Another week, no orders

Here we are again, on a Saturday, and we have no orders.

No real news either. My very long application and testing process has been completed for Military to Medicine, only to have them tell me that my assessments would place me somewhere in legal or editing. Health care isn't a terrible match for me (says my Fit exam) but I most definitely shouldn't go into the restaurant business. Ha!  I'm taking it with a grain of salt. However, I like the sound of my greatest individual strength:

Savvy: Tendency to read other people's motives, understand office politics, and anticipate the needs and intentions of others. Your responses suggest that you are highly-attuned to the motives of others. You can perceive what others may be thinking or feeling, and adapt well to social situations as a result. Your high level of perception usually leads to appropriate action in different social and professional settings.

Can you just hear Captain Jack Sparrow tell me how great I am?

I love how these personality tests are all so complimentary. Here's an example:

Goodwill: Tendency to be forgiving and to believe that others are well-intentioned.  Your responses suggest that you normally treat others kindly and are willing to lend your support to coworkers when you can. You usually trust that others are well intentioned, and you treat colleagues with compassion when you feel they deserve it. [emphasis mine]

Behold, my most wan virtue. Who knew?  But it takes my greatest personal weakness and makes it sound like I do people a favor when I think well of them. Ouch.

Edited to add:  I guess I should say that I havn't been rejected from the program but I am looking forward to their phone call. Will they talk me out of medicine? Not as long as someone is holding their checkbook open. Maybe I should be a paralegal.  Although, with my goodwill levels so low, I guess I could be a real lawyer.  (Love you, Kelly!)

No orders yet

My friend, the lovely Cupcake, has asked about orders since it's been almost a week since I talked about them.  Nope, no orders.  Funnily enough, after I wrote the blog post Man came home and said they had orders for him, but they were orders that transferred him into the unit to which he's merely been attached for some months. 

Updates (not much)

So, we were told that Man would get his orders this week.  Surprise, surprise, unless they give them to him this afternoon, we'll have to wait for a different week. 


Our bank, USAA, has a great program where they put you in touch with a vetted real estate agent.  So far we've had the chance to browse through a dozen or so homes and dream.  The first picture I look at is always the kitchen.  We have a page-long list of wants in a home (no stupid-type closet doors, like the sliders), a slightly shorter list of needs (two living spaces for him and her) and a budget we won't be able to nail down until Man finds a job. 

Speaking of which, he gets his resume back from a resume guy today, and then the hunt begins in earnest.  I'm withering inside from stress from it taking so long to even get the job hunt started.  The withered part of me thinks it would feel better for some chocolate, but the only virtue added to any part of me from consumption of the same is my behind.  Lunch today is a healthy mac and cheese with bbq sauce on top.  Yum.  Don't hate.

Tag has started basketball at long last.  He's had two practices and there's a game on Saturday.  I'm taking my camera to that.  He is LOVING every minute of it.  He even shrugs happily when he doesn't make a basket.  His focus on the ball when he dribbles is a bit exclusive, so it'll take a while to get his senses opened up and his muscles well trained, but as long as he's loving it and working hard I'm sure he'll do well.  I do know that wherever we go, we must find him a team. 

He's finally doing better academically after a trial run on Concerta.  I've noticed a huge change in him for the better since he started.  His rage is more easily managed but his creativity is undiminished.  It's the best of all worlds as far as I'm concerned.  His appetite is somewhat depressed but having pizza a little more often keeps his weight where it ought to be (in a steady incline).  Best of all, he says he loves school and his teacher and his homework gets done without a huge hassle.  I used to have to sit down with him and ask that no sounds of technology or siblings reach him for a 45 minute wrestle over three pages of homework.  Needless to say, the overall improvement has been a huge relief for everyone living here and his teacher.

Princess is the very picture of a preteen, despite her 9th birthday coming up.  Unfortunately, I'm not taking this as well as I should.  Combine sass with her intelligence and extremely literal perception of most things and you get a tussle between mother and daughter that shouldn't have started until a few years later.  I find myself chewing the inside of my mouth every time I snap back at her and I know that my reactions aren't helping the situation.  Sigh.  So I'm trying to find ways to spend proactive positive time with her. 

