But What About the Children?

When I was a little girl, frequently anything my parents tried to teach me I followed with the question, "But what about the children?"

Whether the lesson be about a scripture story, something in history, or math facts, I somehow brought the subject around to that question.  Obviously it didn't always relate to what we were talking about, but it was none-the-less the question always on my mind.  I felt strongly then as I do now, that children mattered in everything we do.  I am not alone in that idea.

While building the Soviet Union, leaders knew and understood the power of raising a generation of children indoctrinated in communist ways.  Their little ones were not pushed aside, or seen as insignificant and of little use.  They were an important tool in spreading their propaganda and beliefs.

Historian Orlando Figes, in his book, The Whisperers: Private Life in Stalin's Russia, gives this quote from a Soviet Schooling Theorist about the children during communist rule:

"We must make the young into a generation of Communists.  Children, like soft wax, are very malleable and they should be moulded into good Communists... We must rescue children from the harmful influence of the family... We must nationalize them.  From the earliest days of their little lives, they must find themselves under the beneficient influence of Communist schools... To oblige the mother to give her child to the Soviet state -- that is our task."

They sought out a complete break from the family, promoting loyalty to the community, to the group, to the mass.  There are records of children who were praised as great examples because they betrayed their own parents to the secret police.  For one reason or another, if students stood out socially,  they were bullied or even expelled, all for the benefit of the group and the community. They suppressed any and all religion, and wiped out ideas of individualism, free thinking, or self expression.  Power to the group, power to the whole! The common man was united as one.  

We as a people, as citizens of the United States of America, claim to emphatically stand against this way of life.  We claim to celebrate differences, we promise to be open, tolerant, respectful, and free.

Yet I find those promises to be empty, especially when it comes to teaching our very young.  My daughter's school recently participated in a "Boosterthon Pep Rally".  Admittedly, I did not go, and neither did she.  For the first time, I found myself grateful for a cold virus that kept her from school that day.  Knowing what a Boosterthon and Pep Rally are, I can quickly draw my own conclusions as to what it was about.  Despite being heavily taxed for public education, the school still finds itself lacking in funds.  So who do they turn to to raise them?  Their students.

I was taught to ask for money regretfully, privately, with humble gratitude, and only when truly in the greatest of need.  But why go that route, when you have at your disposal over 800 children ages 5-7, who, like soft wax, are very malleable, and will do the dirty work for you?  In fact, lets gather these little ones together, and get them yelling, screaming, and excited about asking for money!  Rather than quietly sending a letter home to parents, explaining the need for a little extra, respectfully requesting private donations towards a good cause, we are igniting our children, with fire and excitement, to parade out into open, and demand the money!

The motto for my daughter's school is "Reach for the Stars!"  However rather than spend more time teaching them to work hard, dedicate themselves to their studies, and reach for high goals of educational achievement, they are dedicating precious learning time to encourage them to reach with open, demanding hands, for money that is not theirs, from those who have already given enough.  Power to the group, power to the whole, united as one, they will reach.

Can you picture this gross scene?  Our babies, hundreds of tiny, sweet, innocent faces, jumping up and down, cheering, yelling, excited, and thrilled to get out there and ask for money, no doubt chanting their school motto, "Reach for the Stars! Reach for the Stars!  Reach for the Stars!"  

One of the activities for the Boosterthon is a "Fun Run", where every lap each child runs earns money for the school.  Again, it's being held during precious school hours, in substitute of learning and education.  I'm not opposed to physical activity among children, or Fun Runs in general.  It's the sacrifice of learning time, and motivation used that makes me cringe, shoved upon so many little ones, who are naturally eager to please at any cost.  Some of the money is going towards new playground equipment.  You're kidding yourself if you think the faculty and staff wont say to those tired little feet to keep going, or they wont get their playground.  I can hear the motivational cheering now:

• I know you're tired, but if you don't run more, you'll have nothing to play on!!  
• If you really cared about that playground, you'd go another lap.  
• Look at little Billy!  See him, and how much he is running?  He must really care about his school! Go Billy go!  
• Just one more lap! You can do it, reach of the stars!!!!
• Come on kids, we're a team!!!!  

Am I the only one who shudders at this?  Am I alone in seeing the obvious similarities to the schools of Stalin?  How is that "Fun Run" any different from child labor?  We are pushing the children with physical labor, threatening them with something that is dear to them if they do not comply.  They will be belittled, put down, and marked as "not a team player" if they slow down, or stop earlier than their classmates.  The teachers are pressured to comply too, with competitions and rewards for classes who can earn the most money, and promises of percentages of what is earned going to each class.  The teachers are no doubt told,

• If you want more for your students, you'll encourage them to participate   
• If you need books, supplies, and computers to enrich your classroom, you'll push them to run! 
• If you care, this is what you'll do.       

I am not morally opposed to general fundraising.  However, I believe there is an appropriate method for asking for donations.  This is not it.  Where is the modesty, the humility that should be accompanied with a request for money?  Small businesses who are taking enormous hits from the economy at this time, as well as parents who already sacrifice funds, time, and resources to their children's education, are the ones being appealed to to donate.  Shouldn't that be done a little more sensitively?  Instead it has become a loud manipulative circus, all in the name of teamwork, and with the voices and actions of 1600 tiny feet and open, reaching, hands.

I am surrounded by conservative friends who boldly put Vote For Romeny signs in their yards, cheer him on in debates, and unapologetically post on Facebook their conservative thoughts and opinions.  And yet I seem to be the only one concerned about this blatantly communist behavior going on at school.  I haven't heard a word of criticism or disapproval for this.  When do your actions back up your words?  When will you start matching conservative voting with conservative choices?  When will you realize your choice not to act is affecting those you should be protecting and caring about most?  What about the children???  

Translated, the poster reads, "Join the pre-school movement- Build a new life - Organize kindergartens and playgrounds - Educate a new Communist generation"

 
How, you ask, am I demonstrating my own actions behind my words?  By protecting my child.  I am not so brazen as to picket the school with signs, or write a nasty letter to the principal.  After all, my little girl is in the first grade, and I know we'll have many more battles to fight.  I need to pace myself accordingly.  However I will not subject her to this.  I will not put a cute, cheerleader face on for this activity, join the parents in the crowd, and demand money from our community for every lap those little feet can manage.  I refuse to watch my baby be manipulated and washed up in the hype.  For family reasons, we will quietly stay home during this event.  Follow our example, if you dare.  Or stand up in your own way.  But please, consider your children.  Put your actions where your vote is.  Conservative beliefs don't just come into play on voting day.  It is a way of life, one I don't mind living alone if I have to.  I know I'm probably not making any friends by writing this.  However I was raised, by my parents and despite many of my teachers I might add, that standing up for your values, even if it means standing alone or being different, is not a bad thing.

