I was going to write a serious entry about weight loss vs. healthy lifestyle and then I got wrapped up in a meeting that made my head hurt. And is now 6 minutes over time.

Perhaps the way to tie this back to a healthy lifestyle is to say that I need to find a way to deal with my stress other than eating because there's too much BS going on and my health is suffering. And then there's the never ending move. And the 30,000 mile check up on my 48,000 mile car that I never did. And the mammogram/colonoscopy/dental/diabetes appointments I need to make. And finding someone to donate my unneeded books to. And the more I think about all of it, the more stressed out I get. And that does not lead to a healthy lifestyle!

Labels: Binge eating, Daily Goings On, Love

I had a challenging day at work today. Thankfully, TCB had dinner ready when I came home - my favorite, meatloaf! - and gave me a hug while I told him about events of the day. I moved his work shoes out of the way as I walked to the couch to collapse, with the local news on the TV.

"Did you hear about the truck that spilled a load of cooking oil on the 5 today?"
"No," I say, while grabbing a cat to (forcibly) cuddle.
"Boy, it was a real nightmare," he says, "took me twice as long to get to work as it should."
"Bummer," I mumble, feeling profound. "You really need to look at getting a job closer to home so that you don't have to worry about that commute!"
He thinks for a moment and then says, "You're right, 20 minutes on the road every day is just crazy."

Yes, everything after the first sentence is a fabrication...it's what I want to happen. What will really happen is this:

Leave work. Drive through fast food, pick up something with no nutritive value. (Side order of something fried. Artificially sweetened diet soda.) Tap foot impatiently while I sit in traffic, longing to be home already. Click garage opener. Sigh audibly when the door closes behind me, knowing I'm back in my safe little cave. Unlock door to house. Shoo cats back when they try to run into the garage. Walk calmly to couch, collapsing as I put down the fast food and accompanying drink. Click TV remote. Choose program from DVR. Stay in same position for next 3-4 hours before turning the AC down 15 degrees and heading up to bed. Feed and water cats. Shut door behind me, making sure no cats are in the bedroom. Pull all covers off of bed, crawling on top of the fitted sheet, before succumbing to sleep.

I like option #1 better, don't you?

Labels: Daily Goings On

I'm not really sure how many more weekends I can spend NOT cleaning out my condo. Actually, I'm pretty sure that answer would be "none" because my mother informs me that my uncle will be coming this week to start on the painting/ceiling scraping/wallpaper stripping goodness of it all. Oh, dear, but I've still got more junk to throw/move out. *sigh*

Anyway, because you all know that I hate the emotional confrontation, let's talk about how I spent my weekend. Saturday was spent cleaning my house. Carpet and hardwood were vacuumed. Dishes were put away. Clothes were washed (all of them, seriously!) and put away. All of this after the cable/internet man came by to - once and for all! - sort out my Internet/wireless situation. (Yes, it's true, I'm now zooming down the Information SuperHighway at home! Well, I would be if I weren't away from home at the moment, but you know what I mean.) Productive, productive, productive.

Then yesterday I took all of the boxes of books I want to donate to the library (if only I didn't keep procrastinating) out of the car so that I could "get serious" about finishing up my move. Alcott's older brother was to help me in return for my paying off his fines for keeping his football jersey. Except that he, Alcott, and the child formerly known as Vader Boy and now probably more accurately described as Alcott's twin (because they look very similar at this point) had a basketball game at noon in the South Bay area of San Diego. OK, fine: go to game, watch/cheer on boys, take other boys home, use older brother's slave labor mercilessly until he collapsed in a heap. Except. Turns out they were in a tournament and, after winning the noon game, they were on the hook for a second game at 2:00 p.m. (which turned out to be closer to 2:30 p.m.) and Older Brother was not at all fresh as a daisy after playing in two consecutive basketball games.

So, instead of spending three or four quality hours moving things and getting things off to the Goodwill, we had Denise by herself (yet again) filling up her car between 5:00 and 6:00 p.m. (too late to go to Goodwill) for a trip to the new house. Huzzah. This is seriously going to take forever and I don't have that kind of time, so I'm not sure where to go next.

To end on a high note, though, let me share something from yesterday that made me cry. (Other than the sight of my former bedroom and office/guest room - we're not going there!) While I was waiting for the boys to get ready to leave, Alcott handed me a folded piece of paper, saying, "Here you go." I looked down and saw three printed hearts along with the words "Happy Mother's Day to one of the biggest mother figures of my life". Game over. I'm not going to type out what he wrote inside because that's between him and me, suffice it to say that many tears were shed (by me). We had just had a discussion last week about how you can have more than one mother and that Mother/Mom can be anyone who loves and nurtures you, in the context of why he should either get or make a Mothers' Day card for his foster mom. And then he made one for me. Once again proving that, if I were to die tomorrow, my life has had meaning beyond just my own existence. I really am so blessed.

Happy belated Mothers' Day to every nurturing, loving one of you!

