to our sometimes-treat of two sandwich creme cookies.  My preference is for the Newman's Own brand, because their products are organic with easy-to-pronounce ingredients.  Newman's Own uses plain old sugar, rather than some kind of high-processed corn syrup that will one day result in my growing another leg.  But, I digress.  That night, I ate a peanut butter sandwich cookie, while Bryony stuck to her usual Oreo-style vanilla creme chocolate sandwich cookies.  It wasn't until she was in bed and I was working on the computer some three hours later that I started to feel uncomfortable.  At first, it was just gas, which I cast off as indigestion.  But, by the time I went to bed, I was in full-fledged abdominal pain, complete with cramping, bloating, gas, and chills.  I rocked in bed, moaning and groaning, for the better part of the night. 

By the time Wednesday morning arrived, my stomach felt mildly better, but I was extremely tired from lack of sleep, and dragged my way through the day.  Eventually my coworkers sent me home from work halfway through the day because they said I was starting to turn "green."  I came home and slept for several hours before I had to pick up Bryony from school.  I woke up from the nap feeling refreshed and much better.  I wrote off the stomach cramps as just a 24-hour bug, and proceeded to carry on with the evening.  At some point, I got a phone call from the local grocery store (they have an automated computer call you) informing me that the Newman's Own Peanut Butter sandwich cookies I'd purchased had been recalled due to the salmonella outbreak.  Ahhhh, I thought.  Now it all made sense.  But wasn't I so lucky to have  only suffered from the food poisoning for one day?  Then I ordered spicy tacos from the food truck at the Farmers Market.  Big mistake.  Big.  Huge. 

Wednesday night was (as my brother would say) the mad beast.  If I had thought Tuesday night was awful, Wednesday night put me on a whole different playing field.  I got zero sleep due to the almost unmanageable cramping, and I finally ended up behind the computer, postin gupdates about my condition to Facebook friends who happen to be up and looking at their newsreel at 6am.  Then I e-mailed my supervisor to tell her I would not be in that day.  I let Bryony sleep in, and after taking her to school, I came home and slept all day long, with NPR speaking soothingly to me as I napped.

And so it went.  Friday I woke up feeling somewhat better so I went to work for a half day, then went home to rest.  By Friday night I was a mess once more, and Saturday wasn't much better.  Sunday, however, found me feeling almost back to my normal self, which was encouraging for a number of reasons, the least of which was the absence of pain.  Since I'd been sick, I'd been unable to eat much beyond the BRAT (Bananas, rice, applesauce, toast) diet; in fact, I couldn't bear the smell of food, which meant that Bryony wasn't eating much beyond BRAT, either.  I felt so bad for her.  Even worse, however, was my general lack of energy and ability to truly be her mother.  I felt like I was basically a zombie for three straight days, letting her watch movies endlessly just so I could sleep uninterrupted on the couch.  Even she seemed to get cabin fever, and the dogs got so restless they ended up in two fights in one day.  It was a difficult weekend.

I went back to work on Monday, and life seemed normal again.  Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday...all good.  Then, I woke up on Saturday feeling...not...quite...right.  All I wanted to do was lie in my bed and send Bryony off to be parented by jolly elves, but alas, we had a pancake breakfast fundraiser to attend, so away we had to go.  I felt miserable at the restaurant, hungry for food, but nauseous at the smell.  Someone pushed coffee my way, which usually I would have chugged at 9:00am, but instead sat untouched that morning.  We went home afterward, and I became Zombie Mum once more, lying sick on the couch while Bryony was allowed to watch countless movies.  How could this have returned???  It felt unreal, and yet, there it was.  Sunday, I cancelled plans with a friend because I felt so ill, then ended up feeling better mid-day so I rescheduled our meetup.  I was sure I was on the mend, but by Sunday night I was sicker than I'd been throughout this entire ordeal--migraine so bad I couldn't open my eyes to look at my daughter, abdominal cramps, bloating, diarrhea, chills, fever.  I put Adam on the phone as I crawled into bed next to Bryony, and somewhere in the recesses of my pounding brain, I had the thought that this was how I was going to die.  The thought was heartbreaking because I couldn't bear the idea of Bryony waking up next to her dead mother in the morning.  Somewhere in the course of belaboring this, I fell asleep.

And then, just like that, it was over.  I went to the doctor because it seemed a good idea to get some tests run, just in case.  They all (blood and stool analysis) came back free and clear of any problems.  That was simultaneously relieving and frustrating.  Surely something was wrong with me...right?

And so now I'm on the other side of it all, back to the "health" part of the vow.  Adam's pretty darn lucky he wasn't around for the "in sickness" part this time.  He might not have wanted to wait around for the "health" part to show up.

Erie and Au Sable

We got dogs!  Probably not the smartest choice in light of an upcoming move and my current "single mother, full-time employee" status, but despite the challenges and sometimes frustration, we are very happy and excited about our new family members. 

"Dina" was a 2-year old yellow lab I had been checking out on the county animal control's website for several days, pitching the idea to Adam (who, from a distance, kinda sorta melted...).  I took Bryony to the shelter to meet her and she captured both our hearts, so we put a reservation on her.  Adam came in the following weekend to move our household goods back to the new house in Virginia.  As we were driving from the airport straight to the shelter to pick up "Dina," he suggested we consider adopting a second dog to keep her company.  I was caught off-guard, but thought, "Well, why not?"  So once at the shelter, he noticed "Meha" a little 5-month old black lab mix.  We took both dogs out of their crates for a meet-and-greet and they played well together.  It was a done deal.

Bryony was thrilled when we showed up at school that afternoon, not only with Dad in the car, but with two BIG surprises.  The look on her face was priceless. 

Life with two dogs has been chaotic, surprising, frustrating, but even more, fulfilling.  I especially enjoy having quiet time in the evenings with them, as well as the lunchtime walks when I leave work to come home and walk them.  I don't enjoy the process of housebreaking, however.

We renamed the dogs a couple days after adoption.  It was important to me to name them after pieces of Michigan, since we would be leaving this state that has been our home for a decade.  After much trial and error, we finally landed on Erie (the yellow lab, formerly Dina) and Au Sable (the black lab mix, formerly Meha).  They already come to their new names just a month after becoming part of our family.

