Dress Up Time

So, we searched far and wide (mostly from a sitting position in front of the laptop) and finally found costumes for everyone.

MB wants to be a football player. I told my sister he was going to be a Cowboy and she was concerned. HA! I said that if I'm raising a football lover, I might as well raise him to be liked by everyone he will live around so that he has a chance in life. Besides, I don't want things thrown at him in protest on Halloween.

MG wanted to be a witch. Or a vampire. I thank her father for being such a fab influence. Anyhoo, I said no. "Why can't I be something I really want to be?" My answer? "When you can fork out $40 of your own money to buy your own costume, we'll revisit the subject." We looked at all 932 costumes on Target.com (and a few other sites). She really wanted to be Alice from the live-action Alice in Wonderland, but out of the 70 billion costumes available, none were the proper dress in her size. Yes, it had to be the specific blue dress. So, she settled on a black Batgirl costume.

I am also a little disappointed. I have always wanted to be Wonder Woman, but I do a fabulous White Queen impression. Alas, no White Queen costumes anywhere. (Well, we found one, but MG and I both took one look at it and nixed it. Not even close!) I do a mean Red Queen impression, too, but I don't want to be her. So, I'm probably going back to Wonder Woman. It's only appropriate as I am Amazonian compared to a large portion of my friends and family.

What are you going to be?

A Follow Up Rant

A few days ago, I wrote about the Facebook status of one of my friends. Read it HERE. (Really – this will make more sense if you do.)

What followed was a little shocking to me. There was a lot of response, but that’s to be expected. It was the type of responses that shocked me. Except for maybe two people (me being one of them), all of the responses were completely UNsupportive of my friend, and military wives/families in general!

It ticked me off a little bit. I refrained from commenting more just because I didn’t want my friends Facebook to become a hostile debate zone. But I’ve been thinking a lot about the response, and I’ve come to some [sad] conclusions.

First, I would like to remind everyone that WE ARE IN A WAR. No, this posting is not to talk about my feelings or your feelings or debate the war. But I mention that because no one seems to remember this fact. Although it’s taking place on another continent, and although the people we are [mostly] fighting for are not on American soil, we are still AT WAR.

Do me a favor and read that underlined part again. Does it sound familiar? If it doesn’t, obviously education doesn’t teach anyone anymore, so go Google “World War II”. Specifically the European Theatre. Or World War I, all of it. (My grandfather fought in WWII, was MIA, then POW – captured by the Germans. I’ll tell that story one day.)

Up until just the last few decades, whenever a country was at war, the citizens knew it. Both World Wars saw the taxes rise and the people SACRIFICE for the military and the war effort. (I made sacrifice big because I want you to pay attention to that word. It’s important for this post.) Everything that could be spared was funneled towards the troops. Food and goods were rationed. Everyone contributed what they could – time, talents – for the war effort. The country knew we were at war.

Let’s look at now. The fact is that a lot of people don’t even think about what’s going on in Afghanistan and Iraq. And if they do, they don’t think of it as a war. They think of it politically, and they all have their opinions, and a lot of outspoken people do stupid stuff that can get OUR MEN and WOMEN killed. (That is also a post for another day.)

Therefore, sacrifice is a foreign word. The people of this country have become spoiled and entitled. They don’t want to have to give up anything for anyone else. (I’ve been guilty of this thinking, too, so unbunch your panties.) So, when my friend states that she finds it hard to not give a rude retort to someone who “knows exactly what you’re going through cuz my husband had to go to London for three days last month,” of course people will rise up against her. Which, of course, makes me mad.

The responses ranged from, “it’s not fair that you say that because she misses her husband, too,” to “well, you knew what you were signing up for so you really can’t complain.”

First, no one said they don’t miss their husbands when they go to London. But, seriously? You want to compare a three-day trip to a London hotel to a 7-18+ month trip to a war zone in a hell hole in Iraq? Really? And then to have the audacity to tell the military wife they can’t complain because they knew what they were getting in for?

Who signs up to send their husband OFF TO WAR? And just because they learn to adjust doesn’t mean they’re totally cool with the fact that their husband may come back in a pine box.

Then I thought that civilian wives oftentimes have this reaction (not all of them – I know lots of civilian wives whose husbands travel a lot and they would NEVER say these things) because they have no clue what true sacrifice is.

The men and women of the military risk their lives for this country, and for people they’ve never met, and to save innocent people in other countries (which consequently helps to protect this country). And the families that stand behind them and stay behind when they leave sacrifice everything – sometimes the very life of the one they love.

I used to be a military wife, and not even I had to go through what so many of my friends are going through now. Think about it for half a second and you might, just might, realize that you have it easy.

Melting Brain

So, seriously. I'm majoring in Journalism. Public Relations, actually. With a minor in Communications.

That said, why am I being forced to melt my poor brain in this physics class?

I'm not a stupid person. I can grasp complex things. WHEN it's explained well. This teacher, while nice, is so scattered and frazzled (at least that's how he comes across) that I have no idea what the heck he's talking about most of the time. If you have to explain logarithms to 400 people, you should assume that at least some of them are not majoring in anything science/physics/math related and you should attempt to know what you are going to say!

I have very high ambitions for this class. I just want to pass!

A Rant

Recently, a good friend of mine posted on Facebook that (paraphrase) it really, really, really annoys her when civilian wives tell her they totally understand how she feels because their husbands go on business trips. She said she didn't really have a good response at that time. I commented that she should have laughed in their face. Rude? Maybe.

Now, I don't want to diminish the fact that all (well, most!) wives miss their husbands when they are away. I have another friend who's husband travels frequently on business. She has three young kids and I know they all miss him terribly when he's gone. But I also know that she would never tell a military wife that what she goes through is the same.

