Beach

You may or may not be pleased to know that I am, in fact, not dead. Yet. It makes me giggle to gross you guys out but I try my hardest to model my nicest manners whenever I can muster them up, especially now that Weston can read, so I will spare you the play-by-play of the boil-bursting episode. Let me just say, though, that cheesecake with strawberry sauce is probably ruined for me forever. Also I may be blind in one eye. It's too soon to tell.

Potentially more deadly than the giant suppurating carbuncles of doom, however, was the six day 'vacation' with Weston, Shane, my mother, my sister, her daughter and her miniature Godzilla charming twenty month old son. Seriously, I thought I would expire from exhaustion just watching my sister. She was constantly lunging after him, her face was haggard, and there were always raisins stuck to her pants. Not an especially good look, if you were wondering.

'What is wrong with this kid?' I asked myself from my comfortable vantage point as the mother of an oh-so-mature almost three year old. Until I went back and read about the times I was handily humiliated at the post office, the office party, the barbecue, the boss' house, and the sidewalk. Then I was a little bit more understanding, but I'm still pretty sure Shane never attacked a pack of other kids with a kite, or kicked them until they ran away, or pig-piled them while evilly chortling. It could be because I kept him tied up in the closet for about eight months, but I prefer to chalk it up to his inherently better nature, or perhaps to my superior parenting skills. The other kids, including Shane, were surprisingly tolerant of the tiny tyrant, and didn't once smack him back, despite what must have been a major temptation. Lucky for Teddy, he's a cute little monster.

We hit all the hot spots of the Northern Oregon Coast: the Tillamook cheese factory, Fort Clatsop and the pizza place on the corner. Okay, we went to the pizza place twice. Whatever. We went to the beach seventy zillion times and ate forty bucks worth of candy from Bruce's. On the way home we stopped overnight to visit Aunt Ina in Portland and visited the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry (OMSI).


And now we're back. The floor Lloyd did while we were gone is gorgeous; I have a vanload of wet filthy clothes; and Jennifer is probably crumpled up at home like a wrung-out rag, waiting for Monday when she gets a nanny day. And there are sure to be tons of new things at the thrift store! It's good to be home.

The best laid plans

What is it again that paves the road to hell? Best laid plans? Good intentions? Whichever, because I have all of that stuff in SPADES. Tomorrow, my sister and I are taking four children, two minivans, one mother and 800 cubic yards of supplies (ramen noodles, bubbles, peanut butter, etch-a-sketches and wine, along with a few other, less important things) to the coast, where we will meet up with two aunts to enjoy the February weather and the sand and surf. While we are gone, Lloyd will be moving about a million pounds of furniture, ripping up carpet, tearing out the hideous asbestos-laden tile underneath it, and refinishing the fir floor that is the bottom layer. What could possibly go wrong?

Oh, AND I have two giant boils for which I cannot receive medical attention unless I waste a half a day at the emergency room because after four business-hour phone calls, multiple web attempts, three emails and an aborted 'live chat', we have so far been unable to change our medical benefits to the appropriate status so that I can go to a regular doctor. Or at least one that is desperate or altruistic enough to accept the poor substitute for health care coverage that is foisted on military families. This is called 'Tricare', if you are lucky enough to be unfamiliar with it. I could, of course, go to a military facility. The question is, do I want to die at the hands of a military quack, or would I rather keel over and have a stroke from the skyrocketing blood pressure associated with trying to even SEE a civilian quack? Or just wait and die from the untreated boils? It sure is great to have so many choices. I'm tempted to put up a poll so you guys can help me make up my mind but I think I better go to bed. I can't be sure but I think I might possibly be starting to get just the slightest bit irrational, and that's no good when you're trying to make such major decisions. Or when you're setting out on the highway to hell. There's plenty of time for that when we get there. See you in a week or so! If I'm not dead, I mean. Of course. But if I am I will be so totally pissed if you don't all come to my funeral. Now I'm starting to scare myself. You can't really die from boils, right? RIGHT? Okay, I'm going to bed for real this time. I mean it. Right now. Goodnight.

What, are you still here? I said I was going to bed, and I meant it. Seriously.