The cats are not as happy as we are about this new normal, but we are trying to coax them into acceptance.  We also have baby gates erected around the house so the cats have some room of their own, separate from the overly-curious dogs.

So, Erie and Au Sable.  Welcome home.

Strange Bedfellows

I've always really liked that adage, and so I'm psyched to finally use it for a blog post.  But, I digress.

Since The Great Move of 2012, aka Adam and I packing up the majority of our things so he and his brother could move them to the new house in Virginia, Bryony and I have been left with a few items to live on for the remaining two months we have in Michigan.  Granted, we have the majority of our furniture since we plan to rent the house out furnished, but Adam did move both Bryony's and our beds.  So, mother and daughter now share a very comfortable (I splurged and bought the best Bed Bath and Beyond could offer) pillowtop air mattress.

There are a few challenges that have arisen with this new sleeping arrangement, although not what one might expect.  Bryony has a difficult time with going to bed if I'm not yet ready to join her.  I don't know if it's the foreign-ness of the air mattress, or my bedroom, but she does not like falling asleep in there alone.  Several times I find her standing quietly at the doorway, peeking out at me while I clean, job-hunt or work on the computer.  The final night of the Democratic National Convention, I found her secretly watching Obama's speech from the bedroom.  Knowing she wasn't going to sleep anytime soon, I decided to let her watch it with me, to which she responded, "It's President Obama!!  He's a good guy, Mom."  No, I didn't make that up.

The weirder aspect of sharing a bed with my three-year old is on par with the weirdness Adam experiences from sharing a bed with me.  Bryony (like I do) talks in her sleep.  It is so incredibly bizarre to wake up to my child trying to hold a conversation with me while she's still sleeping.  She laughs, she's sarcastic, she's bossy...all while her eyes are closed.  She's come out with little gems like, "Mo-oooom, why are you still napping??" and "I want my truck!" (referring to a toy I'd put on the shelf before bed the night before).  This morning I woke to her declaring, "I'm all done with this!"  What, I'm not sure, but she was very adamant about it.

My biggest concern is whether we'll be able to transition her back into her own bed once we've moved to Virginia, especially since she'll finally be in a toddler bed instead of a crib.  Too many big changes all at once, I'm afraid.  Then again, if she's in our bed, maybe Adam can finally get some sleep.  She and I can sleep talk to each other, and leave him out of it.

What Makes Soup a Stew?

I knew I had a ton of vegetables in the fridge that needed to be used, so I had an idea this evening to make a pot of veggie stew.  I didn't have a recipe to work from (I usually don't enjoy following them anyway) so I started improvising.  I wanted a nice, savory broth with a little sweet, so after sauteeing eggplant, patty pan squash, yellow bell pepper, onion, wax beans, red potatoes, carrot and garlic, I added a bit of water and copious amounts of vegetable buillion paste.  It was very strong and salty, to the point I got nervous that I had added too much.  But once the veggies started to simmer on a very low heat, and I added tomatoes, the sweet began to blend quite nicely with the savory salty broth.  I accompanied the stew with some lovely raisin-pecan bread from Stone Circle Bakery.  At dinner, B inquired about the soup I was serving.  When I corrected her, saying it was actually a stew, she challenged me right back.  I tried to explain that a stew is like soup, but less...well, soupy!  That was a lame explanation even to my own ears so I didn't corrrect her when she referred to dinner as soup for the rest of the evening.

Snippets...Out of the Mouths of Babes

So, a quick catch up...we adopted two dogs (yes, two...!) this past weekend--a yellow lab we've named Erie, and a black lab/pit bull puppy we've named AuSable.

Anyway, tonight while getting B ready for bed, the dogs wandered into the room.  B sat up and said, "Mom, Erie's in the bedroom!"  Since I don't usually allow the dogs in the bedrooms, B felt a need to tattle on their minor indiscretion.  "I know, honey."  Just as I was turning around to scoot Erie out the door, B said, "Mom, Erie's not talking...she needs batteries!"

Evidently my daughter is a techie gadget girl in the making.

Leftovers

While Adam was in town, we took a hiatus from making healthy, homecooked meals because a) Uncle Scott was also in town, so we took him out for dinner, and b) my kitchen became dismantled during all the packing and moving, so cooking at home wasn't really an option.

Now that we're back to our routine (and have had our usual Wednesday stop at the Allen St Farmer's Market), dinner at home abounds once more.  However, so do leftovers.  Personally, I hate leftovers.  I definitely am very American in my eating preferences, in that I want to have something different to eat everyday.  But, since I hate to waste and am trying to instill good habits in B, I used some of last week's taco ingredients and put a slightly more Mexican twist on things.  Sauteed onions, tomatoes, peppers and garlic along with refried beans and salsa (with a squirt of lime for good measure; hence, the scowl on her face...) made for some tasty leftover tacos.  Of course, now there are leftovers of the leftovers...

Guess Who Came To Dinner?

Adam flew in today to begin the process of packing up all our stuff and moving it to the new house.  Wait...I haven't mentioned, we're moving to Virginia in November!  Well, that's for another post, but there you have it.
Anyway, lucky for Dad he came to town in time to experience our week of wonderful and magical dinners. We had so many lovely vegetables to choose from in the fridge, so dinner was a delectable delight for the taste buds and candy for the eyes with all the flavors and colors.  Tonight's fare included fresh spicy salad greens, courtesy of Urbandale Farm, topped with cherry tomatoes from Green Eagle Farm; homemade garlic bread using bread from Stone Circle Bakery; and homemade focaccia pizza, with bread from Stone Circle Bakery, and veggies from Feltzke's Farm and Vang Farm.  Bryony, once again this year, ate the lion's share of the salad in lieu of the pizza (is she really a 3-year old child????) while Adam and I chowed down on everything, topped off with a glass of wine.  It was the perfect way to welcome Dad home, and we are suitably stuffed as we sit back and watch a movie before bed. 

Stealing a Fork From the Road

I had a vision in my head this evening of what I wanted dinner to look like.  It was going to be colorful, full of fresh produce from today's farmer's market, and would taste amazing.  Fortunately, I managed to accomplish all three goals, with validation from Bryony who nearly cleaned her plate.  Tonight's dish was an inspiration borrowed from one of my favorite local eateries, Fork In The Road.  They make these veggie tacos that are absolutely dee-lish-us, complete with fresh cilantro, scoops of lime pulp, sauteed onions and peppers, and then a fried egg on top for good measure.  Mine were similar, except I decided to smother a layer of refried beans on the grilled flour tortilla before layering shredded cheese, fried egg, sauteed onions, peppers, and patty pan squash, chopped tomatilla and tomato on top with a generous spritz of lime juice for added zing.  It's good to see my kid eating fresh, local, healthy "growing food."  Even better to know she's enjoying it.