Freida is growing into quite the independent young lady.  Her personality is a force of nature and her gleeful verbal expulsions must be acknowledged upon pain of hearing them repeated ad nauseum.  She just can't understand how anyone couldn't or wouldn't hear anything she has to say and find it terribly clever.  Every morning this week she has put her clothes and shoes on with the older kids and informed me that she's "go-een skool."  And then she needed at least an hour of lap time to overcome the trauma of having to stay home. 

Pebbles has really opened up this year.  She is happier and tends to express herself more fully.  Along with this development is the advent of temper tantrums which are so theatrical that they are almost comic and had to have been observed.  She's drawing more, reading more, forming some definite opinions, and insisting that her tastes be respected. 

Me?  Tired, depressed, stressed.  I struggle between the need for action but an almost total helplessness while I wait for either the Army or Man to take care of business.  I get into a job search of my own only to have Man insist that he's got it covered, or I look at schools only to realize that I don't know what financial aide, including the GI bill, I might have available to me.  Fortunately, there's a program for which I've applied called Military to Medicine that was made specifically for people in my situation who would like to get into the medical field.  It's a certificate program that I can do online for free through a teaching hospital in Virginia.  One of the demographics it serves is spouses of wounded warriors who are transitioning out of the military.  I don't know if it could get more specific unless they started bringing in religion and height requirements.  So I've got some hope there. 

Man is still marching on.  Pain is the same for the most part, depression is the same, but I can tell he's making a big effort to be here mentally for the family.  He's spending more time talking to the kids and me, reaching out for more hugs, and he seems less angry.  But he still flinches when people talk about hiking or skiing, some of his favorite ways to exercise.  Living life with a disability is a daunting idea and he's still grieving over that and the constant pain. 

So we're getting by.  Sometimes just barely, but somehow the kids get dressed in the morning and go to school, somehow I get dinner on the table, and we all even bathe occasionally. 

As Kay R used to say to me almost every Sunday, "don't forget that the scriptures say that it came to pass, not it came to stay."

My son, the inventor

My son has a lot to deal with.  He has asthma, amblyopia, ADHD, allergies to a couple of nuts, and he's brilliant.

Tonight, following basketball practice, he lamented.

"Mom, I'm just worried because I'm so smart.  I'm so smart that I don't spend much time with the family anymore and that makes me sad.  I'm a great inventor, and that's so important but I want to have time to have some fun as well.  I ran so fast at basketball and I'm sad that I have so many amazing skills."

Yes, life is hard.  There, there.

photo dump

In no particular order:

Thanksgiving turkey.  This was the first year I used a real, honest to goodness turkey roasting pan.  Delicious. 

Colorado Springs:

And again:

This is a wall they put between you and the mountains so you don't become blinded by mountain awesomeness.  They say "see these fake mountains?  Yes, I'm a tease."

More mountains and a goofy sign.

Casa Bonita.  Expensive.  Go for the experience, not the food.

The detail in this place is stunning.

My gringo kids eating chicken nuggets off of a Mexican (well, bastardized Tex-Mex) menu.

Caught her by surprise.  Her photos are all weird faces otherwise.

Also caught by surprise.

We had the best seats in the house, right above this pool that people jump into every 15 mins for our entertainment..

Fun seating arrangement.

Wall details.

Main dining area right off the waterfall.

After leaving a little feature called Black Bart's Cave.

A dining area with a cave theme.

Dining area with a mine theme.

Dining area with a fine dining, magic show theme.

Ceiling in the magic show room.

Actors, including someone in a gorilla suit, playing a game of limbo with my mother in law and nephew.

Details, folks.   I want to know how to do this.

Tag.  A sign of things to come?  Only time will tell.

A lizard, people watching.

This little dude is a crab...

