Hockey

I love Hockey. There isn't really any other sport that drives me crazy or makes me scream with joy or anger than Hockey. Yea, sure, I'm a football fan and I'll yell at the TV about this bad call or that bad call but with Hockey... it's different, it's this beautiful combination of what I'd have to say are the most graceful, skilled, talented and fierce athletes on the planet. Not only must they skate fast and with purpose, they must do so holding a stick and aiming at a puck. They must also do this while being thrown into the walls by rival players, and must be willing and able to fall then jump up quickly enough to score.

My team is the New Jersey Devils. I am a big fan. Martin Brodeur is what initially turned me on to my local team (when I was in NJ) and ever since I watched them score 3 Stanley Cups in a rather short period of time, I fell in love and have been a loyal fan ever since. Between, Martin and Zack Parise, both Canadian Olympic Hockey Teammates who won the Gold Medal in Hockey in 2010, and the rest of the very talented lineup from Ryan Carter to Stephen Gionta to Adam Henrique to Ilya Kovalchuk and the rest of their players (those are obviously my favorite scorers) the Devils have managed to do pretty well during the 2011-12 playoffs.

After beating the Floaters in a 4-1 Series, they've been almost head-to-head with the NY Rangers (a pretty arrogant team) and have been doing pretty amazingly, considering the Devils play a completely different game than the Rangers. The Rangers are about their Defensive Linemen and about their aggressive offence, but they play mean. Grabbing faces, throwing punches, choke holds, jersey-grabbing... Just not a fair and expected game. Just the other game (Game 4 of the East Final Playoffs), a Ranger attacked Brodeur causing an on-ice brawl between the Devils and Rangers. The Devils play differently, they aren't as aggressive towards the rival players but they will hit back given a good opportunity and reason, and yes, sometimes, our own players commit an error in judgement as well. It's just that the Rangers have been playing dirty and the calls while at Madison Square Garden have been less then ideal, unless you are a Ranger's fan then you must have been happy to see how many roughing calls the refs missed of your D-bag team roughing up one of our amazingly talented players.

Sorry, trash talk.

Friday night is Game 6 and the Devils have a real opportunity in front of them: End the Series with a swift victory and win the Eastern Conference Title for this season and enter the Stanley Cup Final Playoffs against the LA Kings for a chance to win the ultimate NHL honor a team can get: Stanley Cup WINNERS! This year, Jersey really has a chance, for perhaps the first time since their last run (and win) at the cup in 2003, almost ten years ago. It's our time.

So, to my Devils, Brodeur, Parise, Kovalchuk, Gionta, Carter, Henrique and the rest of the team: Please do NJ the honor of having the cup in our beautiful new arena that has never held it!! Please make your state proud, your Devils Army proud!!! Good Luck!!!

Red Alert, Friday, we're taking home the Conference Title :)

GAME 5 WIN

"What did we learn here? We learned that the Rangers played their best game of the series and still lost!" The perfect summary of the Game 5 East Final Playoffs between the New Jersey Devils (GO TEAM!!) and the New York Rangers. It was amazing. In the first ten minutes, the Devils were up 3-0 in a very unexpected Lead, however the Rangers were caught up by the start of the third period. Then a beautiful goal by Carter was followed by an empty net goal, leading to the 5-3 victory by the Devils.

Game 6 will be held in NJ at home :) I'm so excited. I hope we win the Eastern Conference Playoffs at home in Game 6. Friday night, 7pm. Tune in!!!

Picture from Game 4 :) Where 36 minutes worth of penalties were given in the 3rd Period. 24 against the Rangers and 12 against the Devils for Roughing and Misconduct. 

Insomnia bears introspection

I often have insomnia. I don't often have time to write... time to explore my thoughts and time to drift away in the nonsense that sometimes takes hold of my thoughts... Time to remember what was and what is... Time to believe in myself, that my past mattered....

It's in the silence that I truly understand myself, but after the silence gives way to chaos and noise of daily life, I forget again... Sometimes I remember things that once were, the girl I used to be and the adventure I had, the ups and downs, the sad-horrible parts mixed with the moments of pure happiness.

My life wasn't easy. There are moments that I really wish I could forget, moments that I wish I could remember, moments that I remember the little girl who was afraid of being alone and I'm her again, moments that I remember happiness, those rare fleeting moments when I was happy. I remember moments that should probably seem sad, but something made it stand out as beautiful because, perhaps, it was sad. And now, my life is such that it is happy. It doesn't have tragedy as often and somehow seems less beautiful because of it. I love my life but I spent so much time around loss and death and wanting and missing that I've forgotten what life is like without all that. Is it possible I don't know what it's like to be a normal person?

In a way, I think it is. I'm twenty-four years old and this is the most stable my life has ever been. I'm married. I have kids. I have a dog and a cat. I have a house (one that we own in Louisiana and one we rent in Missouri). I have a truck. I have a family. I have duties. I have purpose. Before now, I'd been so many different things...