Soviot Propaganda Poster originally copied from here.    

A Dangerous Secret

I admire secret keepers.  Probably because I'm not one.  Don't get me wrong, if you tell me something in confidence, you can trust me not to pass it on, especially if it's personal and private.  That's different though.  I don't consider closed conversations the same as "telling a secret".  Neither are hurtful stories about someone else "secrets".  That's gossip, which I make sincere efforts to stay away from.  I'm also not referring to crucial information that endangers others if shared.  That falls under the category of "Top Secret".

A secret is something that isn't completely secret.  It's "I know something that you don't", said with a sparkle in your eye, a little wink, sly smile, or silly snicker.  The first thing someone does with a true secret, is spread around word that she has it.  A secret is something that can be shared, and wants to be shared, but wont be.

Examples of Secrets 

surprise parties

delicious recipes

special gifts

magicians tricks

the ending of a movie or book

There are more I'm sure, but those are a few that come to mind right now.  Secrets are fun.  They don't hurt anybody, and are light at heart.  I can't be trusted with them.  Secrets burn inside me, like little rays of sunshine ready to burst out at any second.  I just don't like keeping great things to myself!  I probably wont give away the ending of a book or movie, because I don't want to ruin the reading or viewing experience, but I'll be dying to talk to you about it, and will let you know that under no uncertain terms.  I also wont spoil a surprise party (assuming I can get there on time- always a risk for me!) but I'll be very excited, and will probably have to keep my distance from the surprise-ee for a week or so prior, knowing I'm not cool enough to keep from grinning ear to ear everytime I see her, or asking stupid questions, such as:

"So, I heard it's your birthday on Friday, I forget where I heard that.  Have any big plans that night?  Why do I ask?  Oh, no reason.  [more silly grinning] Just . . . wonderin' . . ." 

I know.  Nerd.  Can't help it- it's in the blood.  Acting cool has and never will be something I do.

Another reason I struggle with secrets, is I love good news!  I love it, and I have to share it!!!  Everything great and wonderful I know and love, I want everyone else to know and love too!!  That's one reason why I keep this blog.  I have things I want to share, but don't have much opportunity to as a busy stay-at-home-mom.  My circle of day-to-day contacts is pretty small.  My blog is my outlet, where I can practice my composition skills, and remind myself that I know things worthy to contribute to the outside world.  Truly, I have no secrets.  Everything that makes me happy and has formed my life, I want the world to know.  I want everyone to know, so anyone can have the same happiness.

So- what's my secret tonight, you ask?  The chocolate chip cookie- perfected.  If I was cool, I'd just bring a plate of these to various church functions and friendly gatherings, and allow people to marvel at how amazing my cookies are.  When asked what I do to make them so incredible, I'd just smile, wink, and say, "It's a secret!"

Of course that will never happen.  I'm an uncool person with no secrets, and a desire to share the wealth!  (My wealth anyway, at my own will and discretion.  Not to be confused with crazy liberals currently in office who want to share everyone else's wealth, unwisely and without their permission! Vote for Romney in November!!!)    

I have already shared this once.  As soon as I made my first batch, I posted a picture on facebook.  Sometimes life is too sweet not to share- and this was literally the case.  So now I'm adding this to my blog, and then to Pinterest!  The world can and should know about these cookies; these yummy, addicting, dangerously delicious, cookies.

      
 

Homemade Chocolate-Toffee Cookies

For this first batch shown in the picture, I chopped up a bar of Belgian chocolate, but that was a bit labor intensive, so since then I've used dark chocolate chips.  Truly, this is your basic chocolate chip cookie recipe, with a bag of Heath bits dumped in with the chocolate chips.  But to be thorough, here's my exact recipe.  

Ingredients

1/2 cup butter flavored shortening

1/2 cup softened butter (1 stick)

3/4 cup white sugar

3/4 cup brown sugar

1 tsp vanilla

2 eggs

1 tsp salt

1 tsp baking soda

2 1/4 cups flour

1 bag Hershey's Special Dark Chocolate Chips

1 bag Heath Bits 'O Brickle Toffee Bits

Preheat oven at 375 deg. F.  Cream shortening, butter, and sugars together in mixer.  Add vanilla, and eggs, one at a time.  Add salt and baking soda.  Add  flour, in approximately half cup increments, mixing until smooth each time.  Dump in toffee bits and chocolate chips, and stir with a spoon or spatula.  Spoon heaping tablespoons onto cookie sheet lined with parchment paper***, (I have one of those cool cookie-dough scoops, that looks like a mini-ice cream scoop spoon) and bake for 9-11 minutes, depending on your oven.  Cool for 1-2 minutes on cookie sheet, then move to cooling rack with spatula.

***I know the parchment paper thing seems a tad persnickety, but the melted toffee bits will stick to your cookie sheet, you'll be grateful you used the paper, trust me.  

The toffee bits for the most part melt into the cookie, giving it a very satisfying, chewy texture, and extra sweetness, countered by the bitterness in the dark chocolate.  I love them.  If I wasn't already married, yes, I would, indeed, marry them.  But I am married.  So I eat them with my husband, and if we're feeling especially generous, we share them with our kids.  Sometimes, however, I will admit when they have asked, we have let slip the phrase, "Much too good for children."

10 points if you can guess that movie quote.  It's one of our favorites.  If no one can guess I'll have to post it.  I just can't keep a secret.

Today, I'm Wonder Woman!

Why am I'm I giving myself this super-human title?  Because I made my own Greek Yogurt!  I can't even eat it, (I have a dairy allergy) and yet I managed to make that thick, creamy white stuff that has become so popular lately.  There are lots of blog entries about how to make your own Greek Yogurt from scratch.  I read a lot of them, and after a couple batches, found I don't agree with any of them completely.  I took bits and pieces from many, and came up with my own preferred method, which I now feel inclined to share.