One Can Never Have Too Many Tomatoes

Tonight we had homemade bruschetta, using the wonderful bread we get from Stone Circle Bakery, and yummy tomatoes from Feltzke's Farms, Urbandale Farms and the Heilig family farm.  This was another oldie-but-goodie, one that I've made on the fly in various rushed-for-something-quick-but-good scenarios.  What was lacking, but would have made it perfect, was sea salt; I only had table salt, but it was pretty good nonetheless.  A sprinkle of balsamic vinegar on top (of mine, as B declared she didn't want any) was the icing on the cake.  Bryony didn't enjoy tonight's dinner quite as much, although she did ask for another serving of tomatoes after eating  all of them off her slice of bread.

Waste Not, Want Not

A new study has been in the news this week noting that approximately 40% of all food in the United States gets thrown away.  I wanted to be shocked and appalled by this, but I'm not (well, I'm appalled, at least).  I see the way people throw away perfectly good food at restaurants instead of taking it home in a to-go "doggie" bag.  I see how, when cooking, friends don't use a rubber spatula to scrape the dregs of minced vegetables, cake batter or tomato sauce out of a dish or can.  It's so easy to waste here in the U.S., where we have so much (some would argue, too much) that throwing away perfectly good food doesn't even cross many people's minds as wrong.    In full disclosure, I'm no angel.  I've been known to get lazy with my cooking some weeks and let a whole broccoli head turn yellow, find that beautiful red and orange peppers have mushed into a soppy goo, or discover my lovely purple eggplant has a moldy friend growing all over it.  But, a) I feel really, really bad about it, and b) I have a compost outside, so at the very least, I try to recycle the rotting food into something productive and beneficial for future growth.

This week, in light of the news of our chronic food waste, I decided I wanted to post photos of the interesting dinners Bryony and I have been enjoying, courtesy of the splendid selection of produce we find at our local farmer's market each week. 

Today's dish was a yummy tried-and-true salsa-meets-relish that I knew Bryony would really enjoy.  I made my own corn chips, which complemented the black bean, corn, fresh tomato & cilantro "dip" very nicely.

Bon appetit!

New Blog I'm Stalking...

My oldest friend that I'm still in touch with--she reaches back to my days living in Cincinnati, Ohio in the mid-1980s--just started a blog that is a bit fascinating, if not sobering.  I couldn't help but write an actual post about it rather than just add it to my queue.  It's not a mommy blog or a musings-on-life blog.  Rather, it's one that chronicles the professional difficulties she's experiencing after making a bold and risky decision three years ago to give up a lucrative career to move to Chicago and become a baker.  After a year of it not working out, she's moved back to her hometown and spent the last two years unsuccessfully trying to get back into her original field of work (I can relate).

Check out "Recovering After Making the Biggest Mistake of My Life" :  http://geologistforhire.blogspot.com/

And, if you have any job leads, feel free to send them her way.

Self-Realization Snippets

While the last couple elections have been important to me for a variety of reasons, this current election cycle has caused me to realize that it's not the actual politics that matter to me, but rather the social and societal issues of today.  Gay rights, women's rights, workers' rights, environmental concerns.  Those aren't politics, per se, but rather social issues that have been made political. 

My issue isn't with whether voters or politicians have a similar or different opinion than me on these issues, but rather with them thinking it's right to create legislation that denies people basic human and civil rights because of that difference in opinion.  Just as I would never want to deny someone the right to practice their religion just because I'm an aetheist, I have a hard time understanding why someone would want to deny a homosexual couple the right to marry just because that person doesn't agree with homosexuality.  We can all have our own opinions and feelings without forcing them upon other people's lives.

I thought that's what all the outcries for "less government" was about.

Girls' Night In

...complete with an array of nail polish colors, Frosties from Wendy's, and an evening reading of Charlotte's Web.  No better fun than a night with my wee one.

On Having Another

Yesterday, while picking up B from school, the mother of one of her classmates arrived at the same time. While leaving, both girls decided they needed a drink from the water fountain, which put us mothers in the position to begin a conversation. We had never spoken before—only smiled in passing—and there was something about her that had made me think that she was Russian (perhaps just her daughter’s name, Elena, had thrown me). As I stood there, trying to think of a commonality from which to start conversation, I remembered that several weeks before, Elena had announced to me that she was going to be a big sister.

“Elena told me that she’s going to be a big sister!” I told the woman, with congratulations in my voice. She turned around slowly, and I noticed a pained expression on her face, and tears welling in her eyes. “Well, we thought she was going to be…I had a miscarriage. I just found out a couple days ago,” she added, as though trying to explain her emotion. I felt so bad, to have brought it up so soon after them the suffering the wound of the loss. I expressed my condolences, not able to fathom how hard it must be to go through that.

“We had been trying for a long time, and when I got pregnant, we told Elena the news because we knew she’d really be happy. So she told everyone, but now…” she trailed off, wounded by her loss, and pained by having to repeat it each time she had to talk about it. I wanted to hug this woman whose afternoon I had just made a bit sadder.

She smiled wryly and said, “I always thought it was supposed to be easier the second time around!” I agreed with her, noting that I’d always heard that it’s easier to get pregnant when you’ve already been pregnant before, but that my experience has not been the case. I admitted that our family was going through a similar experience of trying to conceive with no luck just yet. She smiled at me sympathetically. She laughed as she responded, “It sure seemed a lot easier for my grandmother!” I laughed in return, and reminded her that our grandmothers were likely younger than us when they started having children, by at least 5-10 years. And they likely chose (or had no option than) to stay at home. “We’re career women,” she noted, the double-edged quality of that distinction hanging in the air.

We looked down fondly at our two little girls, who by this time were in a contest to see who could jump higher. “Well, I try to remind myself that we have this sweet, beautiful little girl, and if she’s all we ever get to have, then we are damn lucky.” Elena’s mom said it, but I could just have easily have uttered the sentiment. I felt a special bond with her as we watched our girls run down the hall toward the front door. Emotionally, I felt as though we were walking, arms linked, down a similar path, unsure of what’s ahead, but both of us grateful for where we’ve been and the wealth we have.

