It all depends on what you believe.

Christmas has come and gone, as it always does. Dustin and I lament the speed of it all. We do so much to prepare and then in a blink, it's all over. My boys, who are either humoring me or who do still believe in a flying sleigh with a jolly fat elf, go to bed with little hassle and await the morning's bounty. They wake at 3am and one of them tackles their sleeping grandpa, who instead of knocking some sense into the attacker, joins in the rumpus. Through the fog in my head, I see a head streak by my bedroom, headed for the glow of Christmas lights in the living room. Dustin gets up and points them back to bed. Sometime between 4 and 5am a head goes by again. Again, Dustin gets out of bed to steer our overly eager offspring back into bed, if not back into sleep. At 6am a face closes in on mine and states that he has waited 3 hours now, and can we please get up! I send him back to bed until 7am. I am met with much resistance, but the closing of my eyes finalizes the deal, until another attempt at 6:30. Not a second after the clock strikes 7, both boys are in my room explaining that it is now TIME TO GET UP!!!!

I remember the excitement of my youth. The lights beckoning, wondering if Santa brought me the boots I REALLY REALLY REALLY wanted, or the Cabbage Patch Doll that the rest of the world had to have and I was just sure I would never get, the anticipation as we got closer to the end of unwrapping the packages since the best presents were always magically placed at the back. I also remember the wonder that I felt when I looked at the plate that now held only cookie crumbs, the empty mug of milk and the quickly scrawled "Thank You" note beside the plate. I felt real joy seeing my parents and sister open gifts that I had purchased with my own money, once I was old enough to do so. The love that filled our home as family members showed up to join us for dinner. The whole day was wondrous. And so I drag my tired butt out of bed, wake my sleeping baby and walk into that land of wonder my boys still live in.

I was certain this would be the year Santa would die. I have been preparing myself for it for the last couple years, just waiting for the inevitable question. When I grew bold enough to ask, I was 10. And when I learned the truth it was as if a family member had died. In memory, my mom was so cavalier about killing Santa. She simply asked what I believed and when I, trying to trick my mother into telling me the truth, said I didn't believe, she said I was correct. That was that. I still get a pit in my stomach when I revisit that memory. Sometimes I wish my parents had just let me live happily ever after in my faerie tale. Perhaps that's why I stray away from really discussing the logistics of a flying sleigh and 8 tiny reindeer with my two boys. We all need to grow up, but not yet! Right?!

The question of what Christmas is really about came up on Christmas Eve, and not from one of my children. Avery was in his deep mode, asking about good and evil and religion, which led to my mom-in-law asking what Christmas was really about? I've always tried to be very careful about my opinions on religion around my boys. I really don't believe it's my place to tell them how to believe. There are many doors that lead to many paths that very possibly all lead to the same place. That's just my take. What they end up following if they chose to follow is ultimately up to them. And so when the question of what we're really celebrating on Christmas comes up, I preface my explanation with the same phrase I am accustomed to using whenever a philosophical question arises from one of my boys or someone in their presence. It all depends on what you believe.

I try to base my explanations on the facts as I believe them to be. I also do my best to impress upon my children that really, what everything in this life is all about, is being the best person you can be. Spreading cheer, sharing wealth, looking at, not through, the pain that is out there, saying what you mean and meaning what you say, living with the best of intentions, being responsible to your family and yourself. Christmas is a great day to remember all those things and carry them forward with you into the quickly approaching new year. My boys are 11 and 9. I am mom. I'm sure they want to tell me to shut up, but instead they smile and say, "hmmm."

This last year has been a challenge in many ways. Many moments have had me sitting back saying, "hmmm." There are a great number of people in my life who are wise and have good info, good advice and who care and dare to show that they do. That doesn't stop me from wanting to tell them to shut up every now and then. But really, I know that what everyone has to say can be used productively, even the negative comments. If it weren't for the support that Dustin and I have been blessed with through the last really difficult months I am not sure how we would have come out. One of my old friends was wondering why, when a number changes in our calendar year, do people suddenly think that their life is going to change too? As people, I think we have a difficult time seeing each day as an opportunity to make necessary changes. The new year gives us an opportunity to reflect and say our thanks, cut our losses and move forward. To see what didn't work over the last year and change things in the new year. Hence, resolutions.

I have never been a big fan of making a New Year's Resolution. The only real explanation I can give, is that I don't like to set myself up for failure. How's that for some insight into my psyche? I don't need the added stress of a resolution hanging over my head every time I pick up a cookie instead of a carrot. Every time I say "fuck" instead of some less offensive idiom. Every time I snap at my children instead of taking a deep breath and explaining something for the umpteenth time. For me, it's a whole lot easier to simply stay on the path I am currently on. I strive to be conscious of my actions and aware of how they affect myself and others. Less stress equals more success in my world.

I will still reflect on the old year and try to put behind me the people and ideas that haven't helped motivate and encourage. I will still look forward and think of all the new year could possibly present and how I will handle each new person and idea. I will continue to hold dear the people and ideas that have held me and my family in their hands, hearts and minds through all times, up and down. As always I will thank my lucky stars, the heavens, and my angels all around that I am still breathing and can celebrate the coming of another new day. I believe this next year has to be better than the last, but that doesn't mean it won't be worse!

In the first month of this new year we will have a new place to call home. We will gain another bedroom, a dining room, and a kitchen with counter space all rolled into 800 square feet more of living space and shed approximately $250,000 of debt. I find it hard to imagine not calling my little shoe box house on Chippewa Trail home, but am very grateful that we will have a new place to call home that is just a couple of streets over. I will return to my new job as the elementary school librarian, shaking up the libraries and encouraging kids to read! I am reminded that as bad as things can get there is truly a light at the end. Dustin and I are not there yet, and really I hope not to be anytime soon. Reaching that light means my days here are over and I have achieved all I was meant to achieve. Instead, we will continue to strive ahead, one foot in front of the other, hoping more light falls upon us as each day passes into months into new years. I can't help but believe it will.

Happy New Year!

All Things For A Reason

My life over the last several months has been like riding a roller-coaster, in the dark, with a dying flashlight. Life. I'm not sure how or why the twists and turns of fate have led where they have, but I find myself right where I am meant to be. What we thought was going to be, is not. What we hoped would be, will not. What we had no idea of, is. I've often heard the saying "All things happen for a reason," but I've filed it right next to "God will never lead you to, what He cannot lead you through." In tough times, it's pretty darn hard to see the light through the impenetrable fog... and the tunnel seems to lead to dead end after dead end. I do believe that this life is not for me to have all figured out, though I can't help but try!

I interviewed against two others for the Library Clerk position at the Elementary Schools last week on Wednesday afternoon. I found out I had the job later that same day! I started just yesterday, in order to receive a certain amount of training before the woman who is currently in the position moves on to the Middle School and High School library. I am a full-time employee in a district where "full-time" and "classified" are like oil and water. There is no money, and so, I will work full-time as a part-time library clerk between two elementary schools. The Primary School has double the student population and so has more need. I will work there 3 days out of the week. Riviera, where my heart lies, and my son is in fourth grade, will get me 2 days out of the week.

My first two days have been full of learning, hands-on, how to check books in, check books out, add books to the system, remove books from the system, add students to the system, remove students from the system, assess fines, repair books, locate missing books (if they can be located), shelve books, how to quell a small riot over bookmarks, how to smile at 400+ children and their teachers and commit as many of their names to memory as possible... all of this, and I haven't even made it to my second school yet. The current librarian wasn't kidding when she said I'd get a lot of practice, and there would be a lot of repetition, in this first week. Overall, that is what the job is, repetition!

Doing the same thing again and again may make some cringe, but for me, there is comfort in the familiar. I find satisfaction in seeing the books come in, find their way back to the shelves, and go right back out. It means the books are being used the way they are supposed to be. They are being read!! Not all of the kids who enter the library are excited to be there. Not all of the kids want to read. But, when you can find that thing they love, or even like, in a book... it's a match made in book-lover's heaven. I really hope my love of books and reading rubs off on the students who enter my libraries. I love saying that... my libraries!!!

Leaving Taluelah has been made much easier for me than I thought it would be thanks to the help of wonderful friends. It's only been two days, and in the few moments I have to think of anything other than books and what I'm supposed to be learning and retaining, I miss my girl. There is so little down time though that the moments to dwell are few and far in between. It is great, at the end of my day, to walk through a door and see my sweet Lue's smiling face and get her big hugs and kisses. Our time at night seems much more valuable these days. And it's doubtful she'll be leaving our bed anytime soon, cuddle time is a necessary luxury after being away from each other all day.

