To Grandma's house, we go.

I remember when I was a little girl, I used to brag about my grandparents' house, describing it as a "big, red mansion", claiming it had to be "at least 5 stories high". In all reality, it is far from being a 5-story mansion, sitting at only 2 stories and a basement. But in my mind, it was a huge palace that everyone should have been jealous of. My grandparents, who have lived there for many decades, have recently moved out. As they prepare to sell it and move onto better things to suit their lives, I've been reflecting on all of the memories I hold for the big red house on Pendleton Street, and I find myself thinking of new ones I'd since forgotten.

When I think of my childhood, I remember most holidays, most family gatherings, most celebrations all being celebrated at Grandma and Grandpa's house. I think of all of the cousins I have, gathering together to play endless hours of games like Hide-and-Go Seek, Sardines, or our own made up game of Jeopardy inside, or heading out to the vast parking area to play Mother, May I?, or Red Light/Green Light. I think about how we used to all gather on the kind-of-red-kind-of-orange carpeted staircase and play Rock School, coming up with sometimes serious and sometimes silly questions to ask each other. I remember being so excited to hear that my big cousins from New Jersey would be coming down for the holiday. In my little girl mind, they were the coolest cousins of all, because they lived so far away. I knew that when those three cousins came, we would, undoubtedly, get to play "500", a game played with a football, which I, being probably only 5 or 6 years old, was horrible at. But still, I was a part of the group, which included the big cousins, the little cousins, and the in-between cousins. I remember my parents telling us at the end of a long holiday that it was time to go, and we'd all beg our parents for just a little more time. I think most get-togethers usually finished out with a game of Charades, which seemed to get sillier and sillier as the years went on. I remember playing "Stores" with my brother and my cousin, each designating ourselves as "grocery store owner" or "zookeeper", and we'd pass hours "shopping" at each others' stores in the playroom. There was a vent that connected the play room to the formal living room, and I remember sending each other out on covert missions to sneak into the living room, so that we could talk to each other through the vents. I remember dinner time at the kids' table, while the parents all sat at the adult table in the formal dining room. I remember the silly jokes passed across the table and how we were never without laughter during dinner. I remember special days when we'd somehow all end up at Grandma's for one reason or another, and we'd all be so excited to walk next door to Pete's restaurant and order hotdogs for everyone to eat at lunchtime. I remember little legs sticking to the green and blue vinyl couch that has decorated the living room since long before I was born. I remember the cozy little closet with the cozy little door that you almost had to duck to enter, filled with all kinds of treasures and trinkets from holiday decorations to beautiful glassware. I remember hiding out in the office upstairs, spying on neighbors or passersby with my cousins, dramatically jumping below the window sill the moment we thought we might have been spotted from the outside. I remember flashlight tag in the upstairs bedrooms and the rug burns we'd get on knees from chasing each other around. I remember family photos of all of my aunts and uncles, and my own mother, a glimpse into their lives before parenthood. I remember laying on the canopy bed in the guest room, thinking to myself that one day, when I was a big girl with my own house, I was going to have a bed just.like.that.

I think I could wander Grandma and Grandpa's house for hours and never really discover all of the neat little hiding spots that are surely hiding themselves. In all of the many hundreds of games of Hide-and-Go-Seek that have certainly been played within those walls, there are still probably places I could find today that were never discovered in all of those years of games.

While it is sad to think that when I drive past that house in the future, it won't be my family's anymore, I am truly excited for the new home that my Grandma and Grandpa have moved to. I feel so lucky that when I do drive past the "big, red mansion", I'll always have all of those little memories and more that I could go on for ages about, and that my childhood was influenced so much by a home with so much character inside.

End of the rope.

Oh hello, breaking point. Today, I reached you. My patience has steadily decreased as my frustrations have steadily increased over the past several weeks. With Jesse's work schedule requiring him to be gone 2 weeks, back again for 2, gone for a few days, back and then gone again for 2 weeks over the past several months, it has left me frazzled and lost. Just as we get into a routine, he goes or comes, and it's out the window once more. Today, he is gone all day preparing vehicles and gear to leave once again, tomorrow, for the field for an undetermined amount of time. It could be short, it might be long. We never really know until he says "hey, I'm on the way home!" I really don't know how the Army manages to keep anything straight with a schedule that plans itself day by day, hour by hour.