That night, I got my period.

And the Eensy Weensy, Itsy Bitsy, Spider...

We have spent the last couple months, very slowly and deliberately reading pages from Charlotte's Web to Bryony before bed some nights.  It's a classic novel of love and friendship, it hopefully teaches children not to fear something because it looks different, and selfishly I never read it as a child so I felt it was long overdue. 

We have also, for roughly the same period of time, had a small house spider living behind the sink pedastal in our bathroom.  I mostly forget that it's there, but Bryony is all-consumed by its presence, or the assumption that it's present.  Actually, I think the cat ate the spider several weeks ago, and I try to relay that bit of information to Bryony, but she can't lay her fear to rest.  And, since her potty chair is situated right next to the sink pedastal, and the little eight-legged culprit, bathroom visits have involved me coming to monitor that the spider doesn't get frisky during potty time.

More recently, Bryony has abandoned the potty chair altogether for fear that the spider, long since digested in Holiday's tummy, has somehow grown to huge proportions and will altogether gobble my three-year old up, wet bottom and all.  So, she only uses the "big potty" now.

No more potty chair.  No more cleaning potty chair.  No more stinky residue emanating from potty chair.  No more potty chair taking up space in my small bathroom (oops, wait, scratch that.  It doubles as a stepstool so it's not going anywhere for awhile).

Thank you, little spider.  Job well done.  Sorry my cat ate you.

Facebook Faus Pax

Top Ten Things I've Learned Not to Do on Facebook:

1. Ignore a friend request from someone I knew well in junior high and high school, especially since they can see I'm friends with our mutual former classmates.

2. Send a friend request to an old college crush who barely knew I existed then and definitely doesn't know who I am now.

3. Write what I think is a funny story about my husband because chances are he doesn't think it's funny...at...all.

4.  Get into a political argument with my Facebook friend's family or friends in the comment section of my friend's wall post.

5.  Post anything overly personal if I don't want questions about it later.

6.  Post anything bawdy or racy or gross, even if I think sexual humor and potty humor are hilarious.  My high school English teacher who happens to be my Facebook friend might not feel the same way.

7.  Gossip about friends, colleagues or family, even in good humor.  Not on my wall, anyone else's wall, or even in a private message.

8.  Forget to send the party invitation to only the Facebook friends I want to come...because having all my Facebook friends, and all their friends attend is just the kind of party I'm looking for.

9.  "Like" and comment on every single picture in a friend's album (stalker-ish).

10. Post links to my blog on my Facebook wall, 'cause even if one post is appropriate, pretty soon they'll scroll down to one that ain't.

Sha-la-la La...

Because we haven't had television in the last few months, I've managed to miss all of the second series of PBS Masterpiece Mystery "Sherlock."  I started streaming them on pbs.org, which is great (not to mention, free!). However, I waffled and waited weeks to have a completely free two-hour stretch, devoid of parenting, cleaning, yoga, etc to watch the series finale, only to find that pbs.org had taken it down from their site, and Hulu wasn't carrying it either.  How disappointing.  So, I decided to open a one-month-free(!) membership to Netflix.

Upon discovering that the free membership is much more limiting than a normal one (as in, no access to coveted tv shows like the new episodes of "Sherlock), I started looking around for something else to watch.  True to form, I decided to settle into my comfort zone--80s sitcom land.  One of my family's all-time favorites back in the day was "Family Ties," so that's what I decided to stream.

Looking at tv shows as an adult that you used to watch during your childhood is like discovering them for the first time, all over again.  The subtleties, innuendoes, references and allusions are so much more apparent and striking when you're absorbing them from a 35-year old perspective.  Like, maybe I knew that Steven Keaton was the station manager for the local PBS station, but that didn't resonate with me as a nine-year old the way it does now.  For goodness sake, I donate to my local PBS station every year now.  When I was nine, I just watched "Mr. Rogers Neighborhood" and wondered who the "...viewers like you" were. 
I also couldn't quite appreciate the culture clash between liberal ex-hippies Steven and Elise and their materialistic, conservative 1980's teenage children Alex, Mallory and Jennifer.  I knew there were differences, but only now as an adult does the political commentary and societal humor of the time make sense. 

In some way, I feel the timbre of this show resonating so strongly because I want so badly to feel that Bryony carries my values--love for the earth and nature; open-mindedness and acceptance of others no matter the differences; a compelling need to do great work to benefit humanity.  I am Steven and Elise Keaton, at least in spirit.  I have no idea who Bryony will be. Alex, bright and gifted, driven by a competitive spirit and a srong desire to amass wealth?  Mallory, a little dense and shallow, but earnest and gifted in her own right?  Or Jennifer, witty and sarcastic beyond her years, a perfect combination of her parents' 60s-era flower-power values and her own 80s-era "me generation." 

I think the overarching theme of the show, one that I understood then and understand just as well now, is that it doesn't matter who your children turn out to be.  You love them, and you love them hard.  You accept them for who they are and they do the same for you.  Those are the ties that bind and at the end of the day, that's the whole point.

A Month In Review

It's been nearly a month since Adam moved.  He got a semi-permanent position with Army JAG in the Washington, D.C. area, and left about a month ago to start.  It's strange how all of these separations have started to get easier...well, maybe the separations themselves are not easier, but rather, the difficulty of the separation is getting easier to deal with, if that makes sense?

The day Adam left, Bryony discovered Superman, as in the 1978 Christopher Reeve version.  She, like her mama (and more pointedly, her daddy), has fallen in love.  Adam loves superheroes, I love Christopher Reeve, and Bryony loves all the flying bits.  In fact, when Adam left that day, Bryony didn't cry when his car pulled away...but she cried when the movie ended.

I have been reading The Time Traveller's Wife.  I saw the movie a few years ago and enjoyed it, and was surprised when Adam brought the book home for me a few months ago.  Since I knew how the story would end, I found difficulty getting engaged in the book.  After a few attempts, however, I was trapped in an uneasy storyline of a man who travels between his current existence, his childhood, his wife's childhood (which I personally had a hard time swallowing, as I felt it borderline pedophilia), and several random places in between.  Now, of course, I'm more than halfway through and can't go to sleep at night unless I've read at least a chapter.