... A crab that sometimes looks like a manta ray.

Komodo Dragon.  Bigger than my 3 year old.

Assassin bugs.

Tarantula. 

Eyes and a crusty nose.

It's her "I'm done walking now" face.

"A leaf!"

Pebbles.

Freida.

Tag.

Princess.

Princess who made a nice face after I threatened to give up taking pictures.

Fog we drove through on the way home after Christmas.

Santa

Belief in Santa seems to follow many of the rules of religion: there are basic tenants common to many variations on a central theme, it's an idea most commonly perpetuated between generations, there's some very hot debate over it, and there always comes a time when you really have to question its basic existence. 

Oh, come on!  Like you havn't questioned religion's basic existence.  Yes, you, the one who's been a good, faithful Christian your whole life.  No one's fooled. 

I don't remember how old I was when I stopped believing in Santa.  It wasn't cool to believe in baby things when I got to be an older-kid (called The Age of Not Believing in Bedknobs and Broomsticks) but a little piece of innocence sobbed and withered when that childhood magic was abjured. 

Man and I decided long ago to "not do" Santa with the kids.  Some people nod politely, others are shocked.  One little girl in Princess' class was completely floored upon learning that Princess doesn't believe in ol' Saint Nick, declaring "but Santa is as real as God!"  Man and I chuckled and felt good about our decision from nine years ago.

Tonight we had a chance to do a little shopping at our local PX.  I felt an old ache when I saw Santa loitering near a counter set up for Christmas photos.  This Santa was richly dressed in brocade and heavy velvet, and his long white beard was very real.  It appeared slightly yellow next to the pure white of his fur trim.  His coat was the longer sort, an apparent crossover between the old Saint and our own jolly Elf.  His eyes were blue and twinkly and his voice, though not deep, revealed inexpressibly endearing kindness.  My son loudly proclaimed that "Santa's not real!" right to the man's face and Santa merely smiled patiently. 

Later, as I wandered aisles with my two littlest girls, he came to play with the toys in a slow, deliberate manner as if taking both enjoyment and mental notes, and struck up a conversation with Pebbles.  He was generous in speaking with her, always inquiring about her interests and actively listening to whatever she wanted to share.  He enjoyed some interaction with Freida and remarked on her strong grasp of colors and counting, his eyes lingering over her smile and the fascination she had for one particular toy. 

I walked away from that encounter with one thought ringing through my head: if I had met that particular Santa at any time during my childhood, I would have believed for much longer.  I might still believe.  I wanted at that moment to buoy my children with innocent wonder and a rich understanding of the ancient myths of stockings and reindeer and an improbable but imminently possible race against time and science. 

I thought about his interest in my girls and the soothing kindness of his voice.  He didn't "HO!HO!HO!" with gusto, but merely chuckled quietly.  Nowadays, some parents might keep their kids as far as possible from a man who would randomly converse with a child in the toy aisle, no matter how he was dressed.  Santas only belong on ornate chairs in front of cameras or in front of stores swinging bells for charity and some Santas don't even have kids sit in their laps anymore.  Litigation and bitter fear have broken whatever lingering sweetness we might have felt about our childhood dreams. 

This Santa might have creeped out those who read too much into him, and those caught up in the traditions for tradition's sake would merely have seen him as a prop for the Christmas card this year and future memories already planned out in soccer mom style. 

I made my purchases and bundled my shivering babes into the van and longed once again for that old magic.  There was a thrill at seeing a full stocking Christmas morning; a thrill at seeing a plate, intended for cookies, sporting merely crumbs after a night of fitful sleep; and a thrill at wondering what miracles Santa might bring to pass on my behalf to make at least one day out of the year completely special and safe.  Perhaps such times as these make us long for simple miracles.  Perhaps we perpetuate that magic to feel like rockstars when we know that Santa's miracles are our own doing. 

All I know is that, tonight, the whiskers were real, the clothes looked incredibly gorgeous, the voice was like a hug, and I felt an odd sort of honor that he would take a special interest in my own children.  And there's nothing wrong with any of that.