Let me begin with a little motivation!  There are many impressive women out there, who make homemade everything in their kitchens.  Homemade bread, homemade butter, homegrown herbs, canned soup, vegetables, fruit . . . and the list goes on.  I even have a friend who makes her own honey!  While I am slowly learning a few new skills, I am not one of those extraordinary women.  I'd like to think I'm pretty average when it comes to my homemaking skills in the kitchen.  I make satisfactory cookies from scratch, I google for new recipes, I've made freezer jam.  However I also buy frozen dinner rolls, canned pie filling, cake and brownie mixes, and I've never grown my own vegetable garden.  I am not the type to make my own dairy products.  So if I can manage this, so you can you!

Another point of motivation- the price of Greek Yogurt.  Unless money ain't nothin' but a thang, you've noticed it's pricey.  Typically a 6 oz cup is just over a dollar.  With 3 kids eating 1 cup each a day with breakfast or lunch, that adds up quickly!  When I make my own, it breaks down to $0.32 for a 6oz cup.  My DH is actually quite proud of me for doing that math.  Not that he doubted my computation skills, more my interest in a budgeting detail like that.  Let's just say he's the "saver" in our family.  I got major brownie points for this new frugal discovery!!  

Have I convinced you to try?  Excellent.  Scroll on for my very first "how to" entry on my nerdy blog.  Please forgive the lack of "cuteness" in my pictures.  Unlike seemingly everyone on Pinterest, I'm not a food photographer.

How To Make Your Own Greek Yogurt

You can half this recipe easily if you want less yogurt, but we go through it so quickly, that I need to make the larger amount.  If you want your milk to incubate overnight, begin the process approximately 2 hours before you want to go to bed.  After giving it 10-12 hours to incubate (I do 12) you need about 20 minutes prep in the morning, and then can leave it for 6+ hours to strain in the fridge. 

Ingredients/Tools

1 gal of milk
6 oz of plain yogurt, with live cultures
crockpot
crockpot liner
2 thick bath towels
meat thermometer
large strainer
big bowl, large enough to fit under your strainer
thin cotton/linen dish towel
rubber band
toppings of choice

Step 1: Heat your Milk to 180 degrees

To break down the milk particles so it can become yogurt, you first need to heat the milk.  I first tried this in a crockpot.  What a waste of time!  I heated it on "low" for 3 hours, and then cooled it for 3 hours.  Silly.  The second time I heated it on the stove.  That only took 20 minutes.  Despite careful efforts and keeping the heat on medium, I still ended up scorching my milk a little.  It didn't seem to effect the process, but still next time I think I will try the microwave.  However you choose to heat your milk, make sure it just reaches 180 degrees.  While my milk was heating, I preheated my crockpot on low, and added the plastic liner.  
Update: I tried the  microwave, and it worked well.  It took approx. 17 min. for the milk to reach 180 deg.

Step 2: Cool Milk

Allow your milk to cool to somewhere between 110-120 degrees.  I set my pot on a cooling rack, and it took just under an hour to cool.  If the milk is too hot, it will kill the cultures in the yogurt, so I do recommend you use a thermometer to check.  While milk is cooling, unplug your crockpot, but wrap it in your two thick bath towels to keep it warm.  At this point, I also measured out 6 oz of yogurt, and put it in a medium sized bowl.  I let it sit at room temperature while the milk was cooling.  This allows the cultures to warm a bit.  

Step 3: Pour Milk into Crockpot, and Check Temp. 

Remove the towels, and pour the milk into the warm crockpot.  After a couple minutes, check the temperature again, making sure it hasn't risen above 120.  If it has, let it cool a bit until it's in that 110-120 range again.

Step 4: Add the Yogurt

Take 2 cups of your milk, and add it to your bowl of yogurt.  Stir together, and then pour mixture into crockpot.  Stir to spread the cultures.  Replace lid on crockpot, and wrap with bath towels.  Allow to incubate for 10-12 hours.  During this time, that healthy, live bacteria from the yogurt you added is turning the rest of your milk into yogurt.  You don't need to check on it.  Removing the towels will also remove heat, and you want to keep the milk warm so those cultures can spread and do their thing.

Step 5: Wow, I made Yogurt!

Some blogs claim 8 hours is enough to wake up to thick, smooth, yogurt, but I always need the full 12.  After just 8 my mixture is still kind of runny.  Anyway, you should find your milk is now thick and smooth, the consistency of regular, all American yogurt.  It may have a clear, runny fluid on top, that's ok.  That's whey, we'll talk about that in the next step.  All you have left is changing your yogurt's ethnicity from American to Greek!

Step 6: Pour Yogurt into your Strainer

This is where you'll thank me for using a crockpot liner!  Line your strainer with your towel, and set it in the sink.  Gently lift the bag out of your crockpot, and hold it over the strainer.  Cut a hole in your bag with kitchen sheers, and the yogurt will pour into the strainer, virtually mess free.  You wont even have to wash your crockpot, which is awesome, because I hate washing my crockpot.

Step 7: Straining

The towel, before I added the yogurt

This step gave me the most difficulty the first time I gave this a try.  This is what makes the yogurt "Greek", and is why it's so expensive.  Greek Yogurt is just regular yogurt, strained of the "whey".  The whey is a cloudy-clear liquid, that gives yogurt it's tangy flavor.  Without it you have a more mild tasting, thicker, creamier product.  The straining makes the yogurt condense to half it's original volume, so what you're buying has twice the calories, protein, and nutrients of regular yogurt.  It took me some time to decide my favorite method of straining.  Some use a few layers of cheese cloth in a strainer, others prefer to line it with paper towels.  One lady recommended a fancy $70 industrial fine mesh strainer.  I'm sure it's a very cool strainer, but my goal is to save $.  I found one blog where someone used a thin cotton towel.  I actually have one very similar to hers, it was from a sweet friend who decorated it with fabric markers, and presented it to me as my very first "dishwasher".  I think of her every time I see it.  If you don't have a thin linen or cotton towel like this, you can use cotton fabric, or even a pillowcase or cut sheet with a low thread count should work.  Just make sure it's been washed, and isn't so old/used that it's fuzzy, and will get lint in your yogurt!