I was the girl that was abandoned by her birth-father, beaten by her mother, made fun of at school, from somewhere else, living on a Military Base with my alcoholic mother and my Dad (aka stepfather), a book worm, a band geek. I was the girl with that friend who committed suicide, the girl whose boyfriend died, the girl who wore hoodies in the summer and wouldn't say why. I was the girl who tried drugs just to feel something, who wondered about suicide and if that would be worth it (since I believed Suicide was selfish), who hurt herself out of the same desperate need that caused her to smoke pot and occasionally indulged on other things. I was that girl who held her grandfather's hand as he lost the battle against lung cancer. I was that girl who when she moved to Europe, reinvented herself by being herself, only more confidently, and expanded her horizons. I was that girl who went out with a Belgian guy and then a Texan, in the same year and realized how different two people could be. I was that girl with her mother in a coma and her father had turned to the bottle. I was that girl who was 17, all alone in a foreign country. I was that girl who decided not much mattered beyond who she was at any given moment. I was that girl who made friends with people she never expected and kept those friends as her truest. I was that girl who ran away and slept in a friend's bed, strictly platonic. I was that girl who worked at a hospital too young and saw too much hurt and pain. I was that girl who flirted with anyone just to ease their pain. I was that girl who saw her friend die. I was that girl who spent her last month in Europe with two weeks in the psyche ward for hitting a breaking point. I was that girl who during her trip to the psyche ward realized how relaxed and happy she was, being allowed to be crazy. I was that girl who made friends with the guy with schizophrenia and the other guy with severe PTSD. I was that girl who was the only girl in a psyche ward of 20 young, fairly attractive twenty-somethings males who had served their country but had lost part of their mind doing it. I was that girl that felt safe, even with their imbalances and chance they could freak out, she felt completely safe.

That was the last time I felt safe. I was in a psyche ward with about 20 Soldiers and Marines in Nov/Dec 2005. I remember all their faces but most of their names have escaped me... only two stand out, a Marine named Tim*, who I have never heard from again and a soldier named Charlie*, who last I heard in 2010 and was doing well. Tim was a funny, Northern California guy. He'd joined the Marine Corps because his Dad did it when he was 20 and his Grandpa had done it when he was 17. Tim had joined the Marines in 2000, as soon as he'd turned 18. This was his third deployment. What got me about Tim was his lack of shame. He wasn't sorry he couldn't handle what he'd seen and he saw no point in apologizing for something he thought proved he was a good person. He was diagnosed with Severe PTSD. From what I gathered from Tim, he'd seen one too many things while out on a mission. He knew that meant he'd have to leave his buddies, to get better, but he also said he'd be back to them in no time. I don't know what happened to him. I hope he got his wish. Charlie, on the other hand, never really wanted to be a Soldier, but signed up because he didn't have much back home. Back home for Charlie was the Reserves in Arizona. He's 100% Navajo and a wonderful artist. The words he wrote and the art he managed to do in the time that I knew him has taken my breath away a few times. Charlie wasn't made to be a soldier. He had deployed once and wanted out, but his enlistment time wasn't up. He started to get severely depressed and apparently tried to kill himself (I say "apparently" because this is what he didn't say, but in my heart I knew it to be true) and was admitted to the hospital the same night I was. The same night I did the very same thing. Charlie and I became close, perhaps because we'd shared something so tragic and both had failed which made it all the more tragic to us, or perhaps because we both saw the same thing in the other, a suffering in which there was no escape that we could see. Or perhaps it had to do with who we were, as people, as a boy and a girl, because at the time, he was no more of an adult than I was, yet we were both struggling with our lives, the suffering, the war, the entire loss of what life should have been if we weren't somehow apart of this life we'd both somehow chosen. We talked for hours and joked about this and that, never fully letting on about what we felt, because no matter how free we were to feel it where we were, there is something that doesn't change, that need to control yourself, as much or as little as you can. Control is a very basic human need. Charlie and I ended up being in the same "group" sessions, where we'd both discovered we suffered from the same "disorder" if that's the proper word for it, Disorder sounds so... civil. We found out we were bipolar, manic depressives. I was not that surprised to find out about me. I'd been mistakenly put on SSRIs by my doctor and had kind of lost my mind during the time I was taken them. My mood swings were radical and I'd go from crying to laughing to yelling to laughing to crying in about 10 minutes flat. I was literally being pushed over the edge by pills that were supposed to help me. As it turns out, SSRIs are a terrible idea for manics. We react badly, and it causes our only little bit of control to shatter like a piece of glass hitting a marble floor. Charlie told me that's what had happened to him, he was losing it on those drugs and I couldn't have agreed more that they were wrong for me. I ended up being diagnosed with PTSD as well, since what I'd seen and lived through already had driven me here, I was pretty accepting of that as well. I guess I had always known something was wrong with me and finding out exactly what was a relief. When I finally left the psyche ward, I promised to keep in touch with Charlie and to call Tim when he made it back stateside, but I only kept one, mostly due to Charlie emailing me and writing me these beautiful letters that could only come from another friend who had experienced exactly what you did, where you were safe and had the comfort of someone who wouldn't judge... His first letter to me had started out with twelve small words that have always been stuck in my mind. I might not remember another thing he ever wrote, although all of it was beautiful and tragic, as was our friendship, started on the broken pieces of two souls and growing stronger but still fragile, like a bone that has been reset. But those words, those twelve little words have carried me for seven years, every so often reminding me that my life is just that... "Leah, Leah, Leah, my dear sweet Leah, how does your garden grow?" My life is a garden now, first it was full of weeds and now I have beautiful flowers in its place. So why do I fear the storm that isn't even on the forecast? Maybe knowing true happiness, knowing what it's like not to worry about being hit or screamed at, not worrying about food or clothing or electricity or even, at one or five  points, a place to live, not worrying about if I'm safe, if my children are safe, not worrying about those moments that truly frighten you... Not worrying about fear except of the unknown... And what truly scares me... is that now that I know happiness, I have more to lose than I did when I wound up in the only safe place I'd really known til then.

