growing pains

just babes 12 years ago

My sleep has been troubled lately. So much so in fact that the other night as I slept fitfully, my eldest heard me make, "a noise like you were scared mom." He asked if I had a bad dream and it came back... in small bits. I asked why he was awake in the middle of night and was explained that he could not sleep due to growing pains and the heat of a long summer night. Thankfully my eldest does not normally suffer from sleepless nights. My sleep, when it actually comes, does not come without event. Either I lay awake and think of all there is to do, what lies up ahead, what could have been done differently, or I fall into a sleep full of out-of-control memories that have me calling out to the darkness in terror.
I do have another blog. It was started awhile ago and one of the first posts is titled "Once". I'm sure when that blog came into being I was looking for some venue to therapize my aching mind of it's long stored tortured memories. After a few of such "therapeutic" posts I decided that blog was best kept as an aside... until a later date. My dreams and fitful slumber have me believing that "Once" ought to be shared to free it from the confines of my mind and the trapped blog it's been living in. And so...

"i was a little girl. once. but not for so very long. not for long enough. i felt the weight of the world at the ripe old age of 4. or maybe it was 5. either way, i remember feeling responsible for the happiness of those much older than myself. mostly just mainly my sad momma. life wasn't so easy for her and that of course trickled down to me. her life decisions made my life something. not a childhood. in retrospect. there are memories. most slightly painful. some still make me cringe. like the time i had chili thrown all over me because I wouldn't eat it. yeah. we were in public. the asshole took off in our vehicle. my shoes were inside. the people at the food stand wouldn't give my mom napkins to clean her little barefoot chili covered child. instead they closed their roll down doors. it's much easier to pretend all's fine in the world when you can just roll down a door and all the bad goes away. if only i'd had a roll down door. i think this memory defines how I feel about my early "childhood". so out of control. what a mess.
it has been argued that since the "out of control" period was a short one it should not define my so-called childhood. but define it does. i grew up more and quicker in the first 8 years of my life than at any other time. at this point that 8 years is just about 1/3 of my life. 1/3 is a lot. that is my argument."