I gather the ends of my towel, and make a sort of yogurt "pouch".  I twist them at the top, and try to squeeze out some of the whey. 

Then I fasten off the ends with a rubber band, place my "pouch" back in the strainer, put the strainer over a big bowl, and place the whole thing in the fridge.  I like my yogurt very thick, because adding toppings thins it out again just a bit.  I let it strain for up to 6 hours.  You wont hurt it letting it sit longer than that, so feel free to leave it while you're at work, out doing errands, etc.  If you are at home though, I would recommend periodically emptying the bowl of the collected whey.

whey that has collected in my bowl during straining

Step 8: Pat Yourself on the Back, and add tasty toppings!

Once your yogurt has reached a thick consistency you're happy with, you're done!  Just scrape it into a bowl or jar.  My yogurt tends to be thick enough, that most of it just rolls right out of the towel and into my bowl.  I scrape off the little bit that is left behind with a spatula, and then toss my towel into the washing machine.  The yogurt should be good for 7-10 days in your refrigerator.  Some recommend stirring it a bit to make it smooth.  I've never felt like it needed that, but go for it if you want to.  As for flavorings, you're limited only by your imagination.  We like honey, strawberry syrup, caramel, and cream of coconut.  My husband has requested a little homemade granola with his when he comes home and gives my new concoction a try!

 For your next batch, if you remember to save 6 oz, then you do not need to keep buying regular yogurt from the store.  You can continue to use 6 oz from each previous batch for the new one.  I would recommend saving this separately from the start, because too often all the yogurt disappears before I remember to set some aside!

Anny and Merrylee enjoying my latest batch, with cream of coconut!   

Please let me know if you have any frustrations or questions.  It's been a learning process for me, and it's possible I might be able to help you figure out what didn't work if you're having trouble.  Good luck!  If you try it and it works well, please leave a comment and tell me about it!    

Nobody Gets Me Like You . . .

I have a pet-peeve.  Well, actually, I have many (don't we all) but one of them, is this phrase.  In case you haven't read my title, I'm referring to the uneducated, stupid, empty yet well embraced phrase in modern culture, "Nobody gets me like you."

Can we possibly find a more vague, adolescent description of romantic feelings towards one another?  I expect if one responded to this lovely term of endearment with, "well, what do you get about me?" one would find his or her date stuttering and lost with no idea what to say next, because that all-encompassing nothingness of a phrase was the best he or she had.  He/she doesn't really know anything about you except that he/she finds you attractive, and possibly feels comfortable around you.  Hence the "get me" part.  I assume that's what they mean, that they feel comfortable in the presence of said lover, therefore, he/she "gets me".  Gag me now.

While folding laundry I watched the last three episodes of the most recent season of The Bachelorette, where this lovely phrase was uttered between lovers, no exaggeration, over 60 times.

"He just gets me!"
"I love you, because you just really get me"
"No one has ever got me quite like you"
The variations continue in their pathetic monotony.

Don't get me started about that mockery of love tv show.  It feels like one long, awkward first date, except with many men, and in exotic places.  Oh, and of course, it ends with a proposal.  I don't think anyone honestly, truly, really believes that's how love works, or even resembles it.  Yet, so many women get sucked into that nonsense!!!  See, you got me started.  Well, while I'm at it . . . I have a few theories.  I will shamefully admit I am guilty of shedding a tear or two when I saw the proposal, or witnessed earlier poor Sean (2nd to last guy eliminated from Emily's love list) drive home with a devastated, deer in the headlights look of a truly heartbroken man.  I think women are drawn to this show not because they think it has any bearing on true love, but because it's entertaining in a way they can't explain.  I think I can though.  First of all, women need to feel wanted, and here's a show with one woman being desired by 25 men.  25 good looking, succesful, congenial men, who hope to marry her!  Add to that romantic locations, a little drama (admit it women, we all secretly love a little drama, anyone who denies that, is well, in denial!!!) and kisses and embraces from these beautiful men all fighting for her affection, and you have catnip for women.  This human catnip is neither real nor healthy though, my ladies.  I suggest you find something else to fill your time, although, yes, as I said, I too am guilty of losing three hours of my life to that last season.  "Lord, what fools these mortals be!" Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream.  Now if you really want to watch a true parody of love, that's the comedy for you.  I never get tired of that play!!! 

So- where was I?  Oh yes, trashing on the "Nobody gets me like you" phrase.  If you are a user, rest easy, there is still hope.  Buy a thesaurus, or better yet, book of Shakespearean sonnets!  There are numerous ways to describe true love and devotion in the English language!  You can learn to express yourself.  I believe in you!

Now that I've completely exhausted that tangent, to the point of this post.  I heard a song on the radio, and it totally "got me".  By that, of course I mean I instantly felt drawn to the lyrics and the sweet, touching description of the benefits of marriage over being single.  The song is called Woman Like You by Lee Brice.  It's of course, a country song.  No other genre seems to have mastered the art of beautifying the simple, sweet parts of life, with a mixture of acoustic guitars and a little southern twang.  As Trace Adkins put it so well, country songs are songs about me! 

"...it's songs about me,

and who I am.  

Songs about loving and living

and good hearted women

and family and God.

Yeah, they're all just 

songs about me"

You can see the video and hear that whole song here.  (The Trace Adkins song)  It's a great song, I love it.  


That's of course, why I fell in love with Lee Brice's song, Woman Like You.  It's about me!  It's about a wife who asked her husband that hypothetical question I think most women ask or at least wonder at some point.  

Where would you be today if you weren't married to me?  

Of course what she really means is, 

Are you happy with me, and do you regret getting married or miss being single?    

He answered her in sweetly rhyming verses all the great things he'd be doing, and how they still don't top what he now has with her.  This touches a particularly sensitive note with me, because my husband happens to have a very cool profession, and to the outside world it probably doesn't quite match up to being a family man.  Really, does it get much cooler than being a Special Ops Air Force pilot?  No, no it doesn't.  

