Adventures with Kenders
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Promotion, NOT graduation.
Well, I’ve always had it
explained to me that to graduate is to FINISH a course of study or receive a
diploma. Kindergarten isn’t finishing a
course of study. Neither is fifth grade
or eighth grade. The “diplomas” that these
graduates receive and 3 bucks will get you a CafĂ©-Mocha-Vodka-Valium Latte. In other words, they’re less useful than a
high school or Associate’s degree, particularly in our present economy.
In other news, yesterday was his
birthday. He got a gold power ranger
from me, and a bear in fatigues from his teachers. He picked out pizza and cupcakes for his
supper. And he told me “I miss my daddy.”
During his melt-down today he told me
the same thing at least twice. But I
held on, I didn’t cry; even though I really wanted to.
The hubs has stated that he will
have orders and be in the states in two weeks.
Again, I will believe it when I see it.
He’s also told me not to get my hopes up about joining him before he is
discharged. Um… DUH?
Why would the military do something so kind and compassionate for a
family that’s been forcibly separated as long as ours has? Silly D, why on earth would the military
allow you to be a part of your children’s lives again when they can just send
you back to a state half-way across the country from your wife and
children? I mean really, how will the
airlines survive without us having to pay for a plane ticket every time you
want to see your kids? Sure, it’s not going
to be the $1500 we’ve paid every year for the past 3, but it’s still SOMETHING
for those poor broke airline owners to take from us.
Yeah, I’m still angry. Angry that D’s got no guarantee that we can
be with him. Angry that the command he’s
under pretty much stole him from his children for three years. I’m angry that I cannot fix this situation
without breaking the lease and paying for a moving service that I can’t
afford. Mostly, I’m angry at the apathy
of his NCO’s and the fact that the solution they gave him was to drink and try
to socialize at a bar since he was in Europe alone. Missile, I am so thankful to you and your
family for taking in D and keeping him from drinking himself to death. And I’m mad as hell at D’s branch. Mad enough that I wouldn’t piss on them if
they were on fire.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
"We the P... meh, why are we so angry?"
Today I got into an internet argument about the importance of “gate-rape.” For him, it’s a “meh” issue, that there are
plenty of OTHER things to get pissed about.
Excuse me? Really? So a government agency having the authority
to make me pay to be treated like a criminal before allowing me to travel is
nothing to get angry about? In Corfield v. Coryell,
6 Fed. Cas. 546 (1823), the Supreme Court recognized freedom of movement as a
fundamental Constitutional right. In effect travel is a RIGHT; this, to my
mind, negates the whole “if you don’t like it, don’t fly – it is optional, you
know.” Business class fliers are able to
BUY their way out of TSA screening. Air
crews are exempt; so are other TSA workers, who have proven again and again that they are thieves,
perverts, and predators .
The TSA tells parents to make screening a “game.” Got news for ya; those that prey on children
make it a “game,” too. And kids that go
through screening and being touched by strangers end up in tears and with
nightmares. Not something that I’m real
willing to subject my kids to, thanks.
Everything that Homeland Security tells us about the TSA and
its gadgets ends up proven false. Why is
this agency still allowed to assault travelers?
Seriously think on this – the TSA has a right to pull miscarrying women,
young girls, mothers of young children, and our elderly out of line and “screen”
them for as long as they wish, away from that person’s travel companions or children. Why are we allowing this?
They don’t keep us safe.
They’ve never caught a terrorist or stopped a terrorist
action.
Every new procedure is a result of an incidence somewhere
else or that another agency stopped.
They are little better than bullies and have even harassed returning
troops.
The international community laughs at us. Our economy’s in the toilet. Our young people are joining the military and
are sent to their deaths because there are no jobs. Our country is in shambles, but we’re
spending 300 million per day “liberating” the Middle East. The TSA’s budget is 8.1 billion a year. The costs of the wars in the Middle East are
over 17 billion.
Why can’t our government just drop the pork, the ineffective
agencies, the programs that have proven to be ineffective, bring the troops
home and try to let our country recover?
We’ve already lost our credit rating, what’s next?
Honestly, we’d be better off becoming isolationists
again. Get our own house in order before
running to the rescue of the world.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Why don’t you get a job sewing?
You know, I’ve thought about this. I really have. But the issue at hand is that when I deal
with sewing all day long, I won’t sew at home.
Kind of like the person that cleans all day long, you get home, the last
thing that you want to do is do more cleaning at home.
There’s very few sewing jobs out there, too. There’s one at the VA in their laundry. But you’ve got to know industrial machines,
button machines, and something called a heat patch machine. Cirque wants wardrobe people. But you need a year of experience and have to
be familiar with a particular wardrobe system.
I think the one that I designed for the play would be laughed off as “cute”
if they even granted me an interview.