Perhaps I felt the need to release that memory because as I have stated in my previous post on this blog. I am purging. Trying to rid myself of the weight that I carry and have carried through this life. The weight that haunts my already troubled sleep. My dream the other night took me back to being a child. Being in the out-of-control confines of a man and my mom. But really, my mom is never in these dreams. It is just that man. My sister's father. I'm not sure I even remember his face anymore. I do know that as soon as I get close to seeing it in my mind's eye I quickly look the other way. I try and face as much pain and sorrow in this world as I can in the attempt to let it be known that I do see what is happening. I cannot possibly mend all the hurt out there, but I can let it know it is not alone. It is not unseen. But the hurt in my head... well. That's a whole lot harder to face... and so the images linger on the fringe waiting for me to feel vulnerable. Waiting for an in. Waiting for my defenses to be weakened. That's when the demons come out to play.
As I prepare to "bravely" reenter military life with my family, to support my husband's choice to go off and fight in any number of wars this country can muster, to singly mother my children in their father's absence in a world full of broken families... the demons of old have plenty of room to tread.
For a few years not so long ago I claimed to be an only child. It was much easier to pretend I was a singleton than have to answer the questions that inevitably come when someone asks if there are siblings. Younger or older? Well both actually. Where do they live? Good question on both counts. The sperm donor had a daughter. Jennifer is my half sister. I haven't seen her since about 7 and 13, my age and hers respectively. That is where that story ends.
The devil had a daughter too. Unfortunately he procreated with my mother and I was raised with the offspring of that disastrous union. My younger sister had no knowledge of her roots. Not until the age of 18 anyway. In all that time we were never close. We are two very different souls. I tried to believe that by divorcing her from my life I could push out all the memories that led up to her existence and all the miserable ones since. This paragraph could be a lifetime long so instead of filling in all the blanks I will simply say... sometimes after divorce people make up and remarry.
I feel that we all blunder through life in our own way. Sometimes our blundering doesn't really have any ill-effect on those around us and sometimes, like in the case of my sister... the blundering effects are tantamount to that of a nuclear blast. That may be a slight exaggeration but really, it's all relative. I have recently been notified that my sister is in rehab. She is an alcoholic and an angry violent one at that. What's that saying about the apple and the tree? Nature vs. Nurture? My sister never saw violence. She never saw alcoholism. She never saw naught but comfort. And she's the alcoholic??? Strange how this world works. Dustin has often said he believes people should have a license to have children. My younger sister has 4. One son from a misguided romance and three with yet another misguided marriage. About that license... Her children are all with the step-father/dad in her absence and all we can hope (outwardly) is that he doesn't skip town leaving her high, dry and alone. Possibly dumping her offspring on a doorstep on his way out of town. The reason this all sits so heavy with me is the fact that I see her father. The devil. and I see her in his place. I am not in her home and I do not know what her violent actions are directed at. I pray, and I do not pray often, that it is not at her children. I feel all torn and ripped at like history is indeed repeating itself and all we can do is stand by and watch the horror play out. Not for the first time in my life I am glad I am not my mother. I empathize with the children. Whose pain though does my mother empathize with?
This day is the twelfth anniversary of my marriage. Twelve years and three children later and we are doing just fine. Though I wonder if those twelve years ago had someone been assigned to decide whether I was fit to hold a license to care for an infant and raise them into adulthood what would the decision have been? I was a 19 year old unwed mother-to-be living with my mother's cousin. Not the best situation to bring a child into. Would the case worker assigned have been able to look into my heart and see that if there was one thing in this world I would break my back for it would be children? Not just mine but any and all?? Probably not. I have written before about lacking the tools and making mistakes and our innocent children being dragged along the way. Who are any of us to judge whether someone is truly fit to raise children in this screwed up world? I guess the proof is in the pudding and I am sad that my sister has made yet more mistakes in this life and that there are four children looking at her to be strong and that she is failing them. She failed her mother, she failed her father, she failed her sister, she is failing her children but really in this life... she is failing herself. Children are unbelievably resilient. My father is 5 years gone. My mother is trudging through this life as am I. I write. Mandi drinks. Time ticks away and our demons take advantage whenever they can. Some of us learn to rise above those demons and recognize them for what they are. Others continue the struggle.
Life is too short to struggle and so on this 12th anniversary of my marriage we will swim and we will eat and we will sleep and we will love and we will be thankful to all... even the demons... for keeping us aware of just how precious this time is.

still babes 12 years later

purging

Life feels somewhat calmer and more subdued in the last week or so. The anxiety of "what's next?" has given way to the game of "wait and see...". In this game I feel the irresistible desire to purge. We had a moving sale. it is AMAZING how much stuff collects in the corners of our lives and homes in the matter of a few short hectic years. We are no strangers to moving and therefore know the routine of sorting and packing. ridding ourselves of unnecessary weight. This time feels different though. I carry a lot of weight...

I have boxes full of childhood stuff. 3 porcelain dolls - 2 of which were from my dad and one from my grandfather. a Mickey Mouse from my high school grad night at that happiest of places. Disneyland. yearbooks. a surprise pullout picture book from much younger days. Winnie the Pooh books circa 1930's searched for and found in thrift stores by an ex-boyfriend. thousands of stickers from this early girl's collection. my first "baby" that I can remember treasuring... a little musical bear given at birth by the half sister I no longer know. a bible given to me by my grandmother when she and my mother ceased communication. that was to be given to me after her death. inside is one picture cut from a photo booth strip of the sperm donor. the bible is huge and heavy. in many many ways. bits and pieces of a childhood so long gone but not so forgotten.

I would be lying to say a part of me does not wish to just throw all of it away. But i do know throwing away my memories won't make them disappear. And why would I want them to fade anyway? Besides the obvious hope of making the painful memories dissipate.

In my frantic need to purge I entered the most dangerous zone in this whole house. The Boys' Room. I was given the opportunity to enter unmolested and purge unchallenged as the two oldest were away with their grandparents for the week. I must preface this with the fact that my children don't play with anything... other than LEGOS. They do read their books and Avery does have a collection of rocks. There are 3 bookshelves in the danger zone... all of which have an assortment of, well... books. and the aforementioned collection of rocks and fossils. there are an abundance of trophies and medals and then there are the Legos. Each new creation is afforded an honorary spot on the center bookshelf until it is no longer deemed worthy and so replaced with yet another new creation. Through the last 4 years in this house my boys have managed to gather more Legos than any child I have ever known in my lifetime... more than any of all the children put together that I have come in contact with in my entire lifetime! Believe me. that's a lot of Legos.