Avery has been the kind of baby since he was born that loves to be swaddled. Without a tight and secure swaddle, he refuses to eat or sleep. So long as he was swaddled, he was pretty much good to go. Until recently. At nearly 6 months, I've been hoping he would get past his swaddling days. Oh, and he has. But not completely. He is now at the point where he refuses to nurse or sleep without being swaddled, but as soon as he is swaddled, he fights and screams until he can get both of his arms out. I've tried a loose swaddle, a tight swaddle, double swaddling blankets, one arm out, both arms out, different kinds of swaddling blankets. No go. He doesn't want to be swaddled. Hooray! But he somehow hasn't made the connection that you can't be swaddled to eat at the same time as not being swaddled. Ya hear me? He normally naps about 2 hours after waking in the morning for at least an hour. The nap that normally happens about 9:30-10am, didn't happen until just now, at 3pm. He spent the morning, arching his back, crying, and refusing to nurse because I refused to swaddle him. I finally texted Jesse, in tears, begging him to please get away from work for a minute, just to call me and talk me out of my hysteria. He suggested a bath, so I pulled Cori from the nap that she was supposed to be taking, but was instead screaming and crying about, from her room and turned on Sesame Street, so that I could take a bath with Avery. He was totally chill in the tub, loving it. Now, he's asleep. It wasn't quite that simple, but I won't go into the nitty, gritty details that I'm probably too embarrassed to claim. The point is - he's sleeping.

Cori? Nope, I put her back down for a nap in her room, like always. She's currently drumming on her bed and playing with a DVD. But at least she's quiet, so hey, that's not a battle I'm willing to fight right now.

Overwhelming guilt.

I always wondered what events in my life would be the ones that taught me the greatest lessons. Who would be my greatest teachers? Today, I learned a valuable lesson about appreciation. The lesson was bestowed upon me by my children, both under two years old. It was one of those non-stop-suck-the-patience-right-outta-ya days. My littlest, the 2 month old, somehow came to the conclusion that today was a great stay-awake-from-dusk-til-dawn-and-mama-you-better-not-put-me-down kind of day. Not behavior suitable for a mama of two under two. My oldest, the almost-2 year old, decided that she just wanted it to be a mama-and-me-forget-about-the-baby kind of day. You can see where I ran into some problems. I was okay for most of the day, running a few quick errands, you know, the PX, the post office, yadda yadda. Things got done. It wasn't until around 5 o'clock when that seemingly overflowing pot of patience just disappeared right out from under me. The tipping point was when I laid the baby down to, oh – I don't know, stretch, breathe, think – for just one short little second. The moment my hands stopped touching his squishy little body, the exaggerated infant squeals rolled from his pudgy little lips, a noise I pretty much had grown used to after a day like today. Meanwhile, this was the moment when the almost-2 year old decided she was "hunggee, hunggee". Well, Mama can't fix the almost-2 year old dinner when the infant squeals are sounding throughout the house, so the toddler banshee screams begin. At this point, I've got squeals and banshee screams of various octaves, rattling my brain. "Cori, you have GOT to wait. *banshee screams infant squeals* Avery, would you just shut your mouth?" Did I seriously just tell my 2 month old to shut his mouth? Why yes, yes, I did. Cue worst-mama-ever-in-the-wide-wide-world guilt. What kind of a parent tells their child – an infant, no less – to shut their mouth? As if he's going to think to himself "well, alright, since you put it that way". It was my breaking point of the day, the week, the year? Written out, it probably doesn't accurately portray how I felt in the moment, but it was awful. My children are clearly upset about a variety of things, and instead of the levelheaded, let-me-see-what-I-can-do-for-you parent, they get crazy-hair-googly-eyes-shut-your-mouth mama with the pot of patience that has left the building. For the rest of the evening, I got to face my guilty feelings about the many millions of ways I could have handled that situation better. While they were just telling me they need something the best way they knew how, they were also teaching me that lesson of appreciation. What if they weren't here to give me the crazy hair and the googly eyes? Wouldn't I take those banshee squeals every day of the week over the mere thought of them not being around for with all the noise and the mess and the gimme-gimme-gimme attention that I have never truly appreciated? I'm not saying I've never appreciated my children, not at all. I appreciate them every single day when I wake up each morning and go to bed each night. But this is like a whole new level of appreciation. Who cares if the toddler is screaming right into my ear drum or that she just won't grasp the lesson of "let's not hit Mama on the head anymore with the plastic pot of rubber peas"? At least I've been given this opportunity to teach them the things in life they need to learn. I feel silly and dramatic even typing this out, but it really was a reality check kind of lesson for me today. It's not about the perfectly behaved children or the house with the vacuum lines in the carpet and the windows shimmering without a hint of smudgy fingerprints. Life's greatest lessons seem to come to me when I feel like I just can't handle it for one more second.