Adam came back this weekend for his first visit since he moved.  I looked forward to it with such high hopes for me and Bryony since we've both missed him so much.  I worked a half day on Thursday, then picked him up from the airport before going to Bryony's school.  She was still sleeping when we arrived, so we were invited by her teachers to sit next to her cot until she awoke.  All of her little classmates were so excited to have classroom visitors that they crowded around and played with us until she woke up.  Adam is really good with the kids and he was in his element, building block towers and answering all their questions.  I could only focus on my little girl, sweet and quiet in her blissful sleep.  When she woke up and saw us sitting there, she got jealous and angry that her friends had her daddy's attention, as she really wanted him all to herself.  We made a point of sectioning ourselves off so she had some dad time.  Afterward, we took her to see the new movie Brave, which was really great and, for me, particularly poignant because it is a mother-daughter tale.

It's been a little difficult adjusting to each other again, which intellectually, I've come to expect, but emotionally, I'm always unprepared for.  One of the hardest parts is that because Adam's perpetual absence has come to make him an enigma to Bryony, he can do no wrong in her eyes.  He's fun dad...which means that I have to play the role of bad cop.  I'm the task-master and the law-layer.  And, since she sees me all the time, I'm not really that interesting.  So, she has little to no interest in spending time with me or having me around.  More than once this weekend, she told me to "Go away, Mama!" when she was having some one-on-one time with Adam.  I tried not to feel hurt.  When I'm the one who does the day-to-day heavy lifting, the parenting, the comforting, the decision-making, the caretaking...it's hard not to feel overlooked and unappreciated when all my kid wants is Fun Dad.

Then, two nights ago, something happened.  Adam went to bed, and I went to the living room with my book to read awhile before bed.  Just before cracking open the pages, I decided to check on Bryony, who we'd put to bed 20 minutes earlier.  When I opened the door to her room, it squeaked, causing her to open sleepy eyes and gaze up at me.  Suddenly, she broke into a mischievous grin and I started giggling.  My mind flashed back suddenly to the times she and I had last summer, when we were living in the hotel because our house had been damaged by rain.  We had such good times there, just the two of us, on an adventure.  In that moment of giggling and remembering, I realized that I have no reason to feel jealous or unappreciated by her desire to spend time with her dad.  Of course she wants him, and she should.  I have her all the time, and boy do we have some special times together, making amazing memories.  Adam won't have as many of those with her as I do, so I need to let them make those together in the rare times they have with each other.  I bent over and kissed her smiling face that night, and then we grinned at each other through the bars of her crib.  I told her how very much I loved her, and she gave me her signature smile, and whispered back, "I love you, too, Mama!"  My heart did a little dance as I recognized that my role in her life--and in her heart--was exactly where it had always been, and where it should be.

Adam leaves to go back to DC tomorrow morning, and then Bryony's and my lives will return to their new normal.  The weekend's difficulties will subside, and our routine, with all that it encompasses, will take hold once more.

It's Not Me, It's You

I'm learning, after a long struggle, to not take things so personally.  I usually have and still oftentimes do.  Things I take personally:  bad moods, personality quirks, mistakes, busyness, lack of contact. 

Not only have I realized that the things that might create a barrier between me and friend might have nothing to do with something I've said or done, but that assuming I'm the reason is a somewhat narcissistic approach to life.  I am often insecure about relationships ("what did I do that they haven't returned my call in over a week?") but also egotistical, too ("it must be me that has caused a rift in this friendship!").  I've started exploring the idea that perhaps I like a little too much drama in my life, so I infuse it where no drama actually exists.

Nine times out of ten, said friend or colleague will explain after the fact that they had had an argument with a spouse, or bad news from a relative, or just a plain old busy week that kept them from getting in touch.  Usually, what I detect as a rift isn't even there, and the friend just hasn't had the opportunity to reach out.  Strangely enough, it's when I don't actually think that I've done something wrong (or don't detect any weirdness) that a friend actually is upset by something I've said or done.  I'm totally off my game.  My friendship radar needs some calibrating.

Mostly, though, I just need to chill out.

Ode To a Friend

When I was in high school taking AP English, we had to read a lot Lord Byron and John Donne.  Like, a lot.  It's only been since coming into adulthood that I've been able to appreciate the wealth of literature I was exposed to, and how it has continued to resonate, years after first laying eyes on it.  One of my favorite types of prose was the ode, a poem written especially for (or to) a person, place or thing.  Some of them are romantic, some are heartbreaking, and some are just a bit silly.  I love them all.

I'm feeling a little tender-hearted about my good friend Emily right now.  She just left my house after our weekly "Knit Night" session, and I find that time with my friend is truly food for the soul.  She would likely be mortified if she knew I was writing about her, but still...it's all good stuff, so here I go.

   Ode To a Friend

We examine photos of wildlife scat

both of us needing to know what animal was that

I love my friend who can talk poop

as freely as me.

This is my ode to Emily.

I bug you with late-night calls and texts

You must wonder what will be next

Perhaps for your child yet another

Thomas the Tank DVD?

This is my apology, Emily.

Notice how during Knit Night we don't knit?

Notice how we don't seem to mind one tiny bit?

We've talked and we've chatted

through years one, two and (now) three

You are a good friend to me, Emily.

Wednesdays are market days, so special and fun

Hikes on the trail, see our girls run

Thanks for all of these wonderful memories

No one deserves an ode

more than you, Emily.

Canine Snippets

Today, I nearly made either the best decision or the worst mistake in my 35th year of life.  But, alas, Bailey the yellow labrador had already been adopted.  So close...

Boob Tube-al Ligation

When B and I returned to Michigan in February of last year, one of my first tasks was to order internet service.  Knowing Adam would be in Iraq, and that we'd want to be able to Skype with him, getting a hookup at the house was a major priority. 

I'd long heard horror stories about using Comcast as a provider; mainly anecdotes about hidden charges that sprung into existence after a few months or poor connection at certain times a day.  We had previously used a local provider for our internet, but when I went searching for their service, I was informed they were downsizing and not able to take on any new customers.  So, after looking around at various providers, I found myself forced, kicking and screaming, back to Comcast.  After telling the sales representative that I ONLY wanted internet service, not cable tv (and then informing him five more times before threatening to hang up if he didn't stop asking), I finally managed to get a contract. 