There were numerous bins full of Legos and all the detritus that comes along with boys who live in a room and build creations most of everyday out of their lives... cracker crumbs, half eaten cookies, wrappers from snuck away candy, the occasional errant Hot Wheel or puzzle piece... and this in a room where food is not allowed.

Getting organized is hard. Staying there... ah well. hopefully not as hard. I sorted through the lego bins - threw away all of the disgusting, though quite well preserved, food bits and random other junk - bought new bins, placed Legos into their respective bins by color... Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Brown, Grey, Black, Mini Figures, Wheels, Bionicles............ We still need a bin for base plates. It took me 4 days. The boys came home today. Adam's face was a sight to behold. "Look at this piece!" and "I've been looking for this one FOREVER!" more exclamations of that sort were interspersed with my lecture of how I will skin them alive and throw away ALL Legos if the system is not maintained... Avery's response wasn't quite as enthusiastic. I think he was imagining himself strung up by his toes whilst I flogged him mercilessly.... We'll see how long it lasts. I did my part. and then some. I'm hoping they can do theirs now.

My room is next. It seems in a house as small as ours when one room is freed of it's weight another room takes the brunt of what is left. With a clean kitchen, living room, boys' room, bathrooms... my room has been weighed down. Time for more purging! I hope to get it done before the school year starts. Though, or rather because, the boys will be at home for their studies I feel the need to have everything in place and some sort of organization in our daily lives started before they actually have to sit down in front of the computer and begin 4th and 6th grade.

We have received the computer that CAVA provides... where the hell we're going to put it remains to be seen... we are waiting on the books and other materials also provided. Everything should be here by the 27th. Avery's attitude towards the home schooling idea has thawed a bit now that he sees the computer. Once we get everything else I'm hoping he warms up to the idea completely. Adam is just Adam... easy going and ready to move at his own pace for a change. I am excited about the German lessons that the boys (and I) will be taking. The foundation will be set if in fact we do end up in Germany.

Germany is not a guarantee by the way. I think it may have sounded as if it was in my last post. It was just so nice to finally have some information that I typed without really realizing that this is the military we're talking about. As I've mentioned before, Dustin being prior service can request a duty station and the Army will "do their best" to honor one of his selections. I've been down this road before. If his selections don't meet their needs what he wants doesn't mean jack. So he wants Germany, if Germany happens to meet the Army's needs, off we'll go. If not... well, there are Army bases all over this world of ours. We'll see where this leads and we will wait each day as we get closer to the day that Dustin leaves us for training. waiting. From waiting for answers to waiting for movement... we are always waiting.

I envy my sweet girl in that waiting isn't really a focus of hers yet. She is growing by amazing leaps and learning amazing feats every day. She has been signing "more" and "all done" for a couple of months now but just the other day I began to teach her "please" and "thank you". She has "please" down. "Thank you" and blowing kisses have become one and the same. I'll take a sweet blown baby kiss any day as a thank you :o)

When I think of all the memories my children will have from this crazy hectic time and all the rest of their childhood I know why I hold onto my weighted down boxes. For all the precious, treasured, faded, broken down, tear stained, pain filled items our childish selves hold onto we are reminded from whence we came and how very far we have come. I hope my children will always carry their boxes with them whatever they may hold.

the dotted line...