I grow tired of the looks I get from people that seem to be saying, with an air of pity, of course, "oh, a stay at home mom, how quaint to be able to play house all day long". Staying at home with the kids doesn't enable me to cook a four course meal in my pearls and hand-sewn apron, while the children play Checkers quietly in their bedroom. I don't get to vacuum in high heels (although that might be kind of fun) or greet my husband with the day's newspaper and a calming foot rub. Most days, we stay in PJs until noon, forget to brush our teeth until well after lunch, and have a hard time remembering what day of the week it even happens to be. So you'd imagine my surprise when my own two-under-two taught me a lesson that I just can't stop thinking about. I guess they decided today was a great day for learning. My life's greatest teachers are, without a doubt, my children. Who would have thought?

Clearing my head.

I've been needing to find the time to update for days, even weeks, now, but just haven't been able to find those few extra minutes to do it. This week is full of a lot of different emotions, and I'm feeling really frazzled by all of them.

When Jesse enlisted in 2007, we both knew the very reality of him going to Iraq or Afghanistan and how quickly it could be. Instead, he was sent to South Korea, where he spent 2.5 years, most of which was very happily spent with us together as a family. When he received orders back to America in the late spring of 2010, we immediately contacted his gaining unit to find out the deployment schedule. Much to our dismay, but not really our surprise, we learned that his gaining unit in Fort Polk had a scheduled year-long deployment to Iraq beginning in January of 2011. We prepared ourselves mentally for the deployment, and began to sort through the various emotions that come with that kind of news. When we arrived at Fort Polk and he began inprocessing in September 2010, his orders still stated that he would be going to the deploying unit… until a few days later, when they suddenly switched him out to another unit. This unit, his current unit, had just gotten back from Iraq in May 2010, and had no future deployments on the calendar at this point in time. We were elated, absolutely thrilled with the news. I knew that while he was so obviously happy that he would get to spend yet another guaranteed year with his daughter (and little did we know, our son!), he was also dealing with the soldier side of his emotions. At this point, he'd been in 3 years and had yet to see any of the action for which he joined. I can't fully understand those emotions, and I don't think anyone could until they were in the situation, which so few people ever actually are. He knew it was his duty to go, but how could he say he was unhappy about spending even more uninterrupted time with his family? We dealt with the feelings, and moved on. Just a few months later, in January 2011, just days after coming back to Fort Polk from Christmas vacation in South Carolina, he was propositioned to volunteer for a year-long deployment to Afghanistan with one of the brother companies in the brigade. While my immediate reaction was, "are you freaking kidding me? There's no way I'm going to encourage that", we went on to discuss it in depth, and given the timing, we agreed that it would be a good, sound move for our family. He volunteered along with many of his buddies, and we began preparing ourselves yet again. As the days and weeks went by, his buddies slowly drained out of his own company into the deploying company, but still Jesse sat there, waiting and waiting to move to the new unit. Weeks went by, and he was the only guy left that had volunteered that was still just waiting. He questioned his NCOs about it, to which they replied, "give it time, you'll go, it just takes time to get everyone there." The waiting continued. The real emotional rollercoaster started when one day they would tell him they were full of his rank and wouldn't need him anymore, to literally the very next day, being told that he was "absolutely going" since he hadn't deployed yet. The flip flopping happened for weeks, day after day. When we hadn't heard anything about it for a few weeks, he questioned his superiors again, when they told him that he could switch to the deploying unit in as little as 12 hours with absolutely no warning, and that he wouldn't be clear until they actually left for Afghanistan in August. That meant, we had to mentally prepare ourselves for something that could very well happen, just as likely as it wasn't going to happen, for the next 4 months, after we'd already been in limbo for the past 4 months.