I guess, sometimes honesty is lost in this world and people like me don't tell you their stories... like when they hit bottom, what they remember about how they felt, why... It all means something to someone else who has been the victim of an unfortunate life, but maybe it means more to me than anyone else, because it's my life, it's the life I lived. I saw and felt death near me, I thought I would meet death once, even happily so, yet here I am, in the midst of life with two beautiful children, a husband who knows all that and loves me anyways, a future with promise and hope, somehow happy and I'm afraid.

I think I'll always be afraid of what I remember. I don't even talk to my own mother because I'm afraid I'll forgive her and being abused and neglected by her for the majority of my life has become a pattern I never want to repeat. So I avoid her, I try to refrain from punishing my own children when I'm truly angry because I know a part of that monster I was raised with is inside me and I refuse to be like her. I try not to be angry anymore, about what is done, because it is in the past. I had one brief, but really beautiful chapter in the tragedy and I'd always been afraid that was the only one I'd get, where I was safe, where I could truly let go of the pretense of staying 'normal' and be myself. It turns out though, that wasn't true happiness. She was black and blue and had cuts all over. She looked lost... No, she knew exactly where she was (Charlie in a blog about me 2006). I might have looked lost, and even been a little lost, but he was right, I knew where I was. I was a million miles from where I'd started with a few thousand to go... It just took me a while to realize that he was right all along. I'd always read that line (over and over in my mind, after I'd long stopped going to his blog) and thought how could he know me so well and yet only know me for two weeks. My husband is amazing and after two years of knowing each other, still loves me, but sometimes I wonder if he saw what Charlie saw, would he think the same? Would he see that girl who was black and blue and cut all over as a beautiful woman? Or would he see, as so many others have seen in my life: a lost little girl with a broken smile?

I think I've healed. I want to believe I have. From the pain and the sorrow and the loss of what was and the gain of what is now. I want to believe that darkness will never seep into my heart again. I want to believe that I am perpetually happy but even as I write this, I know it's not entirely true. I have darkness inside me, I have a part of my soul that is forever marked with finding the tragic somehow beautiful. I have something so deeply imprinted in my soul that I am comfortable in sorrow, secure in a loneliness that comes from being the only person who you can trust. That part of my soul hasn't been seen in a while but I know someday, it will emerge from it's cocoon and perhaps something beautiful will come of it... 'for when I am in the darkest parts of my mind, my most beautiful art comes out... Poetry that is symbolic and true to my heart. Poetry that I can't write happy.

And yet somehow, I feel relieved to know that in my present state, I've finally owned up to my past. To the part of me that I was afraid of. I am no longer afraid. These thoughts are dancing, from memory to memory, as if on some melody of a long forgotten song and soon they will be memories that I forget like some aged photograph, sitting upon a shelf, yellowing and fading as the years go by.

*Names changed to protect their Identities and their Privacy.

House

I am really sad to say good-bye to House. I have been a loyal fan for 8 years. That's three years longer than my daughter has been alive. It's honestly something that I've watched every episode of, watched many multiple times, where I've marathoned the dvds during the summers that it was on hiatus and now watching the final episode, I'm remembering how many conversations started with "Did you watch House last night?" or "Hugh Laurie is literally an amazing actor..." and how many nights I sat and watched it with one friend then the next and watched it alone... How it was a welcome distraction when I was going through hard times, how it was a calm hour when I had too much to do but would put it aside for an hour... It's also pretty amazing that the series is ending the way it should, with a fairwell episode, saying goodbye to our favorite characters, watching the amazing beautiful works of art that these people created for our entertainment... Thanks to the Cast and Crew of House and to Fox for keeping it alive for eight years.


I've had such a crush on Hugh Laurie. Watched these episodes when my Dad died and couldn't focus on anything, remembered watching it with my Dad, with friends, with boyfriends that came and went and a husband that finally stayed... I have watched house three years longer than my daughter's been in my life... It seems sad and in a way, an end to a chapter in my life... I was inspired by the uniqueness of the show, what a beautiful and yet tragic storyline... I am always drawn to beautiful tragic things and Doctor Greg House was a beautifully tragic character, the show covered things that made you smile and cry at once, you laughed and you got frustrated. Plus Hugh Laurie's blue eyes are to die for. 


Good Bye, Greg House from being a unique character. Thank you, for eight amazing seasons of the most unforgettable show. 


Time to watch the last episode ever. I might cry. I probably will. 

Little men in my head

Is it weird that I imagine little people in my head? Is it worse that they all stereotype various races or is it good that I'm that multicultural? BTW I'm kind of serious but I've always imagined it in a funny, politically incorrect way, not meant as mean!!!

Ok, so I'm a tad weird. I enjoy imagining little men and women running around my head, commanding certain groups of workers. The thing is all of these "people" are stereotypes. Like I have (my ancestors) the Native Americans in loin cloths and playing casino games and selling cheap cigarettes that taste like dirt to white people. It explains my love of playing the slots and my unrelenting Sleep Naked need and my nicotine fits. There is the Mexican who jumps around a sombrero when I'm happy. He does what I like to call the Mexican Happy Dance. Some of my friends even comment on him on occassion. No I'm not making this up. They knew me during my ... fun-carefree ... days. There is the chinese guy I imagine whenever I go to buy something at a market. One dolla, two dolla, free dollar. Yes, yes, very wrong of me. There's also the French doctor who is very snobby but is a total wine buff and encourages that extra glass when I drink. He and I have had words... I don't really like wine-overs but once in a while Dr. Snobby Frenchpants (that's his name) wins the argument for another glass. There's also the Canadian in me, who loves Hockey, thinks that it's funny that most people can't drive in the snow and likes to get a little "green tea" now and then. While we both get our hockey fixes and occasionally get to watch a nice snow-caused car accident (with no fatalities, because he's canadian and people dying isn't cool.) I don't get to "drink green tea" anymore, what a shame. And yes, once upon a time, I indulged in green tea. There's also the American Texan, who encourages riding horses, watching football, partying in the barns and pastures, the boots.. Ok, I love the Texan part of me :) I also love my Jersey girl. She's emotional, quick as a whip, sharp as a tack, and extremely loving yet a demon when she's pissed. Yea, so what? 