The boys have stepped up to the proverbial plate and are helping with dinner dishes and other household chores. There is no argument in the morning, even though it is a much earlier wake-up call. They see a need, and a tired momma, and are doing what they can to lighten the load. Days like these I feel like I've done something right in the job of parenting. As the days turn into weeks, and weeks into months, I am sure a routine will establish itself and we will all fall into it accordingly.

We are still in the search for a new place to live. It seems the sale of our house will go through, and we will close January 12th as scheduled. We now have less than a month to figure something out. Unfortunately, the homes we have heard of that are owned by someone we know, or that are owned by a friend of a friend, are not big enough to accommodate us. We need a 3 bedroom. There is no point in renting another 2 bedroom house. We're bursting at the seams here. The idea of working full-time with Dustin gone all week, packing an entire house during the holidays, and trying to locate a new place to live is exhausting. I'm not sure where to begin, and so I go round and round in circles hoping something will happen that will stop the spin.

Finding the time to write has become harder. It is not something I am willing to give up though. I will just have to work harder at fitting it into my schedule. The time I have in the evenings at home during the week is reserved for my kiddos. The time I have on the weekend, when Dustin is home, is reserved for family. It worked for me to take the time to write tonight, because Taluelah has already fallen asleep. Waking up at 6:30am has completely thrown her schedule off. Bedtime comes much earlier these days, for both her and I. The boys are watching a movie and so I escaped for a few moments of "me" time. It is time to go back out to them now though, so I can fit in a few more minutes of togetherness before they head off to bed.

Six months ago, if I had projected where I would be right now, and what I would be doing, it would not have included working in the elementary school libraries. It would not have included having to leave my 20 month old daughter to go to work. It would not have included even being here in Kelseyville. We thought our lives were headed in a much different direction. For our darkest days there have been pinpricks of light. If you get enough pinpricks in a page, eventually the light will shine through. Even though the rug was pulled out from under us, it seems the flooring underneath is better than what we were standing on before. For that, my many wonderful friends, and this amazing community, I am truly and inexplicably grateful. Cheers!

And the kicks just keep on coming.

Dustin received a letter from EDD in the mail yesterday informing us that due to Code Section 1256 (which states that - an individual is disqualified if the department finds that he voluntarily quit his most recent work without good cause or was discharged for misconduct from his most recent work) his unemployment claim has been denied. Dustin is going to appeal, but seriously? Without just cause?? I want to know who's in charge so I know which bureaucrat needs me to shove Dustin's Army orders in his or her face. Or maybe his signed military contract, the one he couldn't have backed out of, but the same one they did back out of, will do it?

We've sat here and taken one shot after another. Bill collectors are knocking down the door. Christmas is right behind them. I feel it has come time for me to write a letter and send it to anyone and everyone who might actually read it and care about how good citizens in this country are being treated. I haven't written a letter before now because I'm not sure what it'll do, if anything. I can be outspoken but usually only when I am certain I have all my facts straight and know my audience is somewhat receptive. Injustice is everywhere and not too many people seem to care. I don't want my letter to come across as a whine session, but I'll be damned if I'm going to sit here and take another kick from our government while we're down. Enough is enough.

Our bank has accepted the short sale offer, but wants to close at the end of December, not mid-January as we had stipulated. We have been looking for a rental somewhere in this area around the $1000 price range. It's going to be near impossible to come up with a security deposit and first month's rent by the end of this month. If we can rent from a private party who will understand our situation and give us some time to come up with the deposit we will be better off. There are a ton of empty houses around here, if only we knew the owners. Dustin's work is still spotty. He has applications in at various places, but nothing solid has come through. I have my interview for the library position at the elementary schools tomorrow. I'm hoping we're onto a forward roll and are done with this backward spiral.

In the midst of all our life's chaos we still have the holiday chaos to contend with. I don't usually get all worked up around the holidays, I enjoy them for what they are. But there is one thing I am very particular about. I want the perfect Christmas tree and this year it was quite the adventure getting what I wanted!

Two years ago we bought a $10 permit and went up into the mountains to find our Christmas tree. Dustin topped a 40 foot tree. That was the first strike the poor tree had against it. I guess it wasn't really the tree's fault that when it came down off the top of the tree, it wasn't nearly as pretty as I was assured it would be. That tree looked a whole lot more beautiful in the woods, in it's home, than it looked in my home. I complained about the wimpy branches that failed to hold up some of my dearest ornaments all season. You could fit a small child in some of the gaps between branches. I swore I would not go to the woods to get a tree again. Last year we bought a beautiful Nobel Fir for $90 straight out of a tree lot. I didn't complain about the tree, but the price had me a bit sick.

Our finances being what they are this year, a $90 tree lot Christmas Fir, was out of the question. And so I found myself having to go back up into the woods so that we might have a tree for Santa to place gifts under. I almost had myself convinced that it was actually as expensive, if not more, to go up into the woods. The permit may only be $10 but gas is still $3 a gallon. The way I figured it, after buying snacks and fueling up and purchasing a permit, we weren't any better off than going to the tree lot. I was told we went to the woods for the experience. But the tree lot trees were so pretty, I argued. No one listened.

Our friends in all weather, Jaemi, Isaac and girls, joined us. At the ranger station we ran into the Jensen family and so we all headed up in search of the 3 most perfect Christmas trees the woods had to offer. Isaac led us up a different mountain than the one from 2 years ago. It wasn't quite as far out. We made one stop about midway to the top and I turned my nose up at the Indian Long-Needle Pines. Pine is fine to burn for warmth. It is not fine as a Christmas tree. We continued on up the mountain, the Jensens pulling off somewhere along the way, and made it to the top where the ranger's look-out station sits sentinel over the surrounding valleys. The view of our county far down below was incredible! Our massive lake looked like a pool of mercury spilled across the land. The farming community's fields and orchards made geometric patterns out of the sprawl of Earth all around. Dustin and the boys decided to climb up the stairs on the look-out only to be turned around because of the freezing wind and swirling snow.

Snow flurries had started to fall on our way up the mountain and now that we were at the top they were sticking to the frozen ground. We jumped back in our vehicles and headed to a side road where we were sure we'd have access to trees worthy of holding Christmas ornaments. We stopped again before the side road because Jaemi saw someone she knew from high school. In this small town, you can't go anywhere without running into someone you know. Not even to the top of a mountain! Her old friend had my idea of a wonderful tree strapped to the top of his truck.

We got out and looked down the side of the mountain. It was dappled with pines and fir trees. Even the pines at that elevation were beautiful. We saw our tree from where we stood and Dustin, Adam and I climbed down to make further inspection. The view from that side of the mountain was nothing short of glorious. It was snowing, the steel gray clouds left shadows on the mountains the stood across from us. All you could see was nature as God intended it. No buildings, no crops, no farms, nothing that had been put there or that had been visibly touched by man. I knew places like that existed, I just didn't realize they were so close to home.

Jaemi's old high school buddy came in handy as Dustin carried our tree up the steep incline. He helped us get it back up over the side onto the access road. Isaac came up a short while later, Avery in tow, with the Nunn tree. Apparently, Avery thought he had a better chance of helping to cut down a tree with Isaac. Adam had the tree-cutting-help covered for our tree.

Our trees were so big they would not both fit into the back of Dustin's dad's truck. Isaac managed to tie their tree to the top of their vehicle and we headed back down the mountain. By the time we were all buckled up and the trees were secured (or so we thought) the ground was speckled with a painting of snow. We made it down the mountain without incident. We parted ways with the Nunns in Upper Lake, them going to Jaemi's mom's house, us going home. Somewhere along the highway, Dustin did that thing I hate. The thing where he says, "Oh shit! Oh Shit!! OH SHIT!!!" and I have no clue what he's "Oh shitting" about. As he pulled over to the side of the highway I looked in the side mirror and saw our perfect Christmas tree bouncing down the highway behind us.

We both jumped out to rescue the tree, thankfully no one was coming down the highway after us. Once again, we secured the tree, this time with rope, and resumed our drive home. By some miracle, only one branch broke in the tree's highway escapade, and even that was at the bottom where it needed to be cut to fit into our stand anyway. Later that night when I spoke with Jaemi, she informed me that their tree had tried to make an escape from the top of their vehicle too, twice.

My house smells like the woods. My ornaments hang off of sturdy branches on a $10 tree, $20 if you count the gas. Santa has somewhere to place gifts. We all got to pretend to be lumberjacks and cut down our trees on a freezing fall day up in the mountains with snow falling. And the Nunns and the Madrids have one heck of a funny story to tell about going up into the mountains, scaling a steep incline and coming down with flying Christmas trees!

To heck with humbug.