Labels: Alcott, Daily Goings On, New townhouse, Procrastination

OK, I got it out of my system and I'm feeling much better today. Could that possibly have more to do with the arrival of Aunt Flo than any behavioral or environmental changes? Could be.

Several of you kind people asked about TCB and how HE'S doing. Imagine that...asking me to focus on something outside of myself! Anyway, I was really touched that you remembered him (even as his wife didn't). He's doing about as well as can be expected given that he's been away from home - except for a two-week vacation six months ago - for nearly a year now. None of his things with him. Sleeping in what is aptly called a "rack" (looks like a coffin to me). Serving duty more often than others who have family when they are back at their home port. He's tired, grumpy, stressed out, and still takes the time to send me an email just so that I have something nice waiting for me on a Monday morning when I get to the office. He had a wretched head cold last time I got a message from him, which sucks, and he banged his noggin on a bulk head last week but, other than that, he's physically OK. He wants to come home far more than even I want him to. I should remember that when I'm throwing myself around my beautiful, comfortable home in a fit of hystrionics over his latest leave being cancelled. I should really remember it all the time.

Oh and I need to clarify something about my last post...none of the people I was ranting about are online, they're all in real life.

Someone else asked about the validity of only military wives understanding what we go through. I know that civilians really, really want to understand the depth of the daily loss and grieving, but I have to say that I had no idea before I married TCB what military wives go through. I don't even have kids, so it's just me, but moving alone, Thanksgiving/Christmas/New Year's alone, anniversary/birthdays alone, Gray's Anatomy alone, it all sucks. A lot. It's not like when your husband goes out of town for three weeks with buddies to Costa Rica to go diving. It's not even like multiplying that by two years...it's exponential. It's all encompassing. You can go a couple of hours without thinking about it and then something will happen or you'll see a funny ad on the TV or your cat will do something cute, and you'll start to tell him until you realize he's not there. And the pain starts over again. (Seriously, you won't believe me because you have to experience it to understand, but it's like the movie "Groundhog's Day"...you re-remember they're gone at least once a day, more at the beginning. It's like ripping open stitches or rebreaking a broken bone. It never heals properly. Never.)

Anyway, although civilians can't know the depth of the pain (and seriously, I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy), I cannot tell you how much it means when someone offers genuine support and kindness to one of us "left behinders". The kind lady at the Post Office who always thanks me for TCB's service when I mail him a care package. All of you beautiful people who sent my husband holiday cards. Those at work who consistently ask after his well-being although they've never met him and barely know me. Perhaps it's living in a military town that does it or maybe it's more wide spread, but it really does help to know that there are people out there who care.

[Funny note: TCB doesn't think that anything he's doing is a sacrifice and says the guys on the ship don't either. It's just a job to them. The Marines we know are the same way. Soldiers, too. I guess it takes that kind of mindset to be a career member of the military. Perhaps if I were a career wife of the military it would be easier.]

On second thought, I don't think I ever want it to become easier.

Labels: Grief, Love, Military life

I'm a fairly easy-going person and am always loathe to put forward the unpopular opinion, preferring to go with the flow. So I just nod my head and murmur, "Yes, you're right," when some well-meaning (I'm sure) person tells me that, "At least you know he's safe. There are so many military wives out there worse off than you." And their statements are, in fact, true: many military wives have husbands who are in harm's way every day of their 15 month deployments while mine is relatively safe (if he would just remember to duck before going through a door) and has only been away from me for six months.

But you know what? I'm tired of hearing people who would just about wither and die if they had to spend even a month out of contact with their husbands minimize how I'm feeling. My friends who are Marine wives or girlfriends - and I have more of them than any of these well-meaning people do, trust me! - don't treat me differently because TCB's not in a combat zone or hasn't been gone as long as their spouse has. They know that any time with the person you love 5,000 miles and several time zones away is tough. They have that same flutter of excitement in their tummies when they hear the phone ring at 10:15 p.m. and hope, hope, hope it's their fella. They would have understood how much it hurt to hear my Junior League friends complaining about their husbands' bad habits when I have only had my husband living with me for five weeks out of the 56 we've been married and long for the day I can scold him for not putting his socks in the hamper. Heck, I'll probably pick them up for him for a little while - no scolding.

Those Marine (or Army) wives and girlfriends have earned the right to tell me to "quit yer whining"...but they don't. Instead, I hear it from people who have no clue what I'm going through, and I'm tired of it. Don't dare to minimize my pain until you've walked a mile in my shoes. Don't you dare make me feel guilty because being separated from my husband might be first on my mind when you ask how I am. I'm sorry not to be a more interesting conversation for you, but at least I didn't bore/embarrass you by telling you the story of how I ended up in a heap on the floor, sobbing until I fell asleep, last week - horrors!

Perhaps this is an outcome of the thinking I've been doing re: expressing anger appropriately or perhaps I've just reached the outer limit of how far I can stuff things away...not sure. I do know that the next person who asks me how my husband is doing had better be prepared to hear the answer because I'm done being polite.

Labels: Grief, Love, Military life