The biggest issue is that I’m in desperate need of a job. I’m usually 300 over budget at the end of the
month. It’s not like I do it on purpose,
but when expenses like nearly $100 in medications for the kids, or the ex’s
child support being late come up, there’s really no way around it. Then you look at the whole "work to pay for daycare" and I seriously have to decide if it would even be worth it?
I’ve tried with a couple of the temp agencies. I’ve got the skill set that most office jobs
would love. My lack of recent job
experience is screwing me over. Even
though most employers aren’t going to admit to it, if you are unemployed, they
don’t want to even give you an interview.
I’m to the point that I’m seriously considering fast food or even –
shudder – tech support again, just so I can go in and say “I’m working right
now, but I want something better!”
If I could just get an at home sitter, I could work for one of the craft
stores or a book store or something.
Anything to just get to the point that the bank account isn’t negative
when the allotment hits.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Service v. Sacrifice
Today is Memorial Day, and as I have for the past 3 years, I
will spend it with the children, at home.
We will BBQ. We will, as we do
every day, have D on our minds. One of
my old (M and I have known each other since he was jail-bait; he now has a wife
and child Boychik’s age) friends posted something in regards to Memorial Day. Because he’s a Marine (once and always –
never former or ex) I mentioned my family’s living Marines. He thanked me for my family’s sacrifice.
That kinda stopped me. So
many others, those that aren’t closely involved with the military in one way or
another wouldn’t understand this. Being
in the military, or public service such as police, EMS, or fire IS sacrifice,
not just service. But in all honestly, I really
think that the military has it a wee bit harder…
My father is still alive.
He served the Marines during the Viet Nam conflict, driving trucks in Da
Nang. I’m not sure if I still have some
of his pictures. Although he was “in the
rear, with the gear,” he was still in a combat area. He told me about being escorted en mass to
the airport rest rooms by an NCO so that he and the other Marines he had made
it back with could change into civvies. For his service, his sacrifice, he suffered a nervous
break-down, a broken marriage, and social awkwardness that he’s never been able
to shake.
My brother J went into the Marines to leave home. He excelled, as we all knew he would. While on leave in Australia, September of
2001, the locals went out of their way to get the Sailors and Marines back to
the boats. He spent the next season at a
horrible place called Camp Rhino. He,
like our father, doesn’t talk about his service much. What he did say is that you haven’t lived
till you’ve taken a canteen shower by moonlight with 200 of your closest
friends. J’s sacrifice was to miss out on the first 6 years of his son’s
life, and the last few good years of our mother’s.
All of you already know what D has given up. This is my wailing wall, so to say. So while you’re getting drunk, having fun
cooking with fire, or out on the lake, remember families like mine. Remember the families and service members
that SACRIFICE family time, knowing
their children, sanity, limbs, and for some, THEIR LIVES so that you and yours may feel safe in your beds, or
fill the ranks so there’s no need to draft your sons.
And for those of you that are so against conflict, think on the
fact that service members go where they’re sent, do what they’re told, and, for
many, if there were a job or college fund option, would not have joined. Our military isn’t “full of mindless, violent
killers that love their job;” it is full of men like my father, my brother, my
husband, and L’s husband. Men and
women that would much rather be at a BBQ with their loved ones than in places
where the majority want to kill them.
I will now return to the mindless gibbering,
potty training complaints, disbelief of my
husband
&
random fuckery that you all know and love.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Final Destination
It’s nearing the end of May, the school year, and double digit
temperatures here in Cat Box. Oh how I
hate it. The part of the yard that needs
the most work is of course in the sun most of the day. My hands are healing up well . I talked to the doctor and he asked if there
was anyone that could/would massage my incision site. I told him that D’s still in Europe, so he
suggested a “personal massager” to help me with that issue. I’m pretty sure I blushed when he mentioned
it, cause, honestly, who thinks of a personal massager in an innocent
context? I mean, damn, “personal
massager” and the phrase ‘brown chicken brown cow” (sing it out loud, you’ll
get it) streaks through my mind like a nudist on a preschool playground. Yes, complete with police chasing him
demanding that he stop. Ha ha.
Current word on D coming back to the states is “within 30 days
or someone’s getting fired.”
Riiiiiiiiiiiiight.
Suuuuuuure. Pull the other one,
it’s got bells on it, mister. I told D
that someone NEEDS to get fired. I’ve
told everyone else that I’m not gonna believe it till there’s orders. Period.
Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars. A friend of the family told me that no one
will get fired, they’ll just get a slap on the wrist. I’m past caring.
So far so good on the progress on the new place to live back
East. Yeah. Final destination, right there. I’ve got a tentative address, I’ve looked at
it with google earth. The people involved
(there’s multiple families) have all been doing their own research about
personal interests and ways to stay as off the grid as possible… D’s obsessed
with rabbits. Lenny in Of Mice and Men* level obsessed. L and I giggle
about it when we compare notes every few weeks “I wanna pet the bunnies,
George.” I’m not sure that D gets it; I’m
pretty sure he’s never seen the movie or read the book. But that’s okay. It’s something to tease him about that isn’t
going to set off his anxiety like the big freezer sealing itself does.