I received an email yesterday that spoke of "realizations". It's a good email, one I have seen before. It usually makes me think of friends who have passed away much too early for their years and my dad, when it states that to realize the value of a friend or family member, you must lose one. My dad is always in the front of my mind at this time of year. As much as he tried to "Bah-Hum-Bug" his way through the holidays, he made the holidays what they were. Since his death, there are those in my family who have had a difficult time embracing the holidays and appreciating them for what they're really about. For them, the joy isn't there. I hope they can learn to let go and seek that joy again. It's easy to focus on what we've lost and what's been done, but I've come to realize that when you spend so much time in the past, you miss and fail to revel in what's happening right now.

This will be a tough Christmas in my household for many reasons. Today is December 1st, we have just over a month to find a new place to live. Finding a new place means coming up with the security deposit and first month's rent and possibly having to fill a propane tank if the house has one and it is empty. We are behind on bills and the phone's ring has become as incessant as the mosquito's buzz on warm summer nights. The equivalent of bug repellent for bill collectors around here is to turn the phone's ringer off and the answering machine all the way down.

As I drove into Lakeport yesterday to fetch baby wipes and a loaf of bread to liven up our pasta dinner another of the realizations in that email hit me, almost literally. Adam stayed home to finish his homework and Taluelah and Avery came along for the ride. Avery sat in the front, which I normally do not let him do, and the Lue girl was buckled in her car seat with the newly adjusted straps to accommodate her ever expanding body. I was driving between 55 and 60 mph down Highway 29. I make a real effort not to speed, because on the list of "last things we need right now", getting a ticket rates pretty high. About midway to Lakeport, toward the end of the highway's pass through Kelseyville, I saw a black PT Cruiser up the road a way, off to my right, waiting to make a left turn across the two lanes of traffic. I saw her, but apparently she did not see me, even though I was clearly visible had she looked to her left.

I have a habit of saying, "don't do it," under my breath when I see a vehicle waiting to pull out, possibly in front of me. It's my way of willing them to stay where they are, letting us all continue on our merry ways. I guess I should have spoken my command much louder yesterday. The driver started to pull out to make her left turn in front of me, then thought better of it. My guess is she realized that the oncoming traffic, traffic that was opposing me, was "on-coming" too quickly and she would not make it. I still don't think she realized though, that she had pulled out in front of a vehicle, mine, that was traveling very near if not at, the posted speed which was still much too fast to stop on such short notice. Had she remained where she was I could have avoided hitting her by veering to the right but still stayed on my side of the road. There was no way to go behind her. Had I cut my wheel to the the right I would have ended up off the road smashed into a tree or flipped over. Now this is a guess again, but I'm fairly certain that she then decided to look to her left and see if any vehicles were coming her way. Um, hello!

Everything at this point happened so quickly that I can only assume our hearts both leaped to our throats and my life wasn't the only one flashing before a set of eyes in that odd intersection. In her attempt to correct her blunder, and avoid being plowed into by my Jeep, the driver pulled forward... a titch. Then she must have remembered the traffic that she was originally waiting on because she stopped, right there in front of me. I was already in the process of a skid, due to slamming on my worn down brakes on tires in desperate need of replacement, and veering left to avoid what could have been an awful wreck. When she pulled forward she left me no room to pass on the left, while still staying on my side of the road. Instead, I was forced to continue skidding left, through oncoming traffic. I ended up on the opposite side of the road, in the middle of a street that exited onto the highway. As I sat there, my backside facing the cars and trucks that whizzed by, Avery asked, "What's with all the traffic?"

The black PT Cruiser did not stop. The driver did not say sorry, did not wave apologetically. Instead, once the vehicles that she had stopped in front of me to avoid being hit by had passed, she finished making her left turn and continued on her way. A man in a large white truck who had nearly witnessed our "almost - coulda been" nasty car accident, slowed to a stop in the median and looked to make sure that we were okay. Outwardly we were. It took me a minute to collect myself and make the same turn the idiot in the black car had attempted from the opposite direction. I did not pull out in front of anyone. I was taught how to look both ways before I cross a street.

On the remainder of our trip to Lakeport we were passed by two CHP patrol cars and a fire truck with lights flashing and sirens wailing. Avery asked if I thought someone had called the police on "that" lady. I told him it was doubtful. Police don't generally respond to a call for something that almost happened. My insides were twisted in knots, my head throbbed and I felt like vomiting for quite awhile after the near collision. I explained to Avery why I do not let him sit in front when we go places. I can be a cautious driver, but that does not mean the rest of the driving world is. We got our baby wipes, we got our bread, we stopped to talk to a friend at the store and we left, Avery sitting in back without being told.

We discovered the reason for the police vehicles and fire truck on our way home. Our normal drive was rerouted due to a car accident. I don't know the details of the accident. I do not know if the accident involved a little black PT Cruiser or if the driver of a little black PT Cruiser witnessed the carnage that caused a detour on the highway. I can't help but think that whoever the driver of that Cruiser was had to have had a realization of her own. That could have been her, her passengers and a white Jeep filled with half of a family, just going out to get baby wipes and bread. For me, the detour brought back a line from the email I had read earlier that day... To realize the value of a second: Ask a person who has survived an accident (or barely avoided one).

All this writing of accidents and my dad and loss and being thankful and finding joy in the present reminds me of a dream I had a few weeks ago. It was the first dream I've had with my dad in it since he passed away 5 years ago. He was at a hospital in the ICU. He had been in an awful car accident on his way to work. My mother, my Aunt Jaime, some guy named Hawk, Myself and Taluelah were all in the waiting room. I thought I was going to have to leave Taluelah with Hawk so that I could go back and see my father. I figured this hospital was no different from any of the others I have had the misfortune of visiting - no children allowed in some areas.

There was an elderly gentleman at the receiving desk with skin the color of aged dark chocolate. His face radiated warmth and so I found the courage to ask if I could bring Taluelah back with me to see my dad, for her to see her Grandpa. He seemed surprised that I would ask permission and not already know that my daughter was welcome to pass by his desk and go with me into the back. In fact, he said that it was important that she did, that was why she was there. After my mother finished checking names of visitors off a list the kind old guard pointed to a huge clock that stood off in the distance but still appeared to be right there and made sure we knew how long we were allowed to stay. I remember, it wasn't for a very long period of time.

When we got into the ICU there were all the regular sights, smells and sounds... beeps, hummings, florescent lighting, antiseptic, machines, tubes, wires, doctors, nurses. But all of that faded away when I saw my dad standing there looking healthier than he did even years before he got sick. My mom said something to the effect of, "What have I told you? How many times did I say...?" And my dad just smiled and said, " In all the years I drove up and down that hill, something was bound to happen." I stood there confused. Wasn't my dad injured? Wasn't that why he was in the ICU? Why was he not in a hospital gown? Why wasn't he lying in a bed? And actually, hadn't my dad been dead for quite some time? Hadn't his body been reduced to ash? Why was he standing there looking pink and fresh and clean and fit and healthy and clothed? My dad must have noticed my puzzled face and guarded stance, because he turned his attention to me and Taluelah and smiled. And even though none of what I was experiencing made any sense to my mind, it made perfect sense to my heart. We were there so that my dad could finally meet his only granddaughter.

I've often lamented the fact that Taluelah will not grow to know my father. Her brothers have their memories. They remember my dad's scent, the deodorant he used, the gum he chewed, one of them even vaguely remembers the time Grandpa dressed as Santa, only to be found out when the picture was developed. Taluelah will have pictures and stories, but she will never know the joy he would have felt seeing her and her brothers grow. She can't possibly understand what she and he are missing out on. Maybe he'll come back and visit again in dreams, hers or mine, and my girl will be given a sense of who her Grandpa was. Stranger things have happened. I avoided plowing into a car while other vehicles avoided smashing into me and mine.

It would be easy to focus on all of the horrible things that could have resulted from my Jeep and a PT Cruiser meeting catastrophically, on the fact that Christmas gifts will be smaller and less this year because we are not only having to save what little money there is for the new place we must move to shortly, but because the incident yesterday proved what I've really known for awhile - we need new tires and brakes. Instead, I choose to thank the heavens and my angels that I was not down that road one second sooner last night and that I get to enjoy the smells of pine and fir and gingerbread and the twinkling of lights and the laughter of healthy children and the steam from my breath on these magical late fall evenings, that I am alive and that my dad's spirit hovers reminding me of just how joyous this season truly is.

learning to drive. again.

I'm convinced my computer caught the flu. People everywhere are sick, Avery and Taluelah were unfortunate enough to catch it, apparently cats aren't immune, so why not computers too? Okay, maybe it wasn't really H1N1, but my poor computer has been under attack and I have been cleaning up a massive mess over the last week or so. Thankfully, I keep a computer geek close and between his expertise, desire to help, and patience and my willingness to get back on board the rocket ship to cyberspace, here I am. I'm hoping we can all stay healthy now. I've got too much to write to be stuck sitting on a computer that won't cooperate.