Room swap and good weekend

You know those weekends that leave you tired but oddly refreshed?  Yeah.

Friday night we had the missionaries over.  They always, no matter who, where, what, or how you are, ask whether there's anything they can do to help you.  We've always said no after a polite pause where we pretended to ponder the question.  However, Man's shoulder prevents him from doing some things around the house like lifting entertainment centers and it's nice to have strapping young lads willing to lend a hand.

My beautiful, wee girl-children don't need as much sleep as their old mom and they go to bed early besides.  We moved into this house a year and a half ago in the spring and unwittingly put them into the coldest room.  Couple that with two windows that seem to catch every vibration of the 0630 Reveille and you end up with a 0632 Reveille for one tired mom in the form of two giggling, shivering, bickering lumps fighting over who gets to lay directly on top of me and who gets to wiggle into the warm spot at the small of my back.  Even if I kick them out of bed so I can doze until my 7:30 alarm, they can't reach the cereal and their rumbling stomachs soon get the better of their good natures and my rest.  I've considered leaving some sort of small food offering on the table overnight, as a Breakfast option to be followed by Second Breakfast after I wake up, to buy me some time.  The fear of pests has prevented any action in this direction.

At any rate, warmth and less noise has meant a weekend of little girls leaving us alone until 0800.  Bliss, I tell you.  Even if we only have a few more months to enjoy this arrangement, it's worth it and I don't have to grit my teeth and remind myself why it would be unethical to dose them with Nyquil every eve during tooth care time. 

It's also a smaller room which suits the mass of their possessions and persons. 

Tag has also needed less space.  I considered putting him into the room in which his sisters now live, but that seemed to be a little tight.  He has shelves and a desk and a powerful need for a room that's calming and safe.  First thing he did when he moved into the little girls' old room was take the butterflies off the wall.  It's a cozier fit and he no longer shares a room when the pantry and some miscellaneous storage.  The one closet is easier to close, which is important to him since it "freaks me out, mom."  The room he was in before has closets that have to be beaten shut.

So now we're all happier with the current arrangement.  I'm glad for the extra rest we've been getting.

Yesterday we went to a ward Christmas Party where the food was a little ugh but the company was great.  Someone actually cooked bacon and then kept it warm in a crockpot...  it was spooned on to plates.  I reiterate: ugh.  Tag asked Santa for a motorcycle, Freida asked for a birthday, and Pebbles asked for a flashlight.   Princess was too old for such foolishness and uttered a tween harrumph at the thought of visiting with the patient, old elf, but happily made reindeer candy canes and sugar cookies. 

We set out to visit my sister in law and had a blast!  Clam chowder for lunch and then we decorated cookies.  Her husband "went out and got a deer" because our state is so thick with the critters that you can drive 10 mins down the road and bow hunt, field dress, and return with your trophy in a mere two hours.  The cookies were exceptionally delicious and it was the first time I've ever seen a fresh kill that close before.  Once again, it was some excellent company but the food was also excellent. 

We stopped at the temple on the way home and enjoyed the breath taking glory of the Christmas lights.  The colors were rich and magnificent but had the inexplicable understatement of LED lights. Every tree and bush around the parking lot was embraced with Christmas celebration.  It was so crowded that evening that the stake center parking lot next door was filling up fast and parking lot attendants worked chilly shifts making sure that patrons of the temple had closer access than light voyeurs.  Tag almost got creamed by a bus once and I found the voice of a crazed grisly bear ripped out of my chest in warning.  It worked and he jumped back in time but we were both shaken. 

A quick stop at Chipotle brought us home in time for a bite and a timely bed time. 

All in all, a great weekend. 

Home shopping

Man wants to buy.  He wants to buy soon.  I'm nervous about that idea.

Here are the current plans: He has the opportunity to participate in occupational rehabilitation which will help guide him to a job that utilizes his various talents, which he will then either enjoy or have to swallow the tangy pill of realization that when you're upset at your ideal job it's time to buck up and get over it.  He seems to be hopeful, which is nice.