But I do imagine these people in my head and each one of them celebrates or entertain me when I'm bored. Even a few of my friends know the creatures I imagine. They might think I'm crazy but they are thoroughly entertained too.

And I know all this is odd, but every once in a while... I have odd thoughts. Sue me

CG Mixer and International Soldiers

So today was a good day overall and I don't want to bore you with details of most of that... So I'll just dive into what is actually on my mind.

Tonight I attended a CG Mixer with my husband and it was without a doubt, a very interesting evening. The night consisted of me standing in 4 inch heals while we mingled with other Soldiers and a few select spouses that bothered to show up, while waiting for the Commanding General to give a speech and introduce valuable members of his command team. After that, however is where the real fun happened for me. I had spotted a German Soldier and wanted to go talk to him but as I was headed over to where I'd seen him last, Steve and I got stopped by a LTC (Leutenant Colonel, for those of you not in the know) who had seen me and wanted to tell us that he was happy to see a Spouse with her soldier.

The LTC: "Is this your wife? You get a gold star!"


No, I'm not kidding, that's really what he said. I almost laughed out loud at that. Then he spent about 10 minutes trying to convince us to stay for Steve's command time. He also told me that I should visit the Brigade headquarters and speak with the FRG coordinator.

Finally he said good-bye and we found the German Captain. I introduced myself and told him I'd lived there once. We ended up talking about our two Countries and somehow, about halfway through, we ended up building up each other's countries. No lie. You have so much in America! He told me. But you have better stuff. I told him. We ended up having a nice talk, talking about when the Wall came down (I was two there, in my mother's arms.) And about David Hasselhoff. You bet! Haha. It was great. It ended with him inviting me to the International Soldier's Briefing on their Countries for the American Soldiers. WOW! I got invited to that when usually it's only for soldiers!!!

We said goodbye and went into the bar where there was a Ukrainian and we also talked about our Countries. And we talked about Prague and travelling and a bunch of other things. It's so interesting to talk to International Soldiers. It really is enlightening to see how they view us.

Anyways, I'm exhausted but I promise to write more later.

Mornings... How I hate you!!

Warning: Profanity is used.... ALOT.

I despise mornings. So much. I'm not a morning person. Like at all, I hate being woken up and I hate when people make noise. So much so that I dream of ways to torture them into silence.

Normally I manage to sleep until around 8 or 9 am, but my lovely husband thought it would be nice to wake me at 6am this morning when he got home from PT. For those of you who don't have a clue about the Military, PT stands for Physical Training aka "Wake up fucking early and go run around and do pushups until you go home and wake your wife up who will glare at you with daggers until you learn how to be quiet." It doesn't help that I have insomnia every night, staying up up until two or three in the morning due to the inability not to sleep.

My kids aren't even afraid of me anymore. At one point, they hated waking me up, so they'd play quietly with their toys until I woke up and now, that doesn't happen. Now they break into the fridge and steal apples (yes, I do know it could be worse) and of course, making a mess with different things in different rooms, on an almost daily basis. And my dog, well, he really doesn't care at all. Apparently barking at EVERYTHING is the highlight of his existence, he really needs a PSVita. Also, my cat likes to jump on me. Today she landed on my stomach and I thought I'd been punched. So as you see, all the forces of nature come together to make sure I can't sleep.

Anyways, I woke up this morning, too fucking early with a fucking headache and too little fucking sleep. And yes, I swear in the morning because I have absolutely ZERO interest in being awake and being nice at 7 fucking o'clock in the fucking morning, Mother-Fucker. And my plan for the day is pretty basic. Clean the house, finish the laundry that was started on Saturday and that I didn't do yesterday because it was Mother's Day, fuckers, and Momma's shouldn't do laundry on their own damn day! And go to Walmart and print out photos both for our personal use and for our family members, because you should always send the old people who can't use a computer that well photos of your kids, so they feel included. It's called being nice! And yes, I see the irony.

I also still have that headache I mentioned earlier even though I've taken something for it. It's sharp and stabbing and makes me want to cut that particular part of my head off, I mean who needs the left half of your head anyways! As you see, I'm not a morning person. I prefer total silence and sleeping until I naturally wake up, something I never did until Steve got home from Afghanistan and I finally got the ability to sleep in. I know, I know, I shouldn't complain about not being able to every day when I get to sometimes, but those "sometimes" just feel too fucking rare that it drives me insane. I'm always tired...

I swear I mainline caffeine, which means that I can't even tolerate people until I put some in my bloodstream, which worries me due to the fact that I want to have a baby. How the hell am I supposed to function pregnant with no pain meds and no caffeine! Pregnancy makes life ten times harder, I think, but I want it so badly, I'm aching.  And I've yet to actually have any yet. And I think my dog is trying to make me crazy... his barking which is every 3-5 seconds, is so repetitive and annoying that I'm considering throwing things at him... (no, I wouldn't hurt him but he's so annoying and he doesn't listen worth a fuck.)