A few months ago Dustin was refused entry into the Marine Corps because of a tattoo on the back of his neck. The Marine Corps just got rid of their ban on tattoos. Just weeks ago, Dustin was refused entry into the Army due to our inability to stay current on our house payments and because after months on the market we were still unable to sell the house before he was to ship out. We now have an offer on our house. There's that funny timing thing again. The big question everyone keeps asking me is, "Now that your house may sell, will the Army let Dustin in?" Actually, there are quite a few questions that people keep asking, and that we keep asking too. Why has the military door been slammed in Dustin's face again and again... only to be potentially reopened after we've been forced to move on. Why, after months of being on the market, is there an offer on our house after it's "too late"? Why, when we try to do what we think is the right thing, when we try to keep our integrity in tact, when we travel down a path to what we're sure is our destination, we hit another dead end? The fact of the matter is, I don't know. Just when I think I have everything figured out, I am reminded that I have no clue what any of this means.

I started learning to drive when I was 15. Between my parents risking their lives by being in a moving vehicle with me while my foot was the one controlling the gas and brake pedals, and a nice older gentleman with nerves of steel at the Driving School I attended, and my good old friend Raul sneaking me behind the wheel to give me a few impromptu lessons when no one was any the wiser, I managed to receive my Driver's License at the age of 16. In all that time and with all those teachers I wasn't ever taught to parallel park. It just wasn't something anyone thought I'd need to know. It wasn't part of the behind-the-wheel driver's test that the DMV administered, there are parking lots everywhere, and where there aren't lots there are garages. At least that was the consensus in the desert I grew up in.

One late night shortly after I had moved away from my parent's home, living in Torrance miles from a desert attitude and just blocks from a beach attitude, I was attempting to park my car along a curb in a parallel fashion. Try as I might, I just couldn't get close enough to that curb. The gap in my driving education was becoming more and more apparent each time I backed up and pulled forward and backed up and pulled forward again and again and again with the traffic that so plagues Southern California flying by inches from my car. A man came along on his evening jog and stopped to offer his assistance.

I was raised not to talk to strangers, especially when alone late at night, but at that moment, I'm fairly certain I would have allowed a man with his face obscured in a hooded sweatshirt with a Slim-Jim sticking out of his back pocket to get into my vehicle under the pretense of parking the damn thing for me. The man that took time out of his jog to assist me did not get into my vehicle and do the job for me, but instead stood on the sidewalk and guided me step-by-step into a parallel parking spot just inches from the curb. I'm not sure if he stopped to help because he worried more for my safety in all that traffic or the safety of the vehicles in front of and behind my vehicle. Either way he stopped and he helped and I learned.

Now that I am faced with finding a job, by some stroke of luck, the library clerk position has opened up at Avery's school and the school in Kelseyville Proper. I have applied and I will interview and we will all cross our fingers that this works out for me. I am certain that the competition will be stiff. This is a full time position between the two elementary schools in our small town. The person who gets hired will receive medical benefits, will have one of the very few full-time positions for a classified employee and best of all, will get to work around children and books all day! It is going to be hard for me to leave my sweet Taluelah to go to work full-time, but if I got this job, at least I wouldn't hate going to work.

Dustin is still looking for that thing that will pay the bills and that he will not hate getting up for everyday. We're not sure what it is, but there's no time like the present to go out and find it. Avery got his first 4th grade report card and did not make Honor Roll. He was sure that he would and so he's had to take a step back and take stock and see exactly what he needs to change to attain the heights he is all too capable of reaching. He gets in his own way and while Dustin and I can see what needs work, it is for Avery to figure out on his own. He wouldn't listen to us if we told him anyway! Adam is at the Middle School and while he was excited and nervous about it at first he has seemed to settle into the routine of things. We're pretty sure he's having trouble with one of the other 6th grade kids, but he doesn't want to share what's happening, so we're stuck offering support and advice when he's receptive, and chalking the rest up to preteen angst. This too shall pass? Oh my.

Taluelah is growing much too quickly. I do not remember the boys seeming quite so big when they were a year and a half. In fact, according to their baby books, they were not nearly as big as their little sister is at the same age. Everyday she communicates better. Her words are beginning to flow and we've even had a few very short conversations - usually regarding her food. She's still bossy as ever but it's quite difficult to keep from smiling when she decides to scold me for potentially reprimanding her. She will start digging around in my purse, or she will find a pen or marker or pencil to steal, or she will put a Lego in her mouth, or she will do any number of things that require a reminder that she is doing something she should not be, and when she sees that I have caught her in the act, even before I can get a word out of my mouth, she puts up her hand, palm out, says, "Stop!" and then proceeds to put one finger up and say, "One..." For those of you who know and have adhered to the principles of "1,2,3 Magic" she's the poster child for the children's edition... "1,2,3 Magic - How to stop undesirable behavior from your parents." In her efforts to discipline me and every other big person in her life, Taluelah has not yet made it to two, but I know it's coming.

If the bank does accept the offer that has been made on our house, we have until January 10th to find a new place to live. It feels like the new year is still a ways off, but really it's right around the corner. We're hoping that given our credit history we will be able to find a rental. My realtor has assured me that we are not the only people who have gotten into trouble financially and there are homeowners who will rent to people in our situation. I certainly hope she is correct. There are many many rentals and empty homes in our area. We just have to find the one that is right for us, and do so quickly.

In this conundrum that Dustin and I are faced with, we don't know which way to go. Sometimes it feels like we've exhausted all of the resources we have within ourselves. We're pretty smart, he and I. But, we don't always have all the answers and we don't always make the best choices. This is one of those times when the late night joggers who wear their halos under hats and hide their wings under sweat drenched shirts come out to show the way. They hold open doors that we didn't know existed and light the darkest of days with the glow of their love. But we know, me and the man I married, that no matter what doors we've been led to, we're the ones who have to walk through and hope to find our way in the madness of this world.

In response

Art is always open for interpretation. Every person sees this world through their own eyes. I have two friends with very different opinions of the Mona Lisa. One thinks she looks a bit constipated, the other finds her countenance demure, unassuming. I don't have an opinion, about the Mona Lisa anyway. Written word is no different and faces the same scrutiny all other art forms face when presented to the public. What one pulls from what they read can be quite different from what the author intended. It can be right on too. That all depends on who the reader is and what life experiences they are basing their opinions upon. I think what the artist's followers sometimes forget is that the artist is not painting or drawing or sculpting or writing with any of them in mind, but for release and for the sake of art itself.
I have shared the details of my family's journey over the last couple of years. There have been other blogs that have since been retired and/or are on hiatus for one reason or another. This blog serves the purposes of my family best for now. It allows for my creative juices to flow while staying true to the facts of what this life has to offer or to take away. I feel some of you relate and at times commiserate. I think some don't quite get it, and others are completely on board. Some find escape, hope, adventure, a life more or less ordinary by clicking a link and reading the thoughts that I pour into the big wide world of cyberspace.
Ultimately, this is my life. I choose to share and I fail to see how that makes me anything other than honest. I am a human and so too is my husband, my children and all the others who at some point may make it into my posts. None of us are so above being humble and feeling humility. In fact, sometimes a show of humility is the very thing that makes or breaks a decision. And while I feel the way I do, and act accordingly, I do not choose to put anything in my posts that would truly embarrass anyone, including and most specifically, my husband. Ask him, he'll tell you.
I can't help but find it strange, that the barrage of insults and "reprimands" that have been hurled in my direction, have come not from well informed people, but people who only think they understand my intentions and our situation. Believe me, you do not. And from the very small group of people who actually know of the issue Dustin and I are faced with, not one insult, not one reprimand, not one negative comment directed at either Dustin or myself. It helps to be informed before you make a judgement call. It helps to keep your comments to yourself if you do not know what the true issue at hand is. It helps to know what you are defending before you attempt to defend it.
My family, being the 5 of us, appreciate the show of support we are receiving from our friends and some extended family. I have taken time out of my day and space out of my blog to explain something that really shouldn't need explaining. If you are concerned, call. If you want to help, offer. If you have a resource we do not know of, share. If you want to comment on my writing, do so here. If you do not like reading what I put in my posts, don't. And if you have nothing good to say, say nothing at all. That's what my momma taught me anyway. This life is hard enough without the people who claim to love you making it harder. A lesson Dustin and I are still learning 12 years into this marriage.
We will continue to learn. We will continue to fight this fight. We will continue to pull our boots up and wade through the crap until we find that light we've so been searching for, and then we'll probably have to wade some more. Most importantly though, we will continue to love. That is the road we started down so long ago and neither of us is willing to see this latest stumbling block as a dead end, but instead another one of those lessons in life that hurts like hell but teaches you volumes about where you are and what you have. I can only tell you one thing for certain at this point -- this day is gone, and tomorrow is a new one.

crossroads

I have so much to write but I really don't want to. I have laid myself out raw in front of everyone and the whole world who cares to read knows more than I do sometimes about what is happening in my life. My short term memory has been failing me because there is so much to remember lately. Because of that fact and the fact that I have been encouraged to continue my writing I sit here in front of my computer wondering how to start this next chapter. Quite literally.