So, before you say you understand how a military wife feels because your husband travels on business, ask yourself a few questions: Will your husband be gone for six or more months? Will he be 'traveling' to an incredibly hostile country where the view is mostly dirt? Will his 'suitcase' consist of fatigues and steel-toed boots? Will the 'gift bags' he gets there contain an AK-47 and a flak jacket? Do you pray every night that he doesn't drive over a land mine? Do you pray that he just makes it home at all, let alone in one piece and without severe trauma?

It's never easy when a family is separated because of a job. But your husband going to San Diego for a few days can't be compared to another husband who might not come home from Afghanistan.

Think about it.

Weekly Recap

Monday: School, work, kids
Tuesday: Work, ENT appointment for Rebecca (surgery scheduled), work, kids
Wednesday, School (physics test, bleh), kids, work, worship practice
Thursday: Work, Kids, Homework
Friday: Work, Kids, Friends (skipped school)

WOW. That's lame. And every week. Something exciting should happen now. Although Friday did involve Sangria and brownies, so that's cool.

It Was Mauled By A Bear

Well, almost. If I was a bear.

We have this printer at work. This supposedly fabulous printer. Maybe it was fabulous at one time, but from what I've heard, not really.

So, it's a pretty big week for us, and we have this huge dinner tonight. And another even bigger event tomorrow. Name tags and handouts and other such things must be printed en masse. On this printer, since the other one is even older. I think someone named Grog invented it.

Anyways, lots of printing. I start on the name tags. And start again. There's only 36 sheets to be printed. That's all. After 40 minutes, I had 12 good sheets and about 15 crumpled, smeared, torn and all sorts of messed up sheets. It jammed at least 8 times.

I kicked it a few times, and decided that the only thing that would make it better is if it looked like a giant bear mauled the heck out of it with its giant bear-claws.

I couldn't find a bear on such short notice, so I did the next best thing. Took it across the street and paid someone else to do it all!

Classic DB

I don't have any idea what I was going to write about yesterday, because I didn't have time. So, instead, I bring you this gem.

Driving to school is fun. At least 30 minutes in the car, surrounded by lots of people who's time is obviously much more valuable than yours. So, there I am, in my cute little Kia (which I just bought this summer - YAY!), jamming to some awesome music. Seabird, I believe. The highway narrows to two lanes after awhile, and there are lots of, you know, cars. There's this person in a nice black car behind me. He tries to get over, but then gets back behind me, then does it a few more times. Pretty soon he is about 1 inch from my bumper. And he stays there. Dude, I'm already going 75 in a 60. I realize that I should slow down to a more reasonable speed limit. Mr. Fancy Car doesn't like that.

My favorite part is when he finally gets a chance to pass me. He actually turns his head to glare at me as hard as he can. He looked like one of those creepy stalker types - beady eyes and icky face. And then, he gets in front of me and can't go any further. All of that for one whole car length.

It's true that Texans are the nicest people, until they start driving.

Gentle Toes

So, a few weeks ago, my dad re-tiled my bathroom floor. (After he had to rip out part of the shower to re-plumb it and then re-tile that, but that's for another day.) In doing so, the door had to come off and the toilet had to relocate to the bathtub.

Of course, the toilet being in the bathtub was just the most interesting thing, but not quite as interesting as the hole in the floor that the toilet usually sits on. ("Where the heck does 'Gentle Toes' come into this story?" you may be asking. Did I forget to mention this involves MB?) The zoo animals were instructed to NOT GO IN THE BATHROOM ON THREAT OF CERTAIN DEATH. That translates to, "Hover at the entrance as close as humanly possible without actually stepping into the bathroom, unless my feet accidentally, maybe slip over the edge and sort of but not really touch the bathroom floor."

MB was, as most boys are, even more fascinated with the whole toilet-in-the-tub, hole-in-the-ground scenario than MG.

Soon, my mom tells me of a conversation that goes something like this:

"Geemaw, when you go to the bathroom and then flush, the poop goes like this [hands swooping one way], and the pee goes like this [hands swooping another way]."

"Really?"

"Ya."

"Did you go in the bathroom?"

Silence.

Slight look of guilt.

"Bapa just put the tile on the floor, and we can't step on it when it's not dry. When you step on it you can accidentally move the new tile and ruin the floor."

Silence.

"Well, it's ok because I only stepped on it with my gentle toes, and they don't weigh any pounds."

And, end.

All-American Sport Day

I live in Texas. And, as such, I suppose I should be completely obsessed with football. (Technically, American Football. And, on another note, why football? There isn't a whole lot of foot-on-ball action. But I digress.) As I was saying, I should be obsessed with football. (And, if the fervor of the church crowd is any indication, I should be obsessed specifically with the Cowboys.)

Now, I'm not against football. I like a game now and then. And I watch the Super Bowl every year. (Used to be just for the commercials, but they have been failing me lately. When Budweiser got rid of the frogs, it sort of went down hill from there.) But, I just really don't understand this crazed obsession that they seem to hold here in the Big T. Granted, I grew up in Las Vegas. We didn't have professional sports. We had dirt. And some rocks. And mostly dirt. So, I was never really exposed.

Why are people so obsessed with it? I guess what disturbs me the most is the parents who are like crazed jackals, pushing their kids into sports (mostly football) and losing their mind at every event. I mean, have you read the stories on the assaults and murders all over some sport?

I like sports. And if my kids want to play, I will totally support them in a very non-crazed jackal way.

Now, I should go check on my mother, who is glued to the current Cowboys game - just to make sure she is still coherent.