Progress

Today I am pleased to announce that I am finally starting to really believe that I'm really back home: Bossed around by sister? Check. Thrift store clothes and hand-me-ups piling up faster than I can wear them? Check. Dad nitpicking my writing attempts? Check. Mom giving me the stinkeye for crumbs on the counter and naked children? Check! If I had a Magic Eight Ball it would totally be saying 'All signs point to yes'. We all know that a toy that exists solely in my imagination would never lie so it must be true.

Now that I have had a chance to catch my breath a little, I fear I might have left out some salient points in my previous post where I was comparing the relative merits of Korean Air and United Airlines. I know this because I have been laying awake at night thinking about it. It drives me crazy when I think I have left something out or used a badly constructed sentence or a less than optimal word. It's actually possibly slightly obsessive (see all those '-ly' words all in a row? Sure to elicit a comment- CHECK!) In fact, I know it is, because one time in about 1990 I used 'prescription' when I meant 'subscription', and I STILL THINK ABOUT IT.

Anyway, she typed, dragging her attention back to the matter at hand, now that I'm in a one computer/three addict house, the situation around the singularity can get a bit dicey and I might have been rushed off the computer at icepick point before my thoughts were fully unveiled. But after I've had a few nights to ruminate over the issue, I've come to the logical conclusion: A new reality show! You take any random KAL trans-pacific flight and a similar United flight (or any other airline if you're really feeling saucy) and give them some zany in-flight challenges to overcome while still fulfilling all the standard responsibilities. For the opener, the teams would have to design and then make a gown for an extravagant wedding and simultaneously deliver twin lambs. KAL would kick United ass, because I swear, those flight attendants keep springing fully formed out of the overhead compartments or something, each one more charming and accomplished than the last. They would have that mother sheep parked on a business class seat with their arms up inside before the beleaguered United crew could even adjust their trusses.

Sadly, the reality show idea is perhaps not an entirely practical one for security reasons. Most of my challenges involve sharp implements and/or fire, but wouldn't it make an outstanding series of commercials? I can picture it now: the smiling KAL crew is turning backflips down the aisle and building a go-kart in the galley while their rivals lumber around, banging into each other with stupid looks on their faces. If anyone from the KAL marketing department is reading this, my ad concepts are available at a low, low price and an advantageous exchange rate. Rest assured, there's plenty more where this one came from. Call me!

Okay, FINE

Some of my most ardent fans have been asking, nay BEGGING, for me to do a new post. Okay, FINE. It was my sister and I'm pretty sure she mostly wants me to tell you about her new blog, The Way of the Woo. If you know my sister, you know she is VERY clever and talented, and perhaps, just the teensiest bit bossy. If you don't know her, you can check out her art here. There, Jennifer, are you happy NOW?

And, moving on, things around here are, well, moving on. The packers come tomorrow to gather all of our household goods. They pack like lightning and you have to move fast to keep them from packing your kitchen garbage, keys and passports. It's especially challenging here, because they don't understand when you say, 'No! Don't take the goldfish!' or, 'Ack! That's my dirty laundry, and put that pot roast down!' I wanted to take some pictures of the house and all our piled up junk for your viewing pleasure, but of course I can't find the camera.

We had our housing pre-inspection yesterday. If you haven't lived in military housing, this is where they come and look around and point out all the things you have to clean up before you can move: The scribbles on the wall, the dried slime on the rug, and the shaggy carpet of dust on the ceiling fan blades. Anyway, she came in and looked around and immediately assumed that we had already shipped our good furniture out and were using ratty loaner junk. Sadly, however, this is not the case. The ratty junk is, in fact, our actual belongings, and once I informed her of this, she slunk out quickly, probably good and embarrassed. So that worked out well. Sorry, Korean housing lady, better luck next time!

Let's see, what else? We will be computer and phone free after today so you might not hear from me for a while. We will also be television, book and toy free, so that's probably going to be super fun. Someone did loan us a car starting tomorrow so we can just go cruising Osan to entertain ourselves. If I don't shrivel up and die from having no computer, see you in America!

Normal or not? Guest post and poll!