Timing is everything and the foreclosure papers we received one week prior to Dustin's scheduled departure did in fact stop him from going back into the military. On the appointed date I drove Dustin to Ukiah for a recruiter to take him to Sacramento for someone at MEPS to tell him that he was not going anywhere. Nowhere but back home anyway. Not only was this military path one that was supposed to pull us out of our own personal economic disaster, it was a break for Dustin and I.

This life, married, hasn't been all that. There have been the highs, but then there have been the lows too. All marriages ride the roller coaster we have been on for the last 12 years. Some people enjoy the thrill of seeing what's around the next skyscraper bend and the weight of the stomach dropping lows. Some learn not to get back on the rides that made your head spin and emptied the contents of your stomach. Some never learn. And some get on a new ride altogether and start on a track they never should have ventured down.

To say I am at a crossroads does not cover the true nature of where I am at right now. Adam will resume public school next week so that I may look for a job in this small economically challenged town. My house will be sold off in January and I will need to find a new place to live with my three children. One that I can afford, very possibly on my own. Taluelah will be placed in daycare. I cannot begin to explain the heartbreak I feel when I write that. Moments like this I think back upon a college career started and then cut short. I think a lot about the warnings against having children so young and with someone hardly known. I think about choices and how the consequences of my actions affect the amount of opportunity available. I think about all of this, but then I stand back and remember how it felt to fall madly in love with a young Marine so long ago. How I felt when I held my first baby boy and looked into his sweet brown eyes. How any number of moments have caught my breath or made me scream or driven me mad and made me realize that this is what life's all about. While there are some things I might change given the chance, I have no regrets. Never have, never will.

I will cry and be sad and be hurt and be angry. I will try to figure out if there is anything worth salvaging from the remnants of 12 hard fought years. Maybe there is. Maybe another door is closing. Only time will tell. But I have my boots on and I am walking, because that's just what I was made to do.

The long road home... and back again.

I am on edge. The whirlwind should be about to end, but then I think it's really just beginning. We are back home, in Northern Cali, from home, in Southern Cali. It is amazing how much we were able to fit in the span of a week. Old friends, scattered family, digging through relics of another life, another time.

Our trip back home was an effort at allowing Dustin to say "goodbye" to anyone who wanted to hear it. The truth of the matter though, is that I still am not quite sure this is happening. And in fact, it may not happen. Our finances are a shambles and that may be enough for the military to decide they don't want Dustin and all the bills that come along with him. Our house is on the market, but we are behind on the payments. It appears we are being foreclosed upon, with a sale date to be set at the end of December. The papers arrived in the mail while we were down in SoCal saying our (premature?) goodbyes. I have heard that a foreclosure will inhibit your chances of joining the military. Dustin was supposed to hear back as to whether all of his paperwork had passed through all the necessary military channels last Friday. He received no answer and so called back yesterday, one week prior to his ship date. Still no answer. Perhaps he'll call today and there will be an answer? While this waiting game frustrates me to no end, it is not a surprise. This is the military after all.

Over the course of the last few months I have been helping to plan another get-together for my high school classmates. Littlerock High School's Homecoming game fit into our SoCal schedule almost perfectly. I only say almost because Dustin's aunt and family were having their annual Halloween party on the same night. We had to skip the party so I could catch up with some old friends... some I haven't seen in nearly 15 years. The organization and planning were a bit overwhelming with all that is going on in life right now, and I have to confess that I really didn't do all that much. Lawrence is in this planning business just as deep as I am. I know he and I both take our responsibility to our classmates seriously. As silly as it may sound, when we were elected Senior Class Officers for the 1994-95 school year, we knew that 10 years after graduation we had to get everyone, or as much of everyone that we could find, back together. Here we are 14 years later still keeping up and putting it all together. Stacia on the other hand had no real responsibility to our class and yet she has come through for all of us. Lawrence and Stacia really did the leg work for our homecoming gathering and I am thankful that they did. It was wonderful to see everyone who showed up and while there's never enough time to catch up and talk with all who show up (Lili, April) it is great to see familiar faces and look into eyes that remember and be reminded of who I was and where I came from so many years ago.

My mother's house is loaded with the remnants of my grandfather's life. The trip down gave me a chance to look through his life in a more personal way than I would have had he still been alive. My Grandpa was good at sharing the answers to whatever I asked, but you never really know what you want to and need to know, until someone is gone and all that's left behind are unlabeled pictures, collections, notes, jewelry and unanswered questions. His funeral was to take place yesterday, but the woman at the mortuary made a mistake. A mistake that may keep me from being at the funeral when it does in fact happen. After cremation my grandfather wanted to be placed in a wall at a Veteran's Cemetery. The cemetery that my mother chose, based on the options given, does not have a wall for internment. The mortuary woman was remiss in her duties when she failed to inform my mother of the nonexistent wall. So now paperwork has to be redone and more time will pass before my Grandpa can be "laid to rest." As far as I'm concerned, he's been resting now for a few weeks. What's a few more?

Adam and Avery came home with pieces of their great-grandfather's life: a pair of cuff links each, art supplies, a couple of elephants from a collection of hundreds, and sports memorabilia. Taluelah only met the man once but she has an elephant to help connect the dots as she gets older and wonders from where she came. Dustin brought home my grandfather's military ribbons, a belt buckle and a Zippo. And I have walked away from my grandfather's death with a few old family pictures, one of his original art pieces, a family of elephants, his rosary and the knowledge that how you live this life greatly influences the way in which you leave it.
In between trying to spend time with my over-worked mother, going through a life's worth of memories and riding around my old high school's football field on the unmarked alumni float (which had the current students labeling us the "old people"), we were able to visit Dustin's aunt, uncle and cousins the day after their Halloween party, spend the night with one of my favorite friends in the world and meet her newest sweet pea, talk via Skype with my Uncle Sean and cousins in Ireland and have a day filled with my sister, aunts and uncle and families, plus meet my mother's boyfriend and his beautiful daughters. It's been a long time since we were all in the same room at the same time talking and laughing and enjoying each other.

We took the long road home yesterday just to arrive right back where we started. I sometimes find it strange that no matter where I am at in California, north or south, I always feel like I am at home... leaving home to find myself back at home, with stops along the way to visit those who matter. If Dustin does depart next week and if we do follow him to whatever base he is stationed at I hope to find the same comfort in my new surroundings and in my new friends that I know here in Cali. If not, I always know I can come home.

will work for words.

Awhile ago I was given a book to read, well actually, I am always being given books to read. My quest for bookish fulfillment never seems to be adequately met. I devoured at least 2 books a week during the early months of summer. Granted, these were not all literary masterpieces, but it was a way to step outside of this box I live in. Sometimes drivel is a means to an end. As summer wore on and responsibilities that come with the Fall season approached my reading time screeched to a halt. The book that has prompted this post though, is something worth making the time for. "Birdbaths and Paper Cranes - A Family Tale" written by Sharon Randall is a collection of her previously published essays on life - hers, and the lives of those around her. Sharon Randall is a nationally syndicated columnist, I guess people really do enjoy reading this kind of stuff.

In my boredom a couple of days ago during my wait at Adam's football practice, my mind drifted to the stacks of unread books I have sitting on my night stand, dresser, table, desk... and I decided it was time to get back to it. I do have a murder/mystery type book begun, but my mind needs something a little more applicable these days. I started reading Randall's book yesterday while Taluelah used the interior of the Jeep as her own personal jungle gym, Avery received a rundown of the connectedness of our small town's people and Adam made progress toward learning and applying his football skills. I have to admit with all the distractions I didn't get far in the book, but already, the foreword written by Randall's eldest son brought me to tears. I am a sucker for a child's love and admiration, no matter how young or old the child be.

Avery is back at Riviera, where he so rightfully belongs. I have no business trying to teach that child anything other than the stuff of life that he doesn't really realize I'm teaching him. In this case the lesson would be, if you try something and it royally blows, you may back out of it with your sanity intact, or rather back out of it to keep your sanity in tact! The first two days of early waking went off without a hitch... the last two, not so much so. Either way, overall, he is happier and so am I. Avery's friends are thrilled to have him back and I know that if I ever really needed to punish my younger boy all I'd have to do is cut him off from his peers. Adam was in the middle of an assignment when I heard him singing and jumping around in his room. When I reminded him of what he was supposed to be doing he exclaimed, "I just can't help it Mom. I'm celebrating Avery not being here!" Apparently, Avery and I are not the only ones feeling a sense of relief. As the saying goes, absence makes the heart grow fonder, and we were all due for a break.