As August grew closer, I began to breathe a little easier, while still not allowing my guard to be let down. It is August 10^th, and the company has left for deployment. My husband sits safely beside me, without talks of a deployment in his future at all. It's certainly a mixture of emotions, most of which are overshadowed by my absolute thankfulness that he is here, not there. I've been up and down, and cried so many tears, and let me feelings get the best of me too much over the last 8 months, as we sat in limbo, having no idea what the next year held for us. Why is that I don't feel like I can breathe any easier at all?

My brother, the one who used to attend and help coordinate anti-war rallies, is deploying to Afghanistan very soon, dangerously soon. Of my three siblings, he is by far the one I am closest to. We grew up together, much more than I grew up with the other two siblings because we are much closer in age. We fight like cats and dogs, still name call even as adults, but he can make me laugh almost as fast as my own husband. He's one of my very best friends. I'm having a hard time dealing with his leaving, as is the rest of my family. It's hard in any case, no doubt, but no one in our family ever suspected he would be one to join the Army. I can't really imagine what my mom and dad are going through this weekend, as they work through their very own set of emotions, which are completely foreign to me. Sending your brother, or even your own husband, off to war is one thing, but your child? I can't even think about the possibility because it hurts too much. Of my parents' four children, two have gotten uncomfortably close to enlisting themselves, while the third actually went the whole nine yards and sits now, waiting to enter that war-torn country, as his company's medic. I only hope the next year flies quickly and safely for him. It helps knowing that he seems entirely pumped to go on this adventure, and I think he will have one of the most powerful experiences in his lifetime.

As Jesse grows very closely to the 12 month mark until he ETSes (ends his service) from the military, we have begun to weigh all of our options a little heavier, and look at the various possibilities with a much stronger eye. While our families lecture us on how dumb it is to leave the Army now, and how awful the economy is, we try to reassure ourselves and block out the negativity. Unfortunately, after months and years of hearing the same old drivel, they've appeared to have invaded our own thought processes. We are confident that we would be able to find some kind of work once he gets out, but I can't shake the terrifying thought of the health insurance battle I know that we will face. We still have a considerable amount of debt, including our car, and that's keeping us from running full speed ahead into the civilian world. Fortunately, a large chunk of that will be gone by the time his ETS actually comes, but not enough to really put my mind at ease. We're both working toward our degrees, albeit at a snail's pace, and neither will likely be done by that point.

Is reenlistment really an option at this point? Did I really just admit that to someone other than myself and Jesse? The thought makes my queasy. Jesse has been in four years now, all without a deployment, and if he gets out, he would be "safe". Granted, he would still have 3 years of Inactive Ready Reserves, where he could technically deploy at any time, but the likelihood of that is fairly small. The puzzle pieces of getting out aren't coming together quite as perfectly as they were at one time, and I don't quite know what I need to make them fit together again. He won't know what his reenlistment options even are until at least October 1^st, but I'm hoping for one of two things. I hope that either the options they present are completely not worth reenlisting, making the choice to get out as easy as it was a few months ago. Or if that doesn't happen, I hope he is presented with something that is super wonderfully "where do I sign?"awesome which would make the decision to stay in quite a bit easier. I don't know want his options to be middle-of-the-road, good or bad. One way or the other, something black and white. We need this decision to be as easy as it can be.

Early morning.