... has been signed..........................................
It took longer than we anticipated and it is going to be awhile before Dustin ships out. BUT it is a done deal. Done a bit differently than expected. All of the slots for infantry were closed... can't say I'm sorry to hear that. and so Dustin chose to be a tank crewman instead. Not sure that's any better than infantry but it will be different and the offspring think it's pretty darn cool. I think I can finally let go my breath.
Dustin will leave in November and be gone for 13 weeks and 5 days. Home for Thanksgiving? Christmas? Good question??? Welcome back to military life! He will go to Oklahoma for 5 days first for processing then head to White Sands, New Mexico for Warrior Training (prior service in Marines, Air Force, Navy go there to be introduced to the Army way) and then off to Fort Knox, Kentucky for 9 weeks of Tanker school.
I believe he has a short window of time off once he's done with training to come home and then we are off to his duty station as a family. Duty station.... apparently prior service do have an amount of say in where they go - small though it be. Chances are we're headed off to Germany! So it's not Italy... I think we'll manage :o) That about covers what I know at this point in time. It appears an adventure really is in our near future.
On another related note... I have signed the boys up for home schooling. Now that Dustin's ship date is a bit further off in the distance I wonder if maybe I should be sending the boys off to school. Adam has no real interest in going to public school and is happy about the home school option. Avery on the other hand is riding the fence. My biggest concern is if the house sells - no lookers yet... so maybe I shouldn't be concerned about that at all. BUT if it does it will be too late to sign the boys up for home schooling and I don't want them to have to do independent study mostly because I won't be given the materials to help teach them what they are supposed to be learning. The California Virtual Academy sends us everything - even a computer - that we could possibly need and as both boys have said... they get to do their schoolwork in their underwear! Can't beat that. Dustin and I will have to talk about whether this is the best route... especially for child 2.
In the meantime I have to get on with the cooking of enchiladas... Dustin's celebratory dinner request. Cheers!