So, part of the occupational therapy is training in the field of his choosing.  Yes, more school.  He is, even now, enrolled in an online college where he's taking the one capstone class he needs to graduate with a Bachelor's degree in liberal arts.  I was a little upset by that, seeing as he could quintuple major in Chinese, Music, German, Computer Crap, and National Defense.  Whatevs.  At any rate, he's doing this online class in ethics, which has brought up some lively debate regarding euthanasia and the fundamentals of morals themselves.  He'll be getting his degree some time in the spring at which point I'll be throwing a party to which you all are invited.  Details to follow. 

So, we'll be moving at some nebulous point in the future.  The idea is that we'll move to where the job is.  Failing a decent job, we'll move to Kansas which is where my people are.  Now he wants to move to Colorado because the houses seem to be about $100k cheaper due to the tanking of the housing market out here which he says will make up for the difference in living expenses.  Right, says I, but it's still far from my family.  Well, replies he, at least it's way closer than any other place we've lived the past 4 years.  Whatever, sigh I, living that far away has taught me longing and appreciation.  Closer is better, but I'll go to CO if the job is good.  A day's drive is much better than a full days' drive (9 hours vs almost 24 if you factor in hourly potty breaks for little people), but I've got this pit in my stomach over it that says "I don't wanna and you're not the boss of me!"  That's the same pit that sometimes wins when I do my own menu planning and contemplate scrubbing behind the toilet. 

The problem with moving where the job is that he won't be getting a job while doing the occupational rehabilitation.  Really?  Really.  Makes me nervous?  You bet your sweet Sosa.  Which means that there isn't likely to be the sweet job in CO that'll make it ok for me to be far from home.  All of this is still in the incubation/theoretical stage which means that we're still arguing about it none of the above may ever come to pass.  He could land a sweet job in Europe or Iceland just in time for the cancer cure and common global language to shake hands.  Who the heck knows.


Anyway, looking at the price difference on these houses has got me thinking.  In real life, cheaper isn't always a good thing.  A decent rule of thumb can be to determine the level of quality you want to go for, often associated with a brand, and then find the cheapest price on that exact item.  Houses don't often have brands.  When they do, they're out of my price range in any case.  How do you know what the true value of a house is?  How do you know it won't be a money pit?  How do you know if you can afford it even if the price is great?  Do I have to learn a new level of home maintenance when we buy a house?  Dude, it's a headache. 

In the mean time, Tag's teacher called in a tizzy the other day.  Apparently he's still refusing to do his work in class so I've gone all Mr. Monk on him with checklists and consequences with if-then statements and loud lectures which (bless the little guy) he took with humility and resignation.  It breaks my heart.  It's looking like a strong possibility that he'll fail the 9 weeks, which could lead to failing the year, No Child Left Behind notwithstanding.  He will, however, get an IEP which might help somewhat.  Yes, ADHD is finally official, diagnosed, on the record, and snickering at us as we glare at it and frantically research our eyeballs out and work with at least four entities besides his normal doctor to come up with a way to get this child some academic and behavioral success.  I don't want him to fail the second grade especially if it's because of frustration as opposed to a real intellectual deficiency.  I wouldn't mind a dumb kid.  Someone's gotta have them.  But he isn't dumb by any stretch and my sense of justice is not ok with a failure of this nature when something could be done about it.  Yes, I'm taking it personally.  He really is trying, sits (mostly) nicely to do his homework at home and finishes it in reasonable time with only occasional intervention.  The problem is primarily in the classroom and I'm not there to see it.  All I have is the teacher's word against his and that poor lady has 28 kids who are all precious snowflakes wilting under the burden of his squeaky-wheel-ness. 

I love my boy.  He doesn't hurt anyone at school, doesn't break stuff, doesn't vandalize the bathroom, I've heard no reports of name calling or bullying.  All he does is refuse to do academic work while his teacher hovers over him.  I strongly suspect that we have a serious case of bad behavior cycle.  Once again, whatevs.