He looks pretty darn suave in his green flight suit, combat boots, and Oakley sunglasses.  And yet this extraordinary man I married is happiest in a worn out t-shirt, pair of cargo shorts, flip flops, and rolling around on the floor with his kids.  If he were single he'd probably own a plane of his own, drive a cool new motorcycle, and have time to both ride it, and keep it maintained!  Right now his bike lays hopelessly unrepairable in our garage, with no time in the foreseeable future to fix it.  If he didn't have a family, he wouldn't feel so torn when he has to deploy so often,  he could watch as much college football as he wants, and probably join an adult amateur league of flag football or soccer, instead of coaching a team of five-year-old girls.  (No offense to Anny and the other Green Butterflies!)  

His life could be in the worldly sense, much, much cooler, and we both know it.  I probably know it a little too much, and like the pretty girl in the music video, I fish a little to get him to remind me he's happier now than he would be without poopy diapers, messy kitchens, toys to trip on, babies crying at night, putting up with a hormonal pregnant wife 3 times . . . oh and how the list goes on!  Yet family craziness aside, he's happy.  He wants exactly what he has!  He may not be able to compose a country song about it, but I'm not too bad at ryhming, so I made an attempt to write my own verses to that song, dedicated to the number one man in my life.  I'm crazy about you, and can't tell you what it means to me that you prefer us over what would be a very exciting life for a single man.  If you ever want to whisper in my ear your own reasons for those decisions, even if I think I already know them, well, let's just say I'd be ok with that.     

Here are my knock-off verses.  Not quite as smooth as Mr. Lee Brice, but I think they have their own personal charm.  

If he was still a single man he’d,

never have to drive a mini van,

He’d have more time for football games,

Eat more Rice-a-Roni and chicken wings.

He’d live somewhere with a water view,

time to fix a motorcycle or two. 

I know he’d own that dream airplane,

If I’d never known his name.

Going overseas wouldn’t be so tough,

No goodbyes makes it not so rough.

There’d be time to study for a masters degree,

Time for the gym, even time for sleep. 

Life would be simple and carefree,

Without a family, without me. 

Now that I’ve got your attention,

I suppose I forgot to mention,

I’m so happy he came my way,

I can never have too many days,

Watching him coach our daughter’s soccer team,

Pushing our kids on the back yard swings.

Though he does love Rice-a-Roni,

I know it’s no trade for being lonely.

Football games are way more fun,

While holding his sleeping newborn son.

Flying overseas is hard to do,

But it’s nice having someone to come home to.

There are things he gave up to be a husband and father,

We’ll probably never have that house on the water.

Time for motorcycles has come and gone,

When you spend all your Saturdays mowing the lawn.

Yet as soon as you’re home, your kids come running to see you,

We all just want to be near you. 

We’ll follow you to the middle of no-where,

It will be happy to us, as long you’ll be there.

This all, I’m sure, is nothing new,

We’re grateful, Daddy, we love you.    

Do Nothing Day

When my best friend comes back home, we're having one of these. A blissfully unproductive day. After I've put the kids to bed I should be catching up on the dishes, sweeping up my floor so my little crawler doesn't supplement his diet with whatever fun things he can find, or folding and sorting laundry. Too often I don't though. I get lost. I sit, sit, sit, sit, and daydream. Sometimes I think about things I need to do, or should have done, but more often than not, I lose myself thinking about the do nothing days I want to have.

I just want to sleep late with my sweetheart, and then when the kids drag us out of bed, we can spend the morning in our PJ's, making bacon and pancakes with lots of syrup and butter, or strawberry jam. Then spend the afternoon watching TV or football, eating chips with salsa, and cookies for lunch. Going for a slow walk around the neighborhood in the evening, then reading storybooks and playing board games till the kids are grumpy and sleepy. Staying up late cuddling, talking, laughing and slow dancing. Letting the dishes pile up in the sink, and toys sneak out of the playroom and spread around the house. Knowing the grass is higher than it should be outside, but letting it sit just for one more day. Using the ambitious to-do lists as coasters for cold frosty mugs of root beer, no answering the phones or responding to nagging emails. Just shutting out the world, hanging out as a family, and doing nothing except being together, making messes and memories.

I lose time at night, doing nothing, thinking about a do-nothing day. I think I need one. In fact, I think I'm due for a nice long string of them.

 

The Marrying Kind

While looking for some new tunes to add to my "happy music" playlist, (aka tunes that make me smile no matter my mood) I came across this country song by Kip Moore, Mary Was the Marrying Kind.  It's a sweet song, about how looking back, he's dated lots of girls, but the sweet girl next door, "the marrying kind" was what he really wanted all along.  His best friend beat him to the punch though.

It's supposed to be a sad song, about nostalgia and lost chances.  However I find this song sad for a different reason.  I cry not for the boy who realized a little too late what he was missing.  He had his chance, I don't mourn for him.  I think of Mary.  I know her well.  I too saw the Jennies, Beckies, and Tammies get lots of dates and attention, while I played the part of an unnoticed wallflower.  The boys didn't seem to appreciate that I was kind, thoughtful, and true to my church standards.  I did my best to doll up, buy pretty clothes, wear makeup, and be outgoing and friendly.  Still more often than not I found myself lonely on the weekends.  I remember once in a youth interview with my Bishop at church, crying about my dating woes.  He sweetly said I probably wasn't being asked out because I was "too perfect" and the boys were too intimidated to ask.  I smiled at his flattering response, but inwardly I laughed.  I knew better.  I wasn't being asked, because I was the kind of girl you marry, not the kind you date.  Boys just aren't interested in that at 16.  

Thankfully I was blessed with strict parents, who did not allow me to lower my standards a little, in order to make myself more appealing to the opposite sex.  I'll admit I was tempted.  Loneliness to a teenage girl is a curse worse than slow torture.  Questions like "what's wrong with me?" are not good on a delicate young heart.  Why is it the fate of the good girls to be lonely until they're of marrying age?

Thankfully that story ended well.  When I got to college (note that I went to a church school where there isn't the usual raucous binge drinking and partying) and dating was taken a little more seriously, I suddenly had plenty of attention.  Even the boys who shunned me in highschool, found I had something that interested them.  Let me tell you though, I had no interest in them!    

What continues to puzzle me is the "surprise" all boys becoming men have, when they discover those good girls all grown up, are suddenly very attractive.  I've heard it over and over from male family and friends, telling the story of the good little girl at home who went unnoticed in highschool, and to their great astonishment is amazing and desirable now!  Has it not occurred to them that it's not the girls who went through some over-night transformation, it's them?  These girls were always pretty, always sweet, always wonderful.  It's the boys who only recently realized they care about things like that.    