When the technician came to install a few days later, he asked me if I wanted cable tv.  Exasperated, I almost threw a shoe at him.  Ever-so-calmly, he informed me that if he used a split coaxial line, he could draw a digital feed to the tv from the internet service.  I wouldn't actually be getting cable tv, but I could get all my regular network channels clearly, and without having to use a converter box (or worse yet, bunny ears).  I was game, so I let him do it.

Flash forward a year.  The hidden fee hikes the sales rep swore would not take effect have done so.  We begrudgingly pay since switching to another provider would mean insanely expensive installation charges, and we are also not ready to go "offline" at this juncture in our lives.  The bigger fist in the stomach, however, occurred last week when I turned on the tv to watch PBS's morning kid show lineup, only to find the dreaded blue screen.  Ominous words loomed out from the screen, informing me that "if you can see this screen, you need to call Comcast to configure your television for Comcast's new digital cable tv service."  I knew before I called that this wasn't going to end well.  I was right.  Barbara, the customer service agent, informed me that the only way I'd be able to take advantage of the new digital service was if I were to actually purchase a cable subscription.  I knew that answer was horse-hockey.  I already HAD digital service from Comcast; all I needed now was the little converter box they sent out to customers to configure their tv sets.  She just wasn't willing to send it to me because somehow making my local network channels clearer through the digital coaxial cable equated to spongeing free cable off the company.  So, I stood my ground.  No tv.

No....t...v....even Adam was surprised by my unrelenting stance.  Would we be okay?  Would Bryony function?  We've never had no tv before!  Whatever will we do?

I remembered all those episodes of Oprah when she'd challenge a typical American family to shut off the tv for a week.  The kids would pout, Dad would sneak downstairs at 2am for a glance at infomercials and Mum would try to corral everyone into submission (while secretly yearning for Grey's Anatomy).  And then, by day 2, something would happen.  The family would stop missing tv.  And they'd start engaging with each other, in ways they'd never done so before.  Bike rides together through town, family dinners gathered around the dining room table instead of in front of the tv, books before bedtime.  By the end of the week, even the kids were saying how much better family life was. 

We have found a similar result.  We spend so much more time outside in this beautiful weather; we eat as a family at the table and we are seeing more of the city this summer than we have in almost a decade of living here.  Good-bye, tv...hello, life!

Will we forever be rid of the television?  Nah...I see it coming back sooner rather than later, and it'll be nice to catch up on favorite shows as the fall premieres set in.  But, I'm enjoying being cut off from the boob tube...tuning into my family is a much, much better program.

Mid-1990s Snippets

Last night I discovered I can stream the entire first (and only) season of "My So-Called Life" from IMDB, courtesy of Hulu.  While I was supposed to have been tucking in for an early night this evening, I instead was watching the pilot episode, reciting the lines I remembered from watching the show in 1994, and reliving my high school years...not quite the way Angela Chase did, but in some foggy shadow of her tv life.  I somehow see the rest of my week filling up with streaming video, spritzing out lines like "We had a time."  Gotta love it.

Happiness Is...

...getting my name listed as a contributor on the title slide of one of my colleague's research presentations.

...having knit night with one of my best gal pals and not getting any knitting done because we spent the whole evening catching up.

...a hot cup of lemon-ginger tea on a scratchy throat.

...being on the clean end of "cleaning the house."

...a one-dollar bill in my jeans pocket.

...opening the front door to see my package of Arbonne beauty products finally arrived in the post.

...remembering Shabbi and Kika at their peak.

...sushi and vegetable udon and tofu teriyaki with a two-year old on my lap.

...my husband kissing the top of my head.

...family.

...quiet time with a book of characters I never want to bid farewell.

...dancing and singing with a toddler to the Glee movie soundtrack.

...all things NPR, PBS and BBC.

...learning to be okay with who I am.

...learning to be okay with who others are.

...being given another precious day of life.

...my life.

Feisty

At the end of her two's...my feisty love...

Sleep Happens (Except When It Doesn't)

You know you're in trouble when your co-worker starts dropping pamphlets entitled Anxiety?, Depression? and Talk Therapy! on your desk.  Yesterday, I arrived at work to find a National Geograhic article on "The Science of Sleep." I guess the writing's on the wall. It's time to come clean. My name is Lauren, and I have trouble sleeping.

I've had trouble sleeping for nearly as long as I can remember. In middle school, I suffered from sleep paralysis. This is a relatively common phenomenon when you're awake, or half-awake, but can't move or talk despite an overwhelming perception of evil being in the vicinity. I used to hear the sound of maracas shaking, and getting closer, but the more I tried to move or scream, the more paralyzed I felt. In high school, I began sleep-walking around my family house, waking to find my mother guiding me back to bed after my attempts to unlock the front door or sort the linen closet. This carried over into college, where my roommates told wicked tales of me sitting up in my bed in the middle of the night, glaring at them and whispering, "You, bitches!" before falling dramatically back to sleep. The summer before my junior year of college, I shared a suite with a gal I couldn't stand, and ended up in her room one night, pawing through her panty drawer. When she woke up, I woke up, too, and found myself fumbling nonsensically for an apology.

In my early adulthood, I found myself struggling to share a bed with Adam. I was so fearful that he would witness my sleepwalking, but alas, it seemed as though I had finally found peace. That is, until the night I dreamt I was being attacked by a gang of men, and woke up biting Adam on the arm. He woke up yelling, glaring at me wondering what kind of wild woman he was dating, and I was at an all-time low. Luckily, he was quick to forgive, and the last several years my strange sleep behavior (ripe with uncontrollable crying, laughing, yelling or perplexing one-sided conversation) has left him with plenty of fodder for teasing. I guess after that biting him thing, I deserve it.

Now, though, things are starting to change. What before had been a behavioral issue seems to now have manifested into a physical one. I wake up panicked, gasping for breath, with overwhelming feelings of dread and thoughts of dying. Sleeping has become scary for me because I know that I likely won't get through the night without suffering an anxiety attack. After several months of going through my workday feeling like the walking dead, I knew it was time for a change. I couldn't do it anymore. So, I got my doctor on board, got a referral, and scheduled a night for a sleep study.