the winds of change

The wind heralded the coming of this storm all night long. As the trees outside my bedroom window contorted and danced with the force of a summer squall I laid awake for a short while listening, wondering. Sleep can be hard to come by under the best of circumstances in a house full of people and things... errands to do that did not get done, Paul to pay while robbing Peter, children to feed and clothe in a desperate economy. But when life upends itself and nothing seems to fall just as it should, nighttime is my own personal hell. The wind and my mind screamed as the man and the boys and the girl slept peacefully. My slumber finally came somewhere after realizing I was not asleep and sometime before realizing I was suffering yet again from the storm in my own head.
This summer has been a whirlwind of the strange and traumatizing and dramatic and life altering. It started with the burning of a belly, the ripping of a door, the loss of a beautiful life, the blood lust of two ticks, and the breaking of a hip. But really, it began long before any of that.
Dustin switched jobs during my pregnancy and subsequently lost his job due to our floundering economy one week before Taluelah was born. I was laid off from my job as an Instructional Aide the day after I went out on Maternity leave due to the unconscionable budget cuts California's schools are faced with. Dustin found work one week after our girl made her appearance. Unfortunately, Clark Pest Control does not pay enough to cover our very basic needs. We missed a house payment here and another there. Dustin tried dealing with the "Powers That Be" in an attempt to save our home and our simple way of life here in Kelseyville. He had no luck. So I came in with the big guns firing and made a small amount of progress with a new person every time I called our mortgage company. I called sometimes twice a week. It seems to me there are too many people employed by HSBC. We tried to go the route of the rate modification, to no avail. We sent money we didn't really have and it didn't make a dent. After a year of trying to save our home, we made the decision to move forward.
In these tough economic times it does not pay to be a carpenter. It does not pay to have your Branch 3 license and poke around people's homes in search of termites and other wood destroying pests. We can trudge through this life doing what we're told we ought to or we can step outside the proverbial box and follow our heart's desire, even if it's not what others believe we should do. Just because I don't understand something and cannot fathom the desire to perform a certain job or live in certain danger does not make another person's desire of said experience any less real or important.
Dustin and I sat down to discuss what we might do to dig ourselves out of the hole we have so irreversibly slid down into as homeowners. I applied at a couple of the local establishments early on in summer but received no callbacks. We live in the sticks. There are few opportunities. Whatever company Dustin would potentially be hired by would have to provide a work vehicle and (unless his pay significantly increased) a gas card. Our expenses are quite minimal. No credit cards. No car payment. No extravagances. We just need enough money to feed our children and cover our heads. We decided that putting our house on the market was the most obvious next step... let's see if anyone else wants to live in a shoebox. But what then?
I have known for 9 years that if I were to ask Dustin one simple question our lives would change in monumental ways. Dustin left the employ of the United States Marine Corps 9 years ago in July. He didn't want to leave but when faced with the ultimatum of family or Corps he chose his family. He has yearned for the uniform since the day he last took it off. A uniform worthy of respect... as he claims. So I asked.
I could see the weight of nine years of struggling to pay the bills, job insecurity, and inadequate health benefits begin to lift off Dustin's shoulders when he realized I was opening the door for him to pursue the life he left behind so many years ago. The relief on his face was palpable. I knew all I had to do was ask. Dustin has been waiting 9 years for my permission. No wonder there has been some resentment. It is not my place to stop my husband from doing what he has always wanted to do.
Once the obstacle of my obstinance was removed Dustin had other obstacles to overcome. Being a former Marine, he of course went to the Marine Recruiter. It took a few days to discover that he would not be able to reenter the Marines due to the tattoo on the back of his neck. The bar code with the boys birth dates that sits above Dustin's second vertebrae falls under the visible tattoo ban that the Marine Corps now has. Things have changed in the last 9 years. I thought perhaps that would be the end of Dustin's military aspirations. He informed me that there was always the Army. I have lived with a man who for the last 12 years has expatiated upon the superiority of the United States Marine Corps. My boys have been taught that ARMY is an acronym for "Aren't Ready to be Marines Yet." The Air Force are the Chair Force. The Navy, floating taxi cabs. I never thought I'd see the day when Dustin would pursue a military career with any other branch than the Marine Corps.
Dustin spoke with and met the Army recruiter and began the process of reenlisting. First, Dustin had to reduce his body fat by losing 3 inches off his waist. I feed him well, what can I say? He was to lose these 3 inches in a week and a half. We were going camping on our yearly trip to Richardson Grove right in the middle of this body fat reduction mission. I really didn't think it was possible.
Dustin ran. He does NOT run. Dustin didn't drink beer. He drinks beer. Dustin ate a whole heckuva lot less. He can eat a whole heckuva LOT. Dustin worked hard and in a matter of that week and a half proved to me what I've always known. He wants this. BAD.
I took Dustin to Ukiah to leave with the recruiter for Sacramento last Sunday. He went to MEPS (Military Entry Processing Site) early Monday and was informed that he'd lost 3 inches off his waist and 12 lbs. His body fat ratio was well within the acceptable range. He passed his physical. A dependent waiver was missing from his packet. He came home. In order to be granted the dependent waiver he needed me to write a letter stating that I support my husband's choice to join the Army and why and that I am capable of taking care of our family in his absence. Dustin had to write a letter explaining why he wanted to join the Army and who would take care of his family in the case that any hardship befalls me in his absence.
Writing my letter put the amount of support I really have for this potential next chapter of our lives AND my husband's role in it to the test. I enjoy writing. I didn't enjoy life as a military wife. I am fairly certain the truth of how I feel comes across in my written word. The letter I wrote could make or break this opportunity.
I wrote my letter and I wrote honestly. Why would my husband make a good soldier? Because it's all he's ever really wanted to do. Why would I support my husband's choice to rejoin the military and in doing so elevate the potential of my being a single mother to wartime proportions? Because his passion is enough to persuade me to put this in the hands of a higher good and accept that life is an adventure that no one should be stopped from experiencing in his own way. And of course I am capable of taking care of our three wonderfully amazing children in his absence. I am Mom. The letters, mine and his, were well received. The dependent waiver and the other contents of his packet were approved.
Dustin is to return to Ukiah this Sunday once again to make the trip to Sacramento. On Monday he will pick his job and sign his contract and he will have rejoined the United States military. This time as an Army man. Where and when we go is to be determined. He may have to go back to the Army's 9 week Basic Training. He may just go to a 4 week reintro course. The kids and I will be home in Kelseyville during that time. From there we will find out what new home we are off to as a family.... Hawaii? New York? Colorado? Oklahoma? Italy? Germany? Destination... anywhere but here.
Some may wonder how Dustin could do this now that he has a family. Some may say he isn't a young guy without attachments anymore. Dustin was a Marine before I married him. He was an infantry Marine. He wanted to stay in the military as an infantry Marine at the end of his initial four year enlistment. I stood in the way. He loved me and our family enough to walk away from the one thing he had always been sure about in his life, his desire to wear that uniform and support our country. When I asked Dustin why he was in the Marines when I first met him he said, "I was born to be in the military." While it's nothing you or I can understand, it is. I love him enough to let it be. Finally.