I blame both the boys, and their parents.  For some reason our boys are brought up to think their youth is for guilt free playing.  From the teenage years and up parents don't seem to care who their sons date, because they're too young to marry, so what does it matter?  Let them have their fun.  Even among the church boys, I saw a lesser but similar truth.  Do I even need to go on about how this is a stupid philosophy with damaging effects on both the boys and girls?  It's the reason good boys get into trouble, why girls are tempted to dress and act trashy in the first place, and why good girls who don't, cry dateless by the phone every weekend, thinking there's something wrong with them.  

Perhaps boys are just too dumb to recognize a good thing when they see it.  Or maybe they're that way because we expect so little from them.  With an iron fist parents tell their daughters who is safe to date, and who to stay away from.  Yet when a son shows up with a bleached blonde in a mini skirt and tight strapless top, do they sit him down and have a heart to heart about how she may not be the best choice?  More often than not parents, especially fathers, cheer!  They give him a manly pound on the back, a wink, and make some "good catch" comment.  Or even more pathetic, they'll disapprove, but shrug their shoulders and say, "boys will be boys" or "what can I do, I can't choose who my son wants to date!"
Yes you can!  Get a backbone moms and dads, and straighten your sons out while you still can.  We tell our girls, "date the kind of person you want to marry," why not say the same to the boys?
Why the double standard, especially among good, church going families?  Well it's time for a change!  I believe you can influence your sons, and train them to understand what is truly attractive.  As much as they may act like it, they aren't mindless baboons who can't be controlled or educated!  Starting with my own sons, I plan to teach them to seek out the good girls, not just the good-looking girls.  I expect them to look past their hormones, and ask themselves before they pick up that phone, "She's pretty, but what else do I know about her? Does she dress how I want my daughters to dress?  Is she someone I'd hope to run into again when I'm in college?" (Or someone who will even get in to college???) 

I expect they'll probably whine a little about this.  But like all good parents, I have foresight.  While they may not appreciate it then, I'm doing my boys a huge favor.  It's more than the fact that the good girls deserve to be asked out.  One day my boys will thank me.  I'm saving them from the fate Kip Moore is singing about.  In a few years when they see the real purpose of dating, they wont be crying, "Oh Mary, Mary, why was I so blind?" 

They'll thank me that I encouraged them to take out those sweet, angel faced good girls.  Because to the strange surprise of all the boys, those girls grow up to be exactly what they didn't know they've always wanted.  And those stunningly perfect good girls, will remember who was nice to them in high school.

To those good young girls out there, continue being the marrying kind.  It pays off.  No cute blue-eyed football player is worth lowering your standards for.  Marriage is infinitely better than the prom.  It might be hard, but you can stand being lonely for a few years until the good boys to come to their senses.  They will, and you'll be grateful you waited.  There's nothing wrong with you.  You are perfect and beautiful.  Your mother isn't lying when she tells you someday the perfect guy will notice that.  She knows, because she's been in your shoes too, and that might just be exactly how it worked out for her.  

Boy, you make me smile!

This Monday we celebrated Benjamin's first birthday.  Has it really been a year since he one-upped his Daddy with his surprise early arrival?  If you haven't heard the story, it's a good one, you can read about it here.

Somehow that first year flew by, and yet I can't imagine our family without him.  I thought we were happy before Ben, but you should see it, we're all crazy about that little boy.  We love you, Benny-boo-boo-boo.  Happy Birthday Buddy!  

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a few of the things I love most!

This post is for me.  Sadly Daddy doesn't have a lot of time home before he has to go out again.  It's already flying by so fast!  I decided to make a slideshow of all the fun things we've been doing with him lately, so when I miss him, I can follow Freulein Maria's example, and simply remember my favorite things from when he was here.  I'll be revisiting this post a lot!

Emerald green water that sparkles in sunshine,

Chocolate dipped berries and kids early naptimes,

Zaxbys, and Flounders, and Buffalo Wild Wings,

These are a few of my favorite things!

Strawberry picking with Dad, son and daughters,

Homemade pink syrup, jam, muffins, and cobblers. 

Silver white sand castles, dolphins up close,

These are a few of the things I love most!

When goodbyes come,

When I miss you,

When I’m feeling sad,

I’ll simply remember my favorite things,

and then I wont feel, so bad!

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Married to the Military

I recently read a "letter from a military spouse", that had been published in a newspaper.  She gave some insight about things most women married to the military experience, that the general public may not be aware of.  I've seen similar writings.  This last one made me start to wonder, if I were to write such a letter, and knew it had the potential to be read by many, what would I say?

After much deliberation, I decided I'd want to let those outside military life to know, that our lives aren't tragic.  There seems to be a commonly accepted opinion that spouses of soldiers are victims of a sort, leading mournful lives of goodbyes and heartache.  It's true the separation that tends to come with military life is difficult.  It's more than difficult.  But it does not mean we are always sad.  Nor are our lives less idealistic than anyone elses.

When friends or neighbors hear about my husband's frequent deployment schedule, I commonly hear hear phrases such as, "Wow, I don't know how you do that.  I never could" or "Bless your heart, that sounds miserable".  Someone even said once, "It seems you're doing your best with a bad situation".  

I know they mean well with their comments, and are trying to express some sympathy and understanding that I am doing something hard.  The kindness behind their comments doesn't go unrecognized.  However what I wish I could say in response is, "yes, it is hard, but we are happy."

Naturally I don't mean it makes me happy to send my husband off over and over.  I cry, I worry, and I miss him terribly.  But I also do what any other positive person does when presented with trials we all must endure.  I focus on the blessings we have, and remember that they are many!