Two classes have come back with A's, just waiting on one class to see if the GPA stays at a 4.0.  I should know by this afternoon.

That's all from H land at the moment.  Happy holidays, Reader!

the delicious end

Oh, there are delicious ends.  There are heels of fine bread, the last lukewarm sweetness of an herbal mocha, the last end woven into a deep, fluffy scarf, and a final exam that takes 30 mins to whip out.

I wrote until my hand shook, which wasn't much considering my generation Y upbringing.  Then I sold back my text books and skipped down the hall with a whistle on my lips and a laugh in my throat.  An odd combination, but I didn't care.  The door to my freedom opened with a blast of frozen air that felt like baptism on my flushed face. 

It was most welcome.

I'm taking spring off, unless I take just one online class.  House hunting, job searching, school looking, but first, there is Christmas.  I'm going to take off my shoes and take a hot bath.

Oh, and I had another book idea when Freida came to visit my bed at 3 am, complaining of her fear of crickets.  It kept me up for an hour. 

From my facebook page:

From my facebook updates:

For the first time in (mumble mumble) weeks, my house is almost clean. I'm sure the Chesapeake isn't thanking [me] for all the spraying and scrubbing, but neither are several trillion microscopic beasties.

 Vacuuming in the blackness of space beneath furnishings, I'm very carefully curbing my curiosity about the blub-cha-clank going on in my long suffering vacuum. Was that a toy? A hair clip? No, don't think about it! FWOOMP!! Oh, crud, that had to have been a sock or a tissue... NO! Don't think about it. Crackling hiss! Sand. It had to have been. Or cracker crumbs. Rattling clink might have been money... No. No. Don't think about it.

 I did end up taking those two finals yesterday.   The psych final was my one and only chance (as far as I know), but the sociology test is a three striker, with the prof taking the highest score out of all three.  He'll email on Monday to let me know if I need to take another whack at it, but with 38 points of extra credit to apply to a 100 point test, I'm feeling pretty darn good.  

 Last but certainly not least, my English final is this Thursday.  It's going to be four questions regarding the plays A Doll's House by Henrik Ibsen and Fences by August Wilson.  If you have the chance, A Doll's House is a completely haunting movie as well (1973 version), starring a startlingly young Anthony Hopkins and including the lady who plays Miss Prism in The Importance of Being Earnest.   

 It's felt really good to feel like I have the time and energy to give the house a good scrubbing.  I've gone through a lot of cleaning supplies today and I may actually go through more than one whole vacuum bag.  Of course the kids havn't been as enthusiastic as I, but everyone seems to breathe much more easily when you can stride through a room without kicking anything, or easily find towels and clothes and cups and forks.  We're starting to get the rearrangement itch as we learn that the three youngest kids seem to have too much room.  We're moving the spare room into the former master bedroom on one side, which is where Bren is living.  We're going to get him a smaller bed and a smaller room and a room with fewer closets to worry about.  So that's going to begin in earnest this week, and then we'll have missionaries over for dinner to do the heavy lifting since Man isn't up to that sort of thing anymore.   

 Also, the kids are getting older and wanting more money.  So now I have to start calculating how much money I'm going to offer for extra chores.  Hehe.  The chores have worked very well in the past but they've been more sporadic.  One time I charged Bren a lot of money to let him make a dinner on a night he didn't like what I made, but I let him do chores to earn it all back.  We havn't repeated that since then, since the little stinker really needs to eat the food I make and I don't want him thinking he can just throw money at something he doesn't like to fix it.  So I'm wondering what it is they can do for money that isn't something they should be doing for themselves or the family anyway.  Claire should be doing her own laundry here pretty soon, I'm thinking at the beginning of the next school year.  Basic yard care, dishes, caring for their own and public space, cleaning bathrooms, vacuuming, and cooking once in a while are all part of being in a family.  So what's left?