As you see, I have no tolerance for mornings and even less without caffeine. I'm a night owl, which I understand the basic idea of: owls are awake at night, but I hate calling myself an owl. I prefer Penguins, if I have to be a bird. Or wolves, because I like wolves. 


Anyways, last night I tuned into Game of Thrones (read the books and watch the show, the show actually follows the books quite well, unlike most shows based on books) and Army Wives (read the book if you want, it has nothing to do with the show even though they say that the show is based on the book). You should check out Game of Thrones, because it's really good, so good I'm addicted to it and I always watch it with my husband because he loves it too, so it's good for both guys and gals. I should mention this about Army Wives... while yes, it does have some if not alot of reality to it, you shouldn't take it as fact for what my life, or any true Army Wife is like. Also, you shouldn't believe that all Army Wives are fat and lazy and moochers off their husbands and feel like everything is due to them without helping them. The truth is some of us are skinny, busy and don't get credit for most of what we do by anyone but our husbands or fellow Army Wives. So all those assholes who think that can go fuck themselves up the ass with a large, rusted steel pipe. And you are welcome for that visual. 


I should actually make some attempt to move. And get caffeine. I'll be much nicer with Caffeine. And I won't want to cut a bitch as quickly. Oh, if you couldn't tell, I'm from Jersey... 

Ummm...

My MIL prays for me. Alot. Today Steve called her for mother's day and after half-listening to their conversation, I reminded him to tell her about his Captain's grad and then started to read the next chapter in our book. He hung up with her and right after I told him "I have to read you this chapter. It's about her years in Human Resources and it's hilarious." He told me: "My mom says she's praying for us and loves us." She never talks to me, so I don't know that she loves us is actually a true statement.

I just smiled, saying "Well that makes this rather awkward" and started reading aloud about penises and vaginas and enormous labias. (No, I'm not making this up.) And we chucked together.

After I finished the chapter, we went back up stairs and I asked "What exactly is your mother praying for?" Because Yea, I can get way off-topic alot and immediately go back to one that has my mind questioning everything. Steve replied, "Probably for us to be happy and successful." I shook my head and shrugged, "No probably that I won't take you to hell with me." Steve just laughed. This makes me know it's true.

You see, while I'm religious in the sense that I was raised in a semi-religious house and believe in certain things but question alot of those same things, thinking that if God really loves me, he'll know that I'm just a curious mind and that I'm intriqued with things I don't understand. And no, I don't think that believing in a book written by guys that lived 400-500 years after Jesus did is entirely sensible. Sorry. But I do think that it's full of really great stories and proves some valid points like if a giant attacks you, use a sling-shot and hit him in the head with stones. He'll probably fall and hurt himself. And remember, the bigger they are, the harder they fall. Just saying. 


Anyways, my MIL doesn't really talk to me. I mean she will if I answer my husband's phone but I try to avoid doing that because I know she feels uncomfortable too. Another reason is because I don't really like hearing "I'll pray for you." Since I am more than perfectly capable of praying for myself, but I never say that to her. I figure that would be rude. And I hate being rude.


So instead I send up birthday cards for all the family members of his family and send her books that I know she'd like: Biblical Triva, Bedtime blessings, etc. And hope that one day, I can secretly get her drunk so we can have a fair conversation. Because you can't be fanatical when you are drunk. Well you can, but honestly, it wouldn't make alot of sense. My husband says I'm not allowed to do that.


Oh I have to go because I'm having my husband prepare the potatoes for dinner. I'm making german food because I don't want anything else and we're too broke at the moment to go to the german restaurant I like. Yea. 

Mothers Day... I think

Photo done by Ryan Milling Photography

Mother's Day.

I love and hate this day. It's a day where I get to remember how much my own mother sucks and a day where my kids spend five minutes giving me love and showing me how much they care about me in a card that they colored all over of before running around screaming about this or that.

It's also a day where I can say "I'm sleeping in and if you wake me, I get to stab you" to my husband.

Well, this morning I managed to half sleep in until eleven a.m. And by  half-sleep in, I mean first, I was woken by my dog jumping on me in bed because my son apparently thought it would be a great idea to let the dog out of the garage to wish me a happy mother's day (thanks alot Jax, I really appreciate the 7am wake up with a dog punching me in the stomach)... Then I woke up to my dog barked right outside my window (Who put him out back, husband??). After that, my husband tried to help by giving the kids a morning bath, unfortunately the kids bathroom is right next to my bedroom and the water runs loudly (Plus they scream alot... happy screams, but screams that are loud and even though they are giggly, make me wish I could be deaf at will) And the dog started barking again. So I got up, pretending that I wasn't up until 3 am with insomnia for the... fifth time this week, and smiling because apparently that's the look my kids wanted to see: bedhead with a ruffled mother and bags under her eyes, smiling about her exhaustion. 

I then got welcomed by my daughter slipping on a puddle of water my son had spread by running naked and wet through the house to find Daddy to put underwear on him, resulting in Lily screaming. Then they finally all got dressed and gave me cards. I smiled as I read them all aloud for my kids' benefit, hugged them both and told them how much I loved them. Two minutes later, my day was all but forgotten when my son handed me a fruit-roll up to open and my daughter insisted on turning on her v-tech laptop, which plays the world's most annoying sounds as my husband went downstairs to his man-cave (aka the garage) to play his video game.