I was so excited to go...to finally go to sleep, and have them solve whatever ails me. Although it was strange to be away from my family for a night, and I felt myself missing them, the idea of be cured was so appealing that I packed up my overnight bag with glee. I arrived at the sleep center excited for whatever might come. I didn't realize what all would come. The wires, and the wires, and oh yeah, the wires. The ones pasted down to my scalp, my forehead, my temples and cheeks. Oh, and those slithering down my pant legs to attach to my ankles. And just in case my seasonal allergies don't have me sneezing enough during the night, don't forget to stuff the breathing sensors up my nostrils! It was an awful night of sleep. Where I had been hopeful and excited before, my mind grew exhausted, disappointed and frustrated. Once, during the night, after falling asleep for a few screamingly short minutes, I awoke with a shudder, perhaps because of my sleep anxiety, or perhaps instead because of the ten pounds of wire attached to the box that I trailed around everytime I shifted two inches. In any case, I silently whispered, "Yes! They got it!" hoping that the computer was able to process my wakening spell. At least something worthwhile might come from all this.

After a less-than-refreshing night of sleep, I went home to my family (where Bryony, awake with Dad and watching cartoons, thought I had been in the bathroom the whole time). I limped through the day, feeling even more exhausted than usual, then fell to bed that night. I still didn't sleep well. The sleepier I was, the worst I slept. It's been awful.

For some reason my sleep test results haven't been reported to my doctor four weeks after the fact. My sleep issues have scaled up to jaw clenching and teeth grinding, both of which I've done since childhood, but now to a more intense degree. I bought my first mouth guard at the drugstore yesterday. Any plans to woo Adam with my sexual prowess at night have been abandoned for a silicon mouthpiece that makes me sound like Cindy Brady circa 1969. So much for Bryony having a sibling...!

So that's the way it is. Sleep is scary and waking hours are exhausting.
Good night and good luck.

One Hundred Years of Titanic

I feel a need to jump on the anniversary bandwagon and mention that today is the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic. In general, I am a maritime disaster enthusiast (yes, I'm actually admitting that); the most important aspect of our family trip to Michigan's Upper Peninsula was for me to visit the Shipwreck Museum at Whitefish Point. And unlike the rest of the normal populace, Gordon Lightfoot's "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald," played on loop in the museum, never got old for me. Once upon a time (and once again, in recent months) I toyed with the idea of joining the US Coast Guard. The ability to learn new skills and to be a part of such a vast oceanscape is so very appealing. I haven't quite let that one go...

Titanic, Edmund Fitzgerald, Lusitania, Andrea Doria...famous ships that foundered for various reasons (some unknown). I think I love the drama that surrounds the mystery and mechanics of the sinkings, the dynamics of social class hierarchy, as well as the unimaginable desparation the passengers felt. I can't fathom looking at a cold, cold ocean, knowing that it would be my final resting place. There's a devastating romanticism about it.

So, while Rose and Jack were pure fiction, I often think of the many women on lifeboats who watched the Titanic go down with their men still on board. I think about saying a final farewell to Adam as I row to safety, and then see the ship he's stranded on fall into a watery grave. Unbearable.

So, one hundred years on, I want to honor the more than 1500 passengers and crewmembers who so senselessly lost their lives. Your legacies live on.

Potty Humor

I feel a need to lighten the atmosphere a bit after my last few posts, although I apologize if switching from serious social issues to potty humor is abrupt or seemingly disrespectful...

I've been wanting to post this for awhile, but have been stalling for I-don't-know-what-reasons. Maybe afraid my coworkers will read it? Maybe afraid no one will and I'll have written all of this stuff for naught?

Well, the long and short of it is that I haven't quite mastered workplace toilet etiquette. I know, this sounds gross already and I've barely written anything. But, bear with me. I'm the type of person who can comfortably carry on a conversation with a friend while we're both on the throne--I mean, everyone has to go, so why is it such a sensitive issue?--and not think twice about it. But I realize there are those who find this most despicable, and so I often find myself in murky waters (pardon the pun). How does one know if a conversation can continue while both participants are attending to...well, their royal subjects??

I also like to know who I'm in the bathroom with, so I have this habit of noticing the shoes of the person in the next stall. If it's someone I recognize and am friendly with, I'll usually totally spook them out by saying in a whispered ghost voice, "Hiiii, Jennnnn!" Nine times out of ten, the person knows it's me, because after all, who else would be so incredibly ridiculous to try to scare someone in a bathroom stall? But, I also like to know if the head boss of our office is in the next stall, so that I can refrain from creating any unpleasantness in her presence.

Which brings me to the next and final issue. When is it okay to pinch the loaf, drop off the kids, drop a bomb? Must one wait until the entire bathroom is empty, or can you assume that since everyone poos, everyone will be understanding of your poo? I have tried the "waiting it out" game, only to find that inevitably five people enter the bathroom while I'm holding the kids at bay. One time, I waited so patiently for someone to leave the bathroom that they evidently didn't know I was in there, and they turned the light out on me when they left. I had to do some serious "holding in", get myself in order, leave the stall to turn the light back on, and then get back to business. Yeesh. I've also tried the "wait till the person next to you flushes" routine, but timing the exercise with someone else's flushing habit can be tricky. And still, the odoriferousness issue is still present. I've been told about doing a "courtesy flush" if you're in the middle of a poo when someone enters the bathroom, although I imagine the offensive aroma has already permeated? Plus, I work for a conservation organization, so wasting water seems a bit blasphemous to me. Lately, I've been doing a combination of "wait it out" and "wait till they flush" but I never really feel like I'm winning in the race for bathroom etiquette.

All in all, I'm starting to think there is really no good way of handling these situations, and so perhaps we just do what we have to do. Although, one method that, while hilarious, is partially effective is to literally wait until the bathroom is unoccupied. Several times I've been in the bathroom, heard the door open, then close, with no one enter. Once I've washed hands and left, a suspicious-looking lady, fraught with ants-in-the-pants harriedness, runs into the bathroom past me.

I guess that's one way of doing things.

Afraid of the Dark

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Snippets

Is anyone else as emotionally exhausted by the state of the world as I am? Bombings, murders, war, ugly politics, child abuse, environmental destruction. My heart is heavy and overwhelmed. It's not enough to just turn off the tv or radio...I feel a need to do something--something bigger than myself--to save the world. I just don't know what I can do, or how to do it, or if it will actually work. I want to do something, or at least try.