Nephi, an ancient prophet who lived 500 years before the birth of Jesus Christ, saw much hardship in his life.  He helped lead his family across the ocean and to the American continents.  After arriving in this new land, his family settled and built homes.  However after his father died, his older brothers set plans to kill Nephi and his family.  They resented him and their father for leading them away from Jerusalem.  Despite the many miracles they witnessed, they refused to acknowledge it was God who preserved them and led them to the new land.  Nephi and all those who believed in God left their homes yet again.  They traveled for many days with their families before they felt safe enough to settle and rebuild.  Reading that I think most people would find Nephi's lot a sad and difficult one.  Not ideal, I think we all would say.  However after settling again, Nephi records this short but beautiful verse:

2 Nephi 5:27 And it came to pass that we lived after the manner of happiness.

I think I understand why Nephi wrote that.  If I could speak to the world about what my life is like as a military spouse, I'd say the same.  We live after the manner of happiness.  My husband has a job he loves and knows is meaningful.  His work provides us with everything we need and want.  We've had the opportunity to live in many places, and have met so many good people.  The separations have caused us to deeply appreciate the time we have together. It has brought us closer to family and friends who have been there during times of need.

Military life isn't a curse, it's a choice, and we've been happy in the life it has provided.  I will admit it has been harder than what I imagined when I said yes to a handsome ROTC boy asking for my hand.  It has not been without challenges, challenges unique to this lifestyle.  However no family is spared from hardship.  Every bride discovers marriage isn't living a fairy princess life.  Every new husband finds he's never at home as much as he'd like to be.  Earth life comes with weariness, loneliness, sorrow, and pain.  Families of military members do not have a monopoly on trials.  If being in the military has presented us with more challenges than the average family, then it has blessed us, because it has caused us to learn quickly how to effectively follow the example of Nephi.  We had to recognize right away any difficulty or trial can be endured if we seek to live after the manner of happiness.  

The next time you see your friend struggling in the grocery store with her children, knowing her spouse wont be home to help her for several months, or you notice her sitting at church by herself, mowing her own lawn, or going to the movies alone, give her your love, keep her in your prayers, but don't mourn for her.  You have more in common with her than you think.  Remember if she looks happy, she is.  She devotes her life to living after the manner of happiness, just like you.

NOT a declaration post

So I have to confess, I tend to squirm at "public declarations of love" posts other people make on their blogs.  You know, those gushy entries about how their husbands, fiancees or sweethearts are amazingly amazing.  It's not necessarily because I find them cheesy, although sometimes they definitely are.  Reading them gives me the same awkward feeling I get when I see a couple kissing.  I feel a need to blush and glance away, like I'm intruding, even though there's no obvious concern for privacy.

Is that odd of me to feel that way?  I'm a romantic person.  Chick flick movies and books are some of my best friends!  Except for the occasional overly-graphic-for-a-PG13-movie bedroom scenes, I don't look away from the screen during moments of romance.   Inwardly I swoon at the kisses perfectly silhouetted by the morning sunrise.  That's different though.  I know the characters can't see me.  Staring isn't rude, because not only are they not aware of my presence, but they're not real in the first place!  It's just a story, and as fun as it is to imagine, no one can truly invade a story.

Witnessing a similar lovey-dovey scene in real life however, is not the same euphoric experience.  Maybe it should be!  Here, right in front of me, is not storybook love, but real, true, sweet and sincere shared affection.  So why can't I look???  I haven't been married so long that I've forgotten what it's like to shamelessly take part in a little PDA.  To be so lost in that pink fluffy cloud of elation that is new love, that you forget there are people around you.  I remember that, and I don't regret the moments where we probably made people around us squirm.  "Love sees with the heart, not with the mind", therefore the common sense to keep kisses and adoring stares behind doors, isn't so common.  I get that.  Still though, I turn my head, or pretend to be very occupied with whatever I'm holding.  I can't watch!

So rest assured, this is not a love post.  Even though I'm crazy about the man who married me, and get butterflies in my stomach just thinking about his gray-blue eyes and his heart melting smile, this isn't a public declaration.  Despite how distracted I've been of late, staring off into space, thinking about how much I miss his laugh, or how the cruel world melts away when he holds me at the end of a long day, despite all that, this is not one of "those" entries.  Just because I sometimes refuse to get dressed so I can spend the entire morning in PJ's and his robe, because it smells like him and I don't want to forget that smell, doesn't mean I'm going to write all about it.  And when I hear the perfect song on the radio that I'm pretty sure he paid two beautiful singers to write and sing just for me because it fits us so well, doesn't mean I'm going to put up a youtube link to the music video for the whole world to see.  I wouldn't do that.  Because who'd want to see that?  Just look away, friends, look away.

    

Do you hear me? I'm talking to you, across the water, 
across the deep blue ocean, under the open sky,
oh my, baby I'm tryin'.  


I feel you whisper, across the sea,
I keep you with me, in my heart
You make it easier 
when life gets hard.


They don't know how long it takes,
Waiting for a love like this.
Every time we say goodbye, 
I wish I had one more kiss.
I'll wait for you, 
I promise you, 
I will.  


Lucky we're in love in every way,
Lucky to be coming home someday . . . 

I love you.  I miss you.

Stop and smell the roses

While my DH was enduring the difficult, intense year of pilot training, we lived in base housing on Columbus AFB, in Mississippi.  It was our first experience living on a military base.  The housing was old, dating back to what was rumored the 1950's.  However the 3 bedroom duplex was more space than our previous 2 bedroom apartment we had in Las Vegas.  It was sturdy, built in the days when things were made to last, had a small back yard and surprisingly large front yard, covered carport, and roses planted by the front windows.  The streets were named after state capitols, (we lived on Albany) and because the housing had been there awhile, the trees were large and full, and gave the neighborhood a safe, friendly, suburban feel.

There seemed to be an unspoken connection we all felt with our neighbors.  Everyone wanted to know each other, be friends, have barbecues, go on walks, take kids to the park, and be supportive when the pressures of being military families were keenly felt.  We were often seen chatting in front yards, bouncing babies on our hips, and pausing every 4 minutes or so as little trainer planes flew overhead, temporarily drowning out conversation.  We made some of our very best friends during our stay in Columbus, and keep in close contact with most of them.

The pilot training part was horrible.  In an effort to weed out less capable or dedicated potential pilots, the Air Force is not kind to it's students there.  It seemed their goal to make grown men cry, and hang their hopes and dreams of flight on a tangible thread, ready to break at any second.  Perhaps that's why everyone was so friendly.  It's a stressful time endured by all, which created a natural bond everyone shared.  Despite that deeply rooted stress and the trials that came with it, my memories of Columbus are fond ones.