I ended up going downstairs too to call my Gram (voicemail) and the kids' Granny, my ex's grandmother, and the great grandmother of my kids, who I talked to for about 10 minutes, letting the kids wish her a happy mother's day too and finally hanging up after again feeling vindicated that I'm a much better family member than her own grandson. He's kind of an asshole and I am glad for that. I always smell like a rose next to him. 

 I went back upstairs, after seeing that my husband would rather play video games then hang out with me, so I put on Charmed, a show that I have seen every episode of multiple times. (Sidenote: I would love to be a witch. Especially with the powers of Piper to freeze and blow shit up. I just don't know that I'd necessarily be a good witch. I would hope so but I think I'd become corrupt because let's face it: when you can rob a bank and no one ever knows you were there, who wouldn't? Or become a vigilante killer who goes after killers and rapists like an even badder ass than Dexter. Oooo, or become a very well paid assassin... Or all three. Yes, definitely all three.)

After a while, I went downstairs again with "Let's Pretend This Never Happened" and started reading it outloud to my husband again. He and I laughed at a few parts and he at one point said "I'm so glad your family doesn't have Baby Bobcats" at which point I reminded him that one of my great-Uncles actually did have (at one point) a Cougar that he'd raised from the time the big-cat was a baby. He smiled, warily and commented that "well, he doesn't still have it." I agreed, although the truth is, I don't know.

After a few chapters I gave up reading, deciding that I'd rather go upstairs and write this. I know it's boring because I am too tired to care. I do have to admit though, I'm mad that all the pizza is gone. Now I have to get off my lazy-ass and go make something to eat or just go hungry. (I've chosen to go hungry. I am far too lazy to do anything today, including cooking, laundry and cleaning.) Also, I really don't feel like talking to my in-laws. Although I should, because my BIL just emailed me. (I don't mind them but I feel that they require energy and my utmost attention. Also I don't feel like listening to his teasing or other things. So I'm not answering. Just not up to it. It's technically MY day so I shouldn't have to feel uncomfortable today. Besides, I have to go give Steve his cell phone to call his mother, who doesn't like me and has only talked to me... two or three times tops in the past six months, but talks to Steve at least two to three times a month. Yea, she and I have a good bond... and in case you were wondering, yes that is sarcasm...)

And what's with little boys being so fearless. I would kill for my son to be afraid of something, but the little turd is brave. Like superhero brave... Or the kind of brave that just doesn't understand pain or death yet, that is a possibility. Jax would jump out his bedroom window if I didn't freak out by him even opening his bedroom window... and he seems rather put out that he gets yelled at for that. Apparently, I overreact in his 3 almost 4 year old mind. BLAH!

And my daughter, she could be braver. But nope, she's even afraid of our cat attacking her, even though Luna doesn't use claws because Luna is just aggressive, not mean. Come on, Kid! It's not that scary!!

I think when I bring my husband his phone to call his dear-old-mom, I'm going to hit him and not tell him why. Because deep down inside, I know he'll understand it as a thanks for making-me-be-the-parent-even-though-it-is-my-parent-holiday-and-you-promised-me-my-day-off-not-to-play-video-games-on-your-laptop-which-will-get-thrown-away-if-you-don't-do-it-soon hit. And he'll know he's deserved it and he'll try to make them be less Mommy-Mommy-help-me-with-this and be more like Daddy-Daddy-wipe-my-butt, which Jax will do soon. Since he usually has too poop around 4 in the afternoon and it's almost 3 now. And his mom will be happy to hear his voice.

That is all for now... SHHHHH... DONT TELL

What I know about Beau

Beau is my Dog. He walked into my yard in Louisiana about 2 1/2 months ago. He was covered in 40+ ticks and starving. After making sure he didn't have an owner, we adopted him. This is our learning experience with our new dog::

1. Beau is a Great Pyrenees, if not purebred almost pure
2. He's 100lbs and 35 inches or so tall
3. He likes Milkbones and Beggin' Strips
4. He likes Ol'Roy strips in Gravy dogfood
5. He can open my livingroom window if it's cracked
6. He liked to sleep in my room in Louisiana but since he pees here, he sleeps in the garage and barks until he gets tired and goes to sleep.
7. He likes to bark at my cat, Luna and gets scared when she takes a swipe at him.
8. He loves to be pet and will hit you if you stop petting him before he wants you to.
9. He likes his main coat to be brushed but doesn't like when his legs are.
10. He hates baths.
11. He likes to push himself into your legs and touch you.
12. If he wants your attention while you're sleeping, he will either step on you, jump on you or breathe heavily in your face.
13. He doesn't mind being used as a pillow.
14. He chews if he's left locked in a room.
15. He will steal human food like strawberry loaf cakes and will chew the container to get to it.
16. He doesn't have cheese farts.
17. His paws are the size of my palms. 
18. He has an extra toe on each of his back paws, a sign of his breed. 
19. His tail can be straight or curly, depending on his mood.
20. He can hop my fence. 
21. He drinks out of the toilet (EWW!)
22. He doesn't beg for food.
23. He doesn't pull on the leash when he's walked (even though he could easily overpower me and get away).
24. He doesn't like time-out. 
25. He loves us.
26. He doesn't like moving, to prove it he'll pee all over your boxes. 
27. He thinks that cowboy boots are made to be chewed.
28. He sheds a small puppy a day.
29. He will bark if left out front on a line but is totally silent when you take him for a walk.
30. He's 2 1/2 years old.
31. He doesn't like when the kids try to ride him.
32. He doesn't die when he eats chocolate.
33. He eats candy and the wrappers and poops out the wrappers. 

What if I told you NOT to tell?