'Cause just recycling and composting doesn't seem to be cutting it anymore.

All Dudded Up

Adam and I have not had a date night out to ourselves in nearly 3 years, aka, since Bryony was born. So, when we attended a relative's wedding in NYC last month, we asked Grandpa Cal to watch his doting granddaughter so that we could attend the wedding the right way.

Here we are.


Adam and I at the wedding of weddings.


With Adam's brother Scott and sister-in-law (and one of my besties) Christine


What we left at 2:30pm...and came home to at 10:30pm. Bryony and Grandpa Cal lying on the bed, watching "Thomas the Tank Engine."

Milk

We are weaned. I thought about posting this emotionally-conflicting news to Facebook, but decided I was neither prepared, nor in the mood to deal with the ignorant comments about Bryony having breastfed as long as she did. So instead, I'll divulge the news, and my feelings about it here on my tiny blog.

I've been wanting to wean Bryony for the last few months. In fact, I had decided that once Adam was back in town I would pretty much cut her off cold turkey. But a) I'm weak, b) life happens, c) she's cute, and d) I'm weak. Everytime I'd tell myself I was ready to have my body back, I gave in to the early morning whimpers and tears and let her nurse to her heart's content. Then, three things happened: 1) We went to New York City to see Adam's family; I came home a day earlier than Adam and Bryony, and he said that she didn't ask for milk at all in the day we were apart, 2) I had started to notice that she didn't always remember to ask to nurse in the mornings, and when she did she only suckled for 2-3 minutes, 3) Adam and I have made the decision to try for baby #2, so nursing could play a factor in my inability (thus far) to get pregnant.

So, weaning. I kind of just decided one morning that she wasn't going to nurse anymore. I felt bad about it, because I had only had an informal chat with her about not nursing anymore, but I had heard that it's good to really talk these things out so they understand. Well, she cried--hard--but we cuddled and snuggled and she calmed down. And so has been the case in the last week. Every morning she wakes up asking for it: "I want muhlk! I want to drink it!" and every morning I deflect her attention to something else, be it silly imitations of her demanding milk (which makes her laugh) or her favorite cartoons on TV. So far, no major meltdowns. Which is probably a good indication that she is ready to wean.

My feelings? It's a mixed bag. I have been SO ready to have my body back, wholly and completely. It could get really annoying trying to sleep in on a Saturday morning while a little person is sucking intently on your nipple. Not to mention the fact that my milk supply has subsided enough in the last year that all my nursing bras are too too big. I needed some good-fitting bras but wanted to be done with nursing so I could purchase regular ones instead of those with the handy nursing flap. On the other hand, now that we are actually on the other end of the weaning process my heart aches a little bit for the baby girl who bonded so quickly and closely with me each time we breastfed. It hurts my heart to think that I'm experiencing the first in a long series of her detachments from me until the final "leaving the nest" occurs. It's a tough thing, letting your baby move on, even just a little bit.

So I find that I'm kissing her and squeezing her more than ever, which I thought would annoy her. Instead, it seems as though she somehow recognizes the shift in dynamics and is fighting to find the balance again, too. Just when I feel like she's growing up too fast and forgetting all about her poor mama, she runs over, out of the blue, wraps her arms around me and squeezes. "I love you, too, Mama!" she laughs before planting a big kiss on my cheek.

She hasn't gone anywhere.

Back In The Saddle Again...

I was gone, but I had not forgotten. I'm back in the business of writing, so stay tuned for a myriad of updates as I get thoughts organized and events collected.

Yee-haw!

Welcome to the World, Lyra Alexsandra!

We are so pleased to know you arrived peacefully and well, and you couldn't have come to a sweeter family. We already adore you as much as we do your big sister, and can hardly wait to meet you.

Welcome, little one!

FAQs

Since Adam’s arrival home last month, family and friends have asked many questions about how we’re doing, what his military status is, and what our plans are for the future. Since I find that the same questions arise time and again, I figured I’d answer them in one fell swoop here on the blog. But please, feel free to ask me again in person if you so choose…


1) How is Bryony adjusting to having her daddy back?

Amazingly well. I was worried that there would be some getting-to-know-you issues upon his return, but really they’ve just sunk back into their old regiment of being playmates—chasing each other around the house, tickle fights, and general goofiness. She especially likes having her daddy there during dropoff and pickup at school; I think she’s really proud to be able to show off her daddy to her friends. Adam has proven to be an engaged and really amazing dad, with far more energy for playing than I could have ever imagined!

2) How am I adjusting to having Adam back?

Just as I suspected, the first few weeks were spectacular. Even though Adam didn’t get a ticker tape parade for his homecoming, we as a family had great times, including a trip to Chicago and then travels back to Washington, DC, to see family for the holidays. Now that the fanfare has started to subside, the reality of learning to live together again has moved in. On the one hand, Adam is very task-oriented and spends the day cleaning the house, organizing our files, taking care of our finances and searching for jobs. It’s amazing. On the other hand, when he puts away dishes he doesn’t always put things where I know to find them when I’m cooking. He also has a different parenting approach (not better or worse, just different) than I do. But on the other other hand (yes, a third hand), there is absolutely nothing like going to sleep in his warm strong arms at night.

3) What is Adam’s military status?

He is currently in the Inactive Ready Reserve (IRR) but is looking for a reserve unit to affiliate with

4) Will he have to deploy again soon?

As it stands, he has a two year buffer from being deployed again (sigh of relief). Plus, he’s not currently affiliated with a unit, so right now there’s no one to deploy with. Once he finds a reserve unit to work with, he’ll have a better idea what the chances are of having to deploy again in the future. However, US troops currently are scheduled to leave Afghanistan in 2014, so hopefully he won’t be part of any mobilizations prior to the withdrawal.

5) Is he job hunting? Where?

Yes…and everywhere! So, if you know of someone looking for an attorney experienced in many aspects of the law, give us a shout. And don’t forget…he’s a veteran!

6) Sooo…are we thinking of having any more kids?

Well, let’s just say that we never intended for Bryony to be an only child, but we’ll just have to see how nature chooses to operate on this issue.

7) What’s next?

We don’t know, but we’re so excited to find out! Hoping that 2012 is the year of new opportunities and new adventures.