So there’s this new distribution company that I NEED to get
involved with… It does skin care and the
products may FINALLY get rid of the visible red veins on my cheeks and the
gross sticky/oily skin left on my face after I wash it. But, as with anything else, it costs
money. So, it’s on the back burner. Dammitall.
And with that, dear readers, I need to consider supper, and
possibly start organizing/purging my bookmarks.
It took me a few tries to find the link for T1 lines that I’d told D
about a few weeks ago and again today…
*Thanks to Squish for correcting me! You rock out loud!
*Thanks to Squish for correcting me! You rock out loud!
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Waaaaaaaaah, I’m a plant killer!
So, as you can probably tell, my youngest, Miss Scarlett, has a
bit of an attitude. The other night I
was working on something for school and she crawled under my desk. I told her “You better get outta there before
you get hurt.” She immediately smacks
her head. I ask her “are you okay?” Her answer?
“ Can you PWEASE kiss my head” in a “geez woman, and you call yourself a
parent” voice.
Boychik is sick sick sick.
He’s nearly six and of all things, he’s got croup. Dr C describes it as a “barking seal cough”
to the interchangeable interns. I swear,
they’re like the Emilys in Terry Pratchett’s books. So Boychik’s on an oral steroid for three
days, panda time for 2 weeks, and singulair.
The consensus is that the oral steroid is horrible, and to give it to
him I have to straddle his chest to control his arms, hold his forehead, and repeatedly
say “open your mouth! You can’t have
your chocolate milk till you take all your medicine!” Tonight was a double dose and he tried to
spit the last little bit in my face. He missed
and it ended up running down the side of his face. Joy.
Right now he’s passed out in my over-stuffed chair and IS NOT
coughing. Yes, that’s a HUGE deal.
I'm kinda sick, too. I'm coughing, I've got a sinus headache that is affecting my jaw and my wisdom teeth (yep, still got them, I'm wise, hahaa) and making me miserable. Throat is raw, I'm taking medicine that doesn't need a prescription but you've got to sign for it. Stupid meth cookers. I've got cough drops, too.
The culmination of nearly three years is now in the final
stages. I’m excited, but not expecting
much at the same time. Still no news on
D’s orders. In a little over 2 months he’s
TECHNICALLY supposed to get out. He and
his friend IR are waiting on medical extensions. I’m not cruel enough to tell them not to hold
their collective breath.
Oh. I almost forgot. My 20 year high school reunion is this
summer. I’m not sure how I really feel
about that. I mean, I didn’t really like
these people when I went to school with them…
Do I really want to go? I WAS the
freaky weird kid that no one wanted to talk to…
The adult part is $55-$65 depending on when you buy tickets. The family party starts at $15. Both serve food. The grown up party will have booze… I really don’t want to go by myself. I’m hoping that D will be home or can take
some leave by then. The thought of going
to this thing not only fat but sans husband doesn’t really sound fun.
All the lettuce that I’ve tried planting keeps dying. Either from Miss Scarlett helping or I don’t
know what… It’s annoying. I WANT to grow veggies dammit! But instead I’ve got sad little plants that
are fighting to die.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Gaaaah, when do I get something good?!
It was a VERY bad weekend.
The high point was finding this thingie Sunday afternoon: For some reason this
really spoke to me...
My spouse has joined the military and has been
sent away.
My family is left behind.
Your family moves to join your spouse.
My family has to make due with seeing my
spouse once a year.
Your family gets to see your spouse every day
that they aren't deployed
You exercise with your spouse.
I eat my feelings.
My family sees pictures of our loved one on
outings.
Your family enjoys outings together.
My family is isolated and will eat junk food
while I am sick.
Your family has your spouse home to take care
of you when you are sick.
My spouse's annual leave never matches up with
holidays or birthdays.
Your family enjoys holidays, birthdays, and
vacations together.
My spouse is stop-lossed repeatedly.
Your spouse gets to leave the service when
it's time.
The God of my faith has spoken.
He
has said, "Do not trust the military, they will lie to your face while
they f*ck you over."
The high point of the weekend was buying a BBQ that I couldn’t
really afford and doing free comic book day with the kids. Instead of being able to get someone to watch
my kids so that I could go see Avengers, I watched someone else’s kid.
The convo went something like this
Me: do you know how jealous I am of you right now?
C: what, that I’m going to the movies?
Me: the last time I went to a movie D was home.
C: Well, when D’s home, I’ll watch your kids for you.
D’s most likely not going to be taking leave here ever
again. Once he gets to wherever they’re
sending him, I get to figure out how to pay for ANOTHER move and move myself,
the kids, the dog, and a houseful of furniture on my own, cause EVERYONE’S
saying that he won’t be allowed leave during a medical extension.
Ugh. I hate my life right
now. I really really do.
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