Welcome to my newest blog.  I just thought it was time I actually wrote what I thought. So... since this is the first blog entry for this blog... it should be an introduction, don't you think? Well, I don't care what you think. You can click that little X at the top right of the page or that arrow that indicates back.

Still here? Awesome. I was worried for a minute there! Who am I? Well to be honest, I have no fucking clue. I mean I know my name and facts about myself but who you are is more than that, it's all of that and all of the annoying habits that we accumulate over the years, all your traumas and all your successes and all those things you forgot about. So let me just tell you a little about myself instead.

I am Leah. I am a twenty-four year old Army wife and mother of two. For some of you going "oh no! another army wife bitching about how good she has it" let me stop you. I am not your typical army wife and I wouldn't even say most army wives are the so-called typical wives that we hear about and they aren't like that show Army Wives because no one has houses that nice or has most of the things you see on that show. I love to read. And when I say I love to read, I really mean I LOVE to read. I am obsessed with books and building a book collection that rivals libraries. At this point, not including the books I've downloaded to my kindle and only counting real books, I'd say I own somewhere around 500 books. And yes, I've read them all. Some of them more than once and some of those, countless times. I also love watching TV, mostly odd sitcoms that get canceled (damn those huge tv corporations that don't see that the tv shows with the least viewings are some of the best, cheesy rainy day shows) and dramas that have nothing to do with reality. I also run a household and have two pets that are a constant pain in the ass (and of course, loved as much as children! Trust me, I have kids. I would know!) I tend to write weird things that never get published online because I originally thought that my thoughts were proof that I wasn't sane but I've come to realize that maybe they are... or maybe that's just what I want to tell myself now that I'm going to be sharing them with the world.

Let's see, I also have a husband. See that guy on the left side of my page? Yep, that's my husband. His name is Steve. Or Dork, Husband, Werewolf guy I married, or any of the number of other titles I call him. He's smart, like super smart. He's got one Master's degree and another is about to be completed within a year. Also, he's kind of a Captain in the Army. (I also think he's insane because he married me, but he loves me for some strange reason I'll never understand, but appreciate.) He's also a huge source of laughs for me. I enjoy when I get to tell him about my day and he just smiles at how enthusiastic I am about it. I also enjoy beating him up. See, he's super tall, well not super, but tall. At six foot three inches, he stands one foot and one inch taller than me... Or thirteen inches taller than me. Yes, I am making you do math to figure out how tall I am... or rather short I am. Because he's so much bigger than me, I'm allowed to beat him up. It's the law. And if it isn't, it should be.

We have two kids. Lily, our five year old daughter, and Jax, our three-almost-four year old son. These two are spectacularly cute, amazingly annoying and terrifically funny. Seriously, they always make me laugh and sometimes the only reason I haven't thrown them in the garbage (other than it being illegal and I do love them to bits, of course) is because they are so adorable. I can be raging mad at them and they turn it around by giving me kisses or say something that is so weird and off-the-wall that I have to laugh. Thus their survival to this age.

Our pets are a cat and a dog. They are a long story but that's for another time (because my arm is cramping from writing this and I know that I still haven't even covered what I want to...)

I started this new blog because of a few reasons. I know that I've been blogging for what seems like the majority of my life (well, since Xanga and we all know how long ago that was, ummm 9th grade?! So 2001-2, so about 10 years.) and I feel like I've always been lacking something. Well today, I have thought about it and I'm going to be creating a new blog, importing all my old blog entries and starting over with the design and all that because... well I want to.

Anyways, maybe part of this happened because of Jenny Lawson. You don't know who Jenny Lawson is???  She is, without a doubt, my new hero. Steve says that I'm obsessed but since I don't know her personally, I'll just have to go with very, very interested in her work, not her. I don't know her, so I'm not a psycho-stalker. You have to know someone in person to be a psycho-stalker. But I digress. What is important is why Jenny Lawson has become a common name my wonderfully accepting husband can recognize.

I just bought "Let's Pretend This Never Happened" by Jenny Lawson. She is the author of that wonderfully funny and weirdly cute blog called the Bloggess. Well, I've only managed to get through the first three chapters so far, because I started reading it outloud to my husband. And now it's become a bonding experience. Kind of like "Look at how fucked up this woman lived and see, I'm not so weird now because there's someone else who thinks the Zombie Apocolypse is no laughing matter." Well, he finds it more off-the-wall funny than relatable like I do, but either way, me reading to him like he was a blind, old man in a retirement home is actually a very beautiful bonding moment. Anyways, the book. I love it. I think it's actually seeping into my head and making me think that my every thought is worth sharing. Like, this morning I tried to pinch my husband's nipple and I did but I pulled and he swore that I would pull it off but I told him they sell replacements online, and the Army doesn't care if he's one nipple short anyways. But again, I digress. Read "Let's Pretend This Never Happened," By Jenny Lawson aka the Bloggess. Super funny and totally going to offend. :)

Anyways, I have become completely obsessed with sharing my every thought with my husband, who I'm thinking is now afraid to be alone with me, judging by the fact that while I'm upstairs blogging, he's down in the garage, gaming on his laptop, hiding from me. Not that this is new. Actually, it's not new at all. He's always down there when he has time off work, unless I ask him to hang out with me. But still, I think now he's truly worried about my sanity or his safety or perhaps both. I can't be sure.