It's the early mornings like right now that I really enjoy in my day. The house is silent, save for the humming of the air conditioning and fans throughout the house. Cori and Avery are sleeping so quietly and peacefully, and Jesse is at his early morning PT session. I am free to do whatever it I want, whether it's lounging in bed for an extra couple of hours, spending some time on the computer without little hands grabbing or tap-tap-tap-ing on the keyboard, or I can decide that maybe I'd like to get started on my daily cleaning a little early. Whatever I decide, it's one of the only decisions I make throughout my day that is completely of my own preference. It's a nice feeling.

"More. More. MORE!"

My days are a constant stream of doing, listening, talking, cleaning. Never ending. Avery's awake, gotta feed him, he's asleep, dishes need to be done, Cori's hungry, gotta feed her, she doesn't want to feed herself, I have to feed her, Avery's fussing again, time for diaper changes, Cori wants to show me something, Avery needs to eat again, Cori wants me to put Avery down and crawl into my lap. Can't put Avery down, Avery's hungry, house needs to be cleaned, Cori's hungry again. Gotta clean when both kids are occupied. House is finally clean, kids are asleep, I can finally sit down. I find the couch, there's a food spill I somehow missed. Gotta get up and clean it up. It's clean and I can finally relax. Avery's hungry.

Like I said, never ending. Most days, I don't feel like I'm really cut out for this stay at home mom thing. They deserve a parent at home until they can go to school. I can't wait until Jesse and I can split that duty, and split the task of working outside of the home too. 13 months at best, 15 months at worst.

No pain, no gain.

Jesse has been selected for several things over the last couple of months that are really great for his Army career. I say career lightly because, as we all know, once October 30, 2012 rolls around, he rolls out to inactive ready reserves and the door will close on his Army career as we know it. Anyway, last month, after getting off of paternity leave, he was informed that he and six other guys had been chosen to be a part of the "hot squad" for the next year in their DCRF mission. Basically, it just means that some of the best guys in the company were chosen to all come together and essentially be the brigade sergeant major's entourage whenever they deploy somewhere stateside. Their mission is just that if there is ever a national disaster, they would deploy to that location and help out for as many weeks or months as needed. It was a huge honor to be chosen to be a part of the "hot squad" because it looks really good to all of the higher ups, especially when it comes to promotion time.

Well, a couple of weeks pass, and one of the staff sergeants in Jesse's company called him and asked him if he was interested in being on the Warfighter team. Rather than me try to explain it, I'll just copy and paste what the team is from the website: "The warfighter competition will test the abilities of military police Soldiers in a variety of military occupational skill-specific tasks, as well as mental and physical fitness over a four-day period". Anyway, this is a HUGE honor, as you have to be extremely physically and mentally fit to even try out, much less be asked to be on the team without volunteering! So, Jesse did the mandatory try out and officially made the team the following morning. Since then, he and the four other guys on the team have been HARDCORE training every single day. His entire job each day is training for this competition in September. That means, PT starts at 5-5:30 with some extensive ruck march each morning, followed by PT at the gym, then lunch, and the rest of the afternoon is spent in the gym again, working hardcore to get in better shape for the competition. I honestly don't know how he's keeping his eyes open at this point, much less continuing to work out at the extensive rate he's required to.

This morning, he did a ruck march that was 6 hours long. Six hours, six! I can't even imagine. He had awful blisters that popped up the day before yesterday, and when I mean awful, I mean d.i.s.g.u.s.t.i.n.g. Blisters that literally cover his entire foot. So that was two days ago, and after today's six hour cross country ruck, he basically has blisters on top of blisters. In fact, he even has a blister on each of his hips that are about 1.5-2 inches in diameter where his rucksack rubbed. Not to get so graphic, but I'm just trying to get the extent of this training across. It's hardcore stuff. So, tomorrow we're off to get some brand new boots for him to hopefully prevent his feet from dying anymore than they have. Although tomorrow is Saturday, he still has to train, but hopefully only for a half day or so.

All of this work better pay off in some sweet promotion points. He's hearing that he'll get all kinds of awards (= promotion points!) and hopefully they'll throw a couple of 3 or 4 day weekends his way. He's not doing it for the rewards and recognition, but that doesn't mean I can't silently hope and pray for them in his place. ;)