Taluelah has become a certifiable toddler. If we are not attending to her needs in a timely manner she takes it upon herself to open up the refrigerator and point at exactly what it is she wants. If we still do not respond quickly enough she will attempt to retrieve whatever item she wants, regardless of the mess that ensues. She has figured out the mechanics of every pen, marker, and other indelible writing utensil we have in our home and just when we think they've all been put out of her reach, she walks around the corner with another. She managed to bite and break a tube of acrylic paint. Thankfully the paints were non-toxic, but her little green tongue was a sight to behold. Dressing my girl has become a bit of an adventure. She decides what to wear and what not to wear. It's not that she's so particular about the everyday jeans, t-shirts and shoes. But socks are something she has to choose and I have been having a heck of a time getting her to take her Minnie Mouse robe off. So she has an opinion, and desires comfort. I love it!

As I sit here writing my thoughts my eldest is building an empire in the image of Sargon's (all on paper, of course... for now), the 9 year old is missing 3rd recess, but not really missing it as he's informed me that instead of recess they do neat science experiments, and my girl is attempting to force a dish towel to stay on top of her head while she eats her chocolate teddy grahams. I am listening to Pandora radio, which really is one of the best things I've ever stumbled upon. Amos Lee was a name brought to my attention and how glad I am he was. For too long I have been bombarded with a barrage of all things punk, good enough in it's own right, but not entirely me. In 12 years I have forgotten the kind of music that stirs my soul and puts me in that feel good spot. Dido sings about being no angel and lacking perfection but still being able to smile.

I smile as I think about the foreword written by Josh Randall and how nice it would be someday to see something honest, heartfelt and beautiful written about me by one of my children. After all, isn't that what I do here, for them?

Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero.

There are times in this life that I can stand on the ground with my two feet planted firmly, looking to the skies, and I will swear I can feel the spin of this Earth. I am but a speck and this life is but a blip in the whole history, pre- and since, and I am all too aware of my failures and accomplishments. It is late and sleep beckons and yet I am drawn to my blog to put the noise out with the garbage for the night.

I have been pondering what it would be like to let Avery go back to public school. I love the child, but in the words of my hair dresser, Avery is most like me. While I am wonderful, I can be a royal pain in the ass. If there is a system to be bucked, I will buck. With all my might. If there is an opinion shared by too many, I find it's faults. Devil's advocate? perhaps. Open eyes. for sure. Avery is too smart and his eyes a bit too wide for a 9 year old and as his mother the same attributes that bring me pride have me wanting to send the child away to an orphanage in Timbuktu... or somewhere equally as far flung. But just as I had my mind wrapped around throwing in the towel for both our sakes and re-enrolling him at the Riv... the kid says he doesn't want to go back. Huh? Every day for the last month, I have heard how he wants to go back to "regular school", how he misses his friends, how he doesn't like home schooling for a zillion different reasons and only likes it for maybe two, tops - he can sleep in and do his work in his underwear.

I think I was feeling relief at the thought of having one less child to teach and in Ave's case, argue with through the day. And now, he says he'll think about it. Whose idea was giving children choice anyway? Uh hmmmm. Adam is still happy to be home and does his assignments and I guide him where needed. We have a good working relationship... nothing like the quarrelsome attitude I receive from his younger brother. Taluelah runs amok tearing up everything she touches and Dustin comes home to an empty house that looks as if a tornado has run it's course right through the middle of the most traveled areas because by the time he arrives I am sitting at a football field trying to entertain a nearly 18 month old while keeping an eye on my wandering 9 year old so that the 11 year old can play football with his friends who he will be leaving much too shortly.

Times like these I feel my wings stretching against the pins that hold them back. As I attempt to escape, even for a bit, Dustin's insecurities flare. With a day less than one month to go before he departs, I think the reality of what we're leaving behind is giving way to what life will be. I see a time coming when there will be no escape. I don't want to make it seem like taking a break from my family deserves the word escape, but when I am on 24/7... escape is just what I find myself needing. With Dustin here, I rarely have a moment without a child by my side. The last few weeks I have had to struggle against the bonds I have shackled myself into as well as the ideas others have of my role.

I did choose to go the home schooling route. I do not regret it, for if you know me you know there are no regrets... only lessons learned. I have tried, really really tried, to find a way to help the 9 year old see the benefits of this way of schooling and he has done all but spit my words back in my face. And now, again, when offered the chance to go back to his school, his friends, he says he'll think about it? What to do when an orphanage/slave labor is out of the question???

The two times I have made it outside my four walls, without a child dragging along, I have been with people I love and am going to miss terribly. I have met people who could end up being just as important, just as missed. Good people are everywhere, this I know. Nothing lasts forever, as I'm frequently being reminded. Letting go, saying goodbye, it's never easy. All I can hope is that this next chapter will benefit my family. That my children will be afforded a better quality of life. That they will see more of this world than I ever would have been able to show them in our current circumstances. I am struggling with the idea of death and how final it is. If Dustin does not come home, life will go on, but what a different life it will be for our three offspring. I suppose that is not what I am meant to dwell on... but I can't stop the thought from reaching it's creeping tentacles across the lobes of my overactive brain.

With all that is on the verge of happening in my life I rarely have time to stop and think outside of the box I live in. Much too much to think about in the here and now. My grandfather passed away on September 29th. I have felt strangely detached in my grief. I was listed as the alternate, behind my mother, on his Advance Directive. My mother called to tell me he had passed and really that's all the info she could give me. Shortly after her call, a chaplain called to inform me of the death. The chaplain said he called me because I was listed as the person who would make sure my grandfather's wishes were followed. I live 300+ miles away. I met my grandfather when I was 13. I have seen him one time in the last 8 years. I am having difficulty reconciling the man he was to many with the man he supposedly became. They could have been one and the same. I do not know. I wasn't there all those years ago. But the stories that have followed his death and the light bulbs that have flashed above my head as pieces of this puzzle fall into place, make me a bit shaky. Either way, he's gone and I've done what I could from my distance to carry out his last wishes. There has been much grief in this family over the course of the last few months. My Aunt K, his daughter, is gone. He is gone. The rest of us are left to pick up pieces and grapple with our own personal realities, memories. The weight keeps getting heavier and heavier.

I think I will have a talk with Avery again. See what the hesitation stems from now that the opportunity is there. Lighten my load either through sending him off to public school or through arranging some kind of deal with him regarding his attitude here in home school. Stretch my wings a bit, maybe even spread them and fly away for awhile... enjoy what I have while I have it and hope that someday when I leave this plain my children and my familiars know that I lived with the best of intentions, loved with all my heart, and was only human for needing to escape the confines of these walls occasionally.

Truth Be Told...

I had a newspaper thrust in my general direction as the words, "Look at that! Look at his face up close and tell me if you still feel the same..." snapped from Dustin's mouth. The Press Democrat printed the photo of fallen Marine, Lcpl Joshua Bernard, whom I have written about previously. The picture was published along with a story that summarized a letter Lcpl Bernard's father wrote to Secretary of Defense, Robert Gates. The letter basically rails at our government for taking into consideration the lives and homes of civilians in Iraq and Afghanistan who are caught in the crossfires of these wars. My take on the letter is that Mr. Bernard is of the opinion that more of our men are dying because our military is not allowed to blow every village and town they come across to smithereens. He may be right. But really, in war, who is right? What is right?
I have been approached by quite a few people, now that school has started and we are no where to be found in all the usual places, who have stories to tell me of where we have moved and what we are up to. Apparently Adam has moved to Hawaii, Dustin and I have split up and/or we have all moved to Germany? This is a small town, word travels fast, but the folks around here must be using a cell phone while driving through a tunnel, forget the regular old telephone. Once I explain that no, I have not sent my child off to live in Hawaii all by himself (though these days he might find that preferable to being around these parts) and yes, Dustin and I by some miracle are still married and that it is true, we could quite possibly all be moving on to Germany early next year, the questions begin to flood. Some people just want to know what's happening in the world of Madrid. When I give the spiel about Dustin reentering the military and how we don't know where we're headed and how we really only have a very vague idea of when we're leaving, most people nod and say good luck. But there are others, the ones who question why in the world a husband and father would leave his family to go and fight in a war that frankly makes no sense. The ones who wonder how his statement of trying to do a small bit of good in a bad situation makes any sense at all when he will be over destroying another human's life and home. The ones who wonder at his ability to leave knowing fully well he may never come home. The ones who speak my mind and feel my confusion.
I have been supportive of my husband's decision to go back to what he's been missing for nearly a decade, but in a time where there are American citizens writing letters claiming we are, in essence, coddling the "enemy"... I find it difficult to muster the support required when people ask very legitimate questions. Truth be told, the idea of majorly disrupting another country's way of life for collective one-sided gain, does not sit well with me. I cannot stomach the idea of children and woman and men being terrorized in their own homes and villages. Look in a mirror. What you see is the same thing they see. A person, a human being with feelings and loved ones and ambitions and fears and a whole life ahead of them... unless we start listening to the war mongers and allow our men to bomb and blast and bulldoze through villages indiscriminately. If we do that, then quite a few innocent people, people no different from you and I, will have their lives cut short.
On this day of football and community festival, of being out and around the people who only know a fraction of what my life is becoming, I am weary of trying to explain Dustin's motivation. I do not get it. There. Now I've said it. That does not mean I support his decision any less, it just means I am my own person and I do not understand why anyone, least of all my husband, would put themselves willingly into a life-altering, potentially life-ending situation such as this. I have children to take care of whether their father is present or not. I have a life to live whether my husband does or not. I have to be strong when really sometimes I feel very weak. I have to hold my head up and be the anchor in this family no matter what seas we travel and what storms we endure. I do not willingly send the father of my children out to kill or be killed, he does that himself.
And just for the record, I DO still feel the same about the release of the photo of Joshua Bernard.