Also today, I made a discovery: Apparently, my dog likes candy. But not just the candy, the wrappers too. I found this out by discovering a pile of poop with candy wrappers inside of the poop. I'm a little jealous. I can't process wrappers quite so well. I'm not even upset by him stealing my pez or my chocolate. At first I was worried that the chocolate would kill him but then he took a big dump in the side yard, so I knew he'd be fine. I am jealous that while he can have all this candy and the wrappers too, he doesn't seem to gain weight or have a problem with choking or digesting said wrappers. Unfair if you ask me. I know you didn't, that's why I'm sharing!!!


I'm also doing laundry today, because that's what Moms are for, although I think it is kind of pointless. I mean, not the washing or drying of the laundry, that has a point. It becomes clean and wearable again without getting weird looks in public or having people whisper behind your back about how you smell funny or having Child Welfare called on you because your kids are in clothes that have never be washed. Always wash your clothes. That's important. It's the other thing that's pointless.I hate putting away laundry. I know we're all going to wear it again so it seems a waste to fold it and put it away. Especially since I'll pull out half of everything I own in a day to find something to wear and then just leave it there until it gets washed again or I find something I want to wear a few days from the first day I pull it out. And my kids always end up pulling most everything they own out while showing me what they want to wear, which makes me crazy because then I either have to put it away again, or just pretend it got worn and throw it in a laundry basket. I will not admit to what I actually do. 


Anyways, I'm folding laundry and every member of my household has more underwear in this load than I do. Which means, my family wears underwear every day. But I'm curious about other people. I'm curious whether other people wear underwear. I do and I don't. It depends on what I'm wearing. If I wear a skirt or dress, yes, I do. But if I put on a pair of jeans, I don't. I think this is economical. Like you save money washing underwear and also, this means you need less pairs between laundry days. Also, I don't like panty-lines. But it's ok sometimes, like if I'm wearing short-shorts, then I like to say "yes, my jean shorts look like boys underwear but really, I am wearing a real pair underneath." So, this leaves me curious of whether other people wear underwear. And I don't know why this is what I'm curious about today. I guess I just don't care enough to know who you will vote for or if you are eating healthy or if that one little kid your friend knows finally got that marble unstuck from his nose. No, my concern is your underwear wearing cycles.


But that's all I have to say for now....




Oh wait, it's not. I have something else. 


I bought the world's best 99 cent kindle book:::::::


"Bedtime Stories for Children You Hate"... I might cry from being so excited to read these to my husband as we go to sleep... I may also read these to my kids when they are bad or make me crazy... (Ok, mostly kidding about reading them to my children, I hate when they have nightmares. I have to get up and make them feel better and then I'm just sooo tired the next day so I better skip reading these to them and just focus on giving my husband nightmares. He can comfort himself, or if not, at least I don't have to get up.)


Anyways, that's it for my first blog of a new blog... Shhhh, don't tell. 

Random moments of my life

I love my life. Seriously, I couldn't have a better one and my family makes me sure of that. These are just a few of my previous status updates over the past few months, just my favorites... I thought I'd share on here and start sharing more of my day-to-day life and where these funny moments come from...

Is it possible to get kitty-love raped? My kitty won't go away and she keeps pushing her fur in my face...

This is a conversation my son and daughter had a few days ago, during lunchtime.

He sits down for lunch and Lily says "Say thanks to Mommy."
Bubba: "Thanks Mommy."
Realizes he wants juice.
Bubba: "I want juice."
Lily: "Say Please to Mommy."
Bubba: "Please Mommy"
Lily: "Say Please Mommy Juice"
Bubba: "Please Mommy, Juice!" 

My kids are a constant source of humor... like this::

Tickling Lily and when she doesn't want you to keep going, she says "You broke my heart, Mommy, you broke my heart."

Kissing game with Jax:::
Me: "How about here?" I point to different parts of my face for kisses. His turn comes and he goes "How about here?" and points to his cheek and so on. Finally he gives me a hug and pulls back and says "How about here?" to his lips and gives me a big kiss.

I think my son has a thing for being slightly creepy. He walked in the living room with a serial killer smile and I asked him what he wanted. His answer: "You."

I also enjoy getting my kids to do funny things (at least they're funny to me!!)

me: "Say Sparta"
Lily and Jax "SPARTA!!!"
me "Say We are Spartans"
Lily and Jax "We are Spartans"

My kids sometimes have issues with our pets. Especially our cat, Luna, who went into heat for the first time and this is what happened::

Me: "Lily go pet Luna."
Lily: "I no pet Luna. She's sick. She goes "Ooooooooo" loud.
Me: "She what?"
Lily: "She goes "oooooooooo" loud" (putting hands over mouth to call lol)

Me and my husband are soul mates... That's not a joke, we are, but even sometimes we have our issues:::

Deployment was the easy part... PCSing with my husband... another story :) I love him but at least three times today I've thought to myself "I bet if I cut him he'd stop being stupid"

I also have an obsession with Super Heroes and...

Wolverine is easily my favorite superhero :) Followed by Ironman and then Captain America, so give me those three and an hour alone with them... I'll get my husband to forgive me after ;) haha jk 

I myself have a few moments where I'm not funny but everyone else seems to enjoy my extreme suffering::

I am NOT a morning person. I am a leave-me-the-hell-alone-if-you-want-to-live-in-the-morning person. And yet, no one fears me... It's so sad.

Pictures of my family

I love this man... always and forever. With my whole heart. 

my beautiful babies.

Cheese!!!!

SMILES :) 

Great song

Great song:::

Sometimes, it just takes a song you listened to once a long time ago to remember that it's what you were looking for all along.

Great song, btw. Better than Ezra~ Overcome.