I'd like to go back to the roses that were planted in front of our half of the little duplex we stayed in.  Those outside of the military may or may not know know this, but if a serviceman chooses to live off base, he receives a housing allowance.  If he lives on base, he does not get that allowance, but his housing there is free.  Because the housing is free, you'd expect most families wouldn't put forth much effort in upkeep.  While that tends to be true with welfare provided government housing, from my small bit of experience I saw it wasn't the case with the tenants of base military housing.  Other than mowing the lawn regularly, and keeping the indoors clean and undamaged, there were no rules or requirements to keep.  However families often put a surprising amount of effort into those temporary homes.  They painted walls, planted grass, added flowerbeds, or in our case, roses.  I was very touched when I thought of the people who lived in our home before us, and planted those three rose bushes.  They obviously planted them knowing they wouldn't see them for very long.  I saw it as a selfless act of kindness towards me, someone they'd never meet or know.  He or she may not have planted them specifically for me, but they didn't have to plant them at all, and I benefited from their efforts.  The bushes were obviously well tended.  During our first Easter in Columbus, there were big blossoms, a perfect blend of pink and yellow.  A sweet coincidence - they just happened to be colored the same as the roses I carried in my bridal bouquet.  I will always be grateful to that nameless stranger, who shared with us her roses.

Here's a picture we took on Anny's first Easter Sunday, in front of one of the pretty bushes.  By the time we left Columbus, that bush had grown tall enough to see it from the windows inside, and the blossoms were the size of salad plates!

Inspired by those first rose bushes in Columbus, I've decided to set a tradition.  Even though we're living off base for this assignment, and as our family grows that will most likely be the most convenient choice, in each new home we have, with each new military move, I too will plant roses.  If possible I will plant them in the front yard, by the front windows.  Realistically I know we may not always live in locations where roses thrive.  But where I can, I want to pass on the same kind gesture that was shown me.  I also like the romantic thought that we will leave a trail of roses behind us as we move every 3-5 years.

I planted a little red bush in front of my girls' bedroom window last year, and to my delight, it flourished.  I was worried our sandy soil would lack the necessary nutrients for a bush to grow, but it's doubled in height and size!  Due to last years success, I planted 3 more bushes in the front yard, and 2 in the back.  Here are some pictures of our new little friends.  May they bring happiness to all who live here!

  This one was described as pale pink, but I think it's more of a lavender, very pretty.  

 Look at how beautiful this blossom is!!  It makes me happy every time I go outside and see it!  

I was only going to get two more bushes for the front yard, but this ambitious little pink one with the one tall branch reaching for the stars, was calling my name.  I couldn't leave her there!  

             This is the first bloom to show from the red bush I planted last year.  Sweet and promising!   

Vapor Rub Tissues

Last week I was awesome.  I said goodbye to my DH at the airport, gave myself the rest of the day for some therapeutic wallowing, and woke up Tuesday feeling strong and ready to roll.  I stuck to my R.I.C.E diet like a champion.  That's my list of coping mechanisms.  Anyone who's going through something needs a list.  I attended a seminar about how to survive military deployments a couple years ago, given by an author who wrote an encouraging book on the subject.  She suggested making a physical list of things that help you feel better, and to post that list somewhere obvious, like the bathroom mirror.  If you begin to notice you haven't been doing anything on that list for awhile, that's a sign you're slipping, and might need some help.  This time around, my list is my RICE diet.

Reading

Indexing

Crocheting 

Exercise

Those are a few things I enjoy, keep me busy, and make me feel better.  I fully embraced all of them last week.  I started a new book, and stayed up late a few nights getting lost in it's pages.  I began a list of little crocheting projects, and looked up some new patterns to try.  I exercised 4 times last week, which took some effort, but was worth it.  I became an official "indexer".  Indexing is the process of reviewing scanned genealogical records such as birth certificates, draft papers, baptismal records, etc. and entering the basic information from them into a system that makes the information searchable and available for anyone trying to find their ancestors.  It's fun and addicting, and you can learn more about it here.  

I also found time to do all the laundry, which is especially hard the first week of a deployment, because I have to wash and fold all my husbands things he wore the previous week, knowing he wont wear them for awhile.  It's a bit of a downer, but I did it.  I kept up with the dishes, vacuumed the entire house, cleaned the curtains in my bedroom, took a field trip to a history museum, attended a church activity, and made a new friend.  A week to be proud of!!

My running start came to a halt this morning though, when I woke up with a stuffy head, and constant runny nose.  Isn't it interesting how those come together?  Interesting in a frustrating way, that is.  You'd think with the leaky faucet nose, that the pressure in my sinuses would be relieved.  Sadly no.  Taking a sick day means no exercise.  However it doesn't mean I get a break from making meals, laundry, housework, or taking care of the kids.  They have to get done, and there's no one else to do it.

They say military wives are tough, so I decided to give tough a try.  I took some Sudafed and Tylenol, and got to work.  I had to mail a package to my DH- there were some things he left at home it turns out he needs.  On the way to the post office, we stopped by the grocery store.  The girls were being loud and obnoxious, but as long as they didn't get in the way of other customers, I didn't have the energy to scold them.  I was the picture perfect example of that worn out looking mom in the grocery store, who gives homemakers a bad name.  I should have worn a shirt that said, "Deployed Dad, sick Mom, don't judge".

My attitude sank lower still we when got in line to check out.  In front of us was an airman, looking sharp in his blues (aka the more formal looking AF uniform of blue dress pants, lighter blue shirt, and shiny shoes) holding a bouquet of very pretty flowers.  My heart dropped to my stomach.  I'd forgotten about "Blues Monday".  All local active duty personnel have to wear their blues on Mondays.  When my DH is home, I love blues Mondays, because he looks dashing in his uniform.  I miss that when he's gone, and usually make a note not to visit grocery stores on Mondays, because it's painful to see all the soldiers picking up last minute things at the store for their families, knowing my husband's not one of them.  Watching the airman in front of me pay for his beautiful bouquet of light pink roses and lilies, I sighed inwardly and placed my vapor rub tissues on the counter.

I'm still awesome, and plan to pick up my RICE diet again as soon as I can kick this cold.  I'm down, but not out.  Not yet!  Maybe when I'm done with the tissues, I'll turn my tissue box into this:


The only thing that could make that more perfect, is my handsome man in his blues, hand delivering it.  Maybe in approximately two and a half months.