It's the little things

the girl's first ice cream cone

The first thought that occurred to me as I woke this morning was, "32, Really?" All of my birthdays after 21 have felt much the same. Another year down. A lifetime more to go. Even 30 wasn't that big a deal and 31, well, was just 31. But I am really in my 30s now. 32 years of living this life and I have a friend who is just about to pop out her very own beautiful little girl. In fact today could be the day that little baby Fernandez makes her appearance. It's what I've been hoping for these last 9 months! She isn't due until the 20th... but what's 2 days?!

My own sweet little 17 month old has just gotten done with her first total meltdown. I know it was due to her need for sleep and the 5 teeth pushing their way through her very swollen gums. If it wasn't so painful for her it would almost be funny. She refused to let me put a diaper on her after retrieving her from the bath, kept throwing her hands on top of her head when I attempted to put her dress over it and showed me just how flexible she is as I tried to comb her curly locks out of her face and into some sort of untangled mess. The comb went right, she went left, the comb went up, she went down, the comb went forward and she bent so far backward I thought she might bend in half. I wish my body was still that limber. At 32, it's not happening! Thankfully the meltdown ended with a beautiful sleeping girl on my lap.

I took the Jeep, or as an old neighbor renamed it - the Heep, to the auto shop again this morning. I spent half an hour sitting sending status updates to Facebook and checking email via my cell phone. I was assured the problem that we've been dealing with is not that big a deal. Apparently the terminals and cables to the battery were pretty corroded, which led to my Heep refusing to start. While there, I pointed out that my thermostat gauge was no longer reading the temp. A cable was unplugged. The mechanic who worked on our vehicle two weeks ago noticed that we had a tail light out. When I pulled up today he recognized me by that faulty light. As I was lamenting having to spend the morning of my birthday sitting at the auto shop the owner and the mechanic were plugging a cable, getting my battery in working order, topping off the fluids and fixing my burned out light. All this and a warning to buy desperately needed new tires, at no charge.

I dared to leave my daughter in the care of her very able brothers while I went to the auto shop. I figured that the only real worry I had was that I might come home to find that one of my sons had maimed the other. But as I pulled up, the younger and more precocious of the two, came running out and told me that the mail lady had come. It was 10 o'clock a.m. Mail doesn't come until 2 or 3 p.m. I played along. In the mailbox were two of my bubble wrap envelopes addressed to Jamie Madrid and jamie. Inside of both were cards, homemade on construction paper with colored pencils. The Artist's had a design on the front and simply said, "Happy Birthday Mom... Love, Adam" on the inside. The other was folded many times and had directions for which way to unfold with pictures drawn by the toddler interspersed. Once unfolded I was congratulated for finding my way to the inside, wished a happy birthday, told that I was awesome, wonderful and cool... all this from Avery (who cannot stand me on a regular basis) and Lu. Not only did my kids manage not to kill each other in my absence, they did something for me, together.

I was informed that since it's my birthday I shouldn't have to teach. While I really wanted to agree I felt obligated to get on with it, especially since we were already late starting our lessons. I turned on the computer only to find that my Internet was down. It's incredibly difficult to home school two children when their entire lesson plan is online and the "online" is not working. This is a Virtual Academy after all. My boys rejoiced and I wiggled cables and unplugged my modem and router, restarted the computer, had no luck, turned off the computer, unplugged everything, turned the computer back on, still nothing, called Melissa to get AT&T's tech support number. In my attempt to spare the trees I have gone paperless on many of my bills. That's all well and fine until something goes down or stops working properly. I guess I'm going to have to write down all of the tech support and customer care numbers for my paperless accounts so I don't have to bother Melissa when she's sleep deprived and caring for a newborn. In my last attempt to avoid sitting on the phone with AT&T I jiggled and wiggled some more and for some unknown reason the Internet came on! The boys moaned and groaned and started on their lessons. About 2 lessons in I decided that a visit to our old school to see Don and Susan was in order. Ice cream sounded awfully good too :o) Don gave me two more books to read and Susan gave me chocolate covered macadamia nuts. We said our goodbyes and went to Rite Aid to get scoops of Thrifty ice cream. I despise the town that the Rite Aid is in, but to remember the days of being young and walking into the air conditioned Thrifty store in the middle of the desert heat for the treat of their oddly scooped ice cream, is worth the trip... especially on a day when one turns 32 and needs to remember being "that young". The lady behind the counter offered to give Taluelah a cone of her own with a bit of ice cream in it. She said she didn't want her to feel left out. I figured it would be a dollop at the bottom, but she filled Rainbow Sherbet up to the lip of the cone. I was sure her inclusion would cost me an additional buck. We were charged for three cones, Lue's was gratis. Taluelah made a righteous mess of herself and everything around her, and loved every minute of her first, very own, ice cream cone!

Dustin beat us home with all the fixings for baked fettuccine and ooey-gooey brownies. The fettuccine is in the oven now smelling up the house, making my stomach grumble. The brownies will be baked later. I've spoken with and received wishes and blessings from those who care and have had the time to let me know. In honor of my birthday and my dad's life a paper candelabra has been decorated and will be lit for my dad tomorrow at the Relay For Life event in Petaluma. Friends are on their way to help celebrate the end of my day. Taluelah is watching her brothers and dad play Mario Kart while loving her baby and I am at the end of my birthday blog post. Cheers!

Pencils, Pigskins and Puke

We have made it through our first week of home schooling with few bruises. I am hoping week two gets easier and I find a way to be more organized. Nothing like schooling your children at home to show you just how unorganized you really are! Adam is still happy with his choice to stay at home for school and Avery is still pissy about my choice to keep him home. With one week under our belts I wonder if, at any point, Avery will stop grumbling or I will get tired of the grumbles and send him back to Riviera. We'll see which happens first.

I am happy with the way the K12 curriculum is set up and with the flexibility CAVA offers. We have been able to skim over lessons that are more review than anything else and work a bit longer on lessons that the boys just aren't quite "getting". The only complaint I have gotten from Adam is that in "regular" school, once time is up for a subject, you're done. I don't teach that way at home. I explained to him that while getting to walk away from something you don't understand may seem like a blessing at the time, but if you don't get it and you move on what happens the next day? Or on test day? At least by us working a little longer and a little harder on the alien lesson we make sure there is actual comprehension. I'm sure that all made sense to him on some level but he still likes the idea of walking away!

I know most people's impression of home schooling is that the child who is being home schooled lacks the social interaction they need. Avery has not had a weekend without being at his best buddy's house. I do plan on getting him together with a few of his other friends when we get more settled. Adam's good friend lives across the street so he gets to see him regularly. And now, after thinking I was off the hook, I have been convinced that Adam should play football. He played last year and loved it... why, I do not know. But then, I am not an 11 year old boy. When it came time to sign up we went through the motions not knowing what the future held. Life took it's surprising twist shortly after sign-ups. We thought we were going to be moved out of Kelseyville before the season ended. Once we found out that we would indeed be here through the end of the season, I still did not think the boys would play. There are a great deal of variables that we are still dealing with. All of the unknowns are mind-boggling. I get myself all worked up thinking of all the possible scenarios... what if the house sells? what if the house does not sell? what if something changes and we leave sooner? what if something changes and we don't leave at all? what if? what if? what if?

Dustin wanted to go to the first football game of the season in Fort Bragg last Saturday. Avery's best friend Grady is playing for the first time. We decided to head up to the foggy coast and cheer on Grady and our team. The trip became quite an ordeal. Taluelah gets carsick. We know this but it still surprises us so much that we don't plan well at all for it happening. I realized shortly after we left that I had not packed a change of clothes for our girl if she did have an accident of some sort or decided that the winding road made her sick to her stomach. As we whizzed past the changing trees over the almost Autumn sun dappled road poor Adam was stuck on spew patrol with a brown paper bag. He let down his guard as Taluelah appeared to be falling asleep. She took that opportunity to blow some serious chunks. I pulled over, we used a towel and all of the baby wipes that Dustin had packed to clean her up, found a discarded sweatshirt in the back of the Jeep to cover her up, and continued along the road... one curve after another. I heard Taluelah's moan and knew that the remaining contents of her stomach was on it's way up and out. Dustin turned around to help her and in doing so ended up with vomit all over his arm. A trip that was supposed to be about football and the coast ended up being overwhelming and expensive due to the purchase of new clothing for Taluelah and her dad. I did learn my lesson. NEVER will I travel anywhere without a change of clothes for my daughter. Maybe I'll pack a change for Dustin too. The fog was so dense I never did get to see the ocean.

When we finally made it to the game, Adam pointed out that he could have played football after all. I told him I understood but it just didn't work out this year. He proceeded to tell me that football was the last sport he would be able to play with his friends in Kelseyville. I really didn't have words at that moment... but I did understand. The move is going to be a huge transition for my boys. This is the only community they remember really being a part of. Adam was okay not going to middle school but he misses and will miss not being a part of a team with the friends he has made over the course of 4 years. Middle school was the unknown. Football he knows. I took a deep breath... said goodbye to my tuesday through thursdays, goodbye to saturday nights, hello to late night dinners and cold cold bleachers and put the word out that Adam wanted to play.

Part of living in such a small town is that you get to know people and they get to know you. There are many great people here we are going to miss. Adam is going to have 3 wonderful football coaches, coaches that want him to play and are helping to make it happen. Even though football is not my sport of choice, I am glad that Adam has the support of friends and coaches that do choose it. I am glad too that Adam is getting to play a sport with his friends here one last time. Adam started his conditioning tonight, took pictures with the team, and found out he gets to keep his number.

Avery is not playing. He was supposed to earn it before we ever knew we were moving and he did not. Hopefully this will be a lesson well learned. Avery is a very social creature. He will get the chance to see his friends and will probably end up on the sidelines hanging out with the team during the games again this year. If ever I had any worries about the boys missing out on social interaction, football will take care of them... at least until November.

The Ostrich Complex

The arrival of our war dead at Dover Air Force Base

I don't watch the news. I will read the newspaper if it is handy. The extent of my knowledge of current affairs usually encompasses whatever bits and pieces my husband brings home and whatever headlines catch my eye on the Internet. Dustin's news is almost always about what is going on in our wars abroad... the push for more grunts, Soldiers and or Marines being held accountable for heinous acts against humanity, what new weapons are being introduced to help "win" this war, death counts. Our conversation about all of the above topics usually inspires some amount of debate. Dustin and I are not Apples and Oranges. We are Bullets and Granola. You can guess who is who.

I saw a headline on the Yahoo homepage that said something like, "Calm and then death in the Pomegranate Grove." I knew it must have been about the war and so I moved on to check my email. A day or so later I read another headline that stated something about the Secretary of Defense, Robert Gates, being "appalled" at some decision the AP had recently made. That was enough to pique my interest, so I clicked the link and read on. After reading what Gates found so appalling I had to go back to that first headline I had ignored to read the "whole" story.

On August 14, in the Helmand Province of Afghanistan, a squad of Marines, Afghan soldiers and an Associated Press reporter, photographer and cameraman entered the village of Dahaneh where sniper fire, mortars and other accoutrements of war had been reported. They were pointed in the direction of the ambush, located in a pomegranate grove, by a man in the village. Lance Corporal Joshua Bernard was the point man. One of his fellow Marines stated he was put in that position because of his determination. Lcpl Bernard was hit by an RPG (rocket propelled grenade) and after being airlifted to Camp Leatherneck, the Marine Corps' forward operating base, became yet another casualty of the U.S.'s war on terror.

The chaos of the moment was caught by AP photographer, Julie Jacobson's, camera. She had been photographing the group of men throughout their day. One of her shots includes Lcpl Bernard patrolling through the village's bazaar less than an hour prior to the fire fight that led to his death. I find that photo more heart wrenching than the one preceding his demise. Jacobson's journal talks of being in the midst of exploding RPG's and an all consuming silence overtaking her. A silence that reminded her of "world peace finally descending upon earth." When the dust cleared and the pandemonium of war returned she continued to snap shots of the devastation in front of and around her.

Later, when the photos had been printed, a few of Bernard's fellow Marines were looking through them with Jacobson and the photo that is causing such a stir presented itself. Jacobson claims they paused but none of the Marines got angry or complained of the inappropriateness of the photo. They understood all too well that the image before them was and is the reality of war. A reality that so many of us here, back home in the United States of America, are so oblivious to.

After Joshua Bernard was laid to rest a reporter from the AP went to the Bernard home and showed Joshua's parents the photos that were going to be released to the media. Joshua's father asked that the photo of his son laying in the dirt, with the bloody remains of his legs, surrounded by two of his fellow Marines who were attempting to help him, not be released. Apparently, at some point after the initial meeting with the AP reporter, Lcpl Bernard's father tried again to prohibit the dispensation of the photo of his son in his last living moments. The AP released the photos. And now people ask if the release is sensationalism or journalism.

This is where I picked up on the story. This is what Robert Gates is appalled by. This is what scores of others across America and throughout the world are debating? The release of a photo. Perhaps we ought to be more focused on the life that was lost, why it was lost, for what purpose and to what end? Lcpl Joshua Bernard entered the Marine Corps of his own free will. He was not forced or coerced from what little I have gathered. He gave his life for a cause I sincerely hope he whole-heartedly believed in. The AP reporters, photographers and cameramen who accompany our troops in wartime are there for a reason. They help to document everything they see so that we might be prepared to report a more true history for our children. All images of war ought to be released, whether they be of a soldier fighting in flip flops and pink "I Love New York" boxers or a young Marine who has been mortally wounded or the arrival of occupied metal "transfer cases" (military lingo for coffins) and the subsequent ceremony at Dover Air Force Base of the "dignified transfer of remains" or the joyous homecoming of men and women who have served their country. The American public, whose tax dollars and sons and daughters and husbands and wives and brothers and sisters and fathers and mothers and children are paying the price for this country's wars, have the right and obligation to see what war really does.

Saying we know is not enough. I can read about war and talk with people who have been there but I will never really know. Joshua Bernard knows what war is. The men who stood over him and held his head and told him he'd be alright and pleaded that he stay with them know what war is. The boys who come home broken in body and mind know what war is. The once proud Vietnam Vet now turned transient knows what war is. The visibly scarred man missing an arm or an eye or a leg or more who we so easily pass by looking the other way, pretending not to see, knows what war is. You and I do not. We need to look into the face of the atrocities of war so that when our men and women come back broken we actually understand the root of their pain and try to help instead of bury our heads like ostriches in the sand.

Amazingly enough, Dustin had not heard all the hub-bub over the photo. I brought it to his attention and, no big surprise here, we do not agree on whether the photo should have been given to the public. He believes Lcpl Bernard's final moments should be kept private, that the slice of time he shared with the other two Marines in the photo isn't something any of the rest of us need to see. I have reminded him that every photo captures a snippet of time, time that belonged to someone else and someone else's loved one. The beautiful thing about photography is that those moments can be shared with us, no matter how tragic or painful they be. Think back to the photos that have moved you most... are they all of smiling people enjoying themselves? I doubt it.

There is a song by Everlast, once the lead singer of the Irish Rap group House of Pain, that tells of a soldier's letter home to his mother. It is titled "Letters Home from the Garden of Stone." One of the lines makes the statement, "Really I'm trying to do the right thing, I hope my government can say the same." The death of another young man, my husband's reenlistment and stance on wartime photography, and the lyrics of a song all make this debate quite poignant. It goes without saying that we need our military. They fight and live and die for America's freedom. We also need the photographers who are willing to troop along with our men in the thick of things so that they can send back the images that tell the true story. The story of courage, the story of brotherhood, the story of humor and strength in the darkest of situations, and the story of a nation's sacrifice.