As military spouses, we do all kinds of crazy things for so long that they seem normal. Then, when we re-enter the real world, it's sometimes hard to tell if everyone else is crazy or if we are. So, let's try to help out my anonymous guest poster who is befuddled by a recent situation she faced. Read her account, and then vote in the poll located in the upper right corner.

Anna

A young girl is having her tonsils/adenoids out on a Friday and her grandparents are not only taking off work on Friday but driving to the granddaughter's house to spend the night through Sunday night. (note: granddaughters's house is in a different state. A neighboring one, but a different one.) Also, the said granddaughter's two other siblings are staying at another relative's house through the weekend as well. Then on Monday, the grandparents are taking the two siblings (the ones staying with the relative) back to the state THEY live in so the parents of said granddaughter can tend to her some more.

So there will be 4 adults (two who live out of state) to tend to this one child who is having very minor surgery for 3 days. And then two adults tending to the one child for even a few more days.

So, is this what most families do? Or am I too jaded as a military wife to know how much 'normal' family gather? Or am I jaded as my family is integrated with many healthcare professionals and I realize that a tonsillectomy is very routine?

Realize I got several e-mails leading up to this procedure to remind me and several e-mails on the day of, to let me know how everything progressed. (The procedure is only about 10 minutes long).

And it just drove me crazy! I'm thinking, oh my goodness - she's just having her tonsils out! Is it that big of a deal? Under normal circumstances if I had just been told about the surgery I would have called that day and told her to "get well soon" but this made me not even want to call..which is wrong I know. But I was afraid to feed the mania!

-anonymous-

Back

Well. Back at Osan. Yep, here we are. The flight was about what you'd expect. Long, and, ummm, LONG. We had a great trip but it's nice to be home, too. I had considered staying a few weeks more while Lloyd came back alone but I don't think my parents could have taken it, since we had pretty much already sucked them dry.

We came home to a bunch of great stuff we inherited from some friends that moved: new toys, some furniture, plants and chocolates. Outstanding.
And, it's monsoon season here! I'm pretty enthusiastic about it because last year we didn't get a single monsoon and I was very disappointed. The sandbag dikes around the buildings were high and dry all summer. But now we're having a proper season. The ground is soggy and the worms are out. My friend Heidi was a little alarmed when she saw a little old Korean man building a boat in front of her building, but I say unless he's got a pompadour and funky glasses, everything is perfectery rovery. Pass the oars! And the rum. Yo ho ho, me hearties.

Unfortunately we have yet to get adjusted to Osan standard time. This is the third morning and our wakeup times have gotten progressively earlier each morning. I was optimistic the first day when we got up at 4:15, but yesterday it was 3:08 and today it was 2:45 am and I am barely functional.

Well, that's all the latest. I have to go throw the kids in the washing machine and toss the recycling in the oven. TTFN!

Guest Post Entry 7

From Anonymous:

Irony

My MIL is a very sweet and caring person. She really only means good....I think.

She would do anything for us or the kids, probably including throwing herself in front of a bus. She never misses holidays or birthdays. She loves to come and visit, help me clean and take care of the kids. So, win win right?

Well, almost...

My mil genuinely does not understnad why anyone would do things any differently than she did them 30+ years ago. And I guess she has reason to think that. She has several very well acheived, successful kids. However, once she mentions something or suggests something once, she will continue to mention it, or question you until it's done her way.

Which, doesn't seem so bad, excpet after several days of trying to politely tell her that 'That's a good idea, but what we're doing is working for us'. it turns into ploitely ignoring the suggestion and then sometimes it turns into my brain shriveling up into a wad of wires that probably resembles something close to dental floss. (I'd like to think the mint, waxed kind)

To illustrate, one recent situation come to mind

My fil had helped my children decorate some mugs for the holidays and they were not dishwasher safe. However my ajuma was here the day after the decorating and my mil noticed she was drinking out of one of the mugs. She pulled me to the side and told me that I should probably have hid them so she wouldn't drink out of them. I kind of got defensive (inside, mind you, not outwardly) that she didn't want our ajuma drinking out of the mugs. She's human too, you know? What does it matter if she drinks out of them?

My mil kind of sighed and said, "Well, at least make sure she doesn't put them in the dishwasher."

I told her I would, and obviously, because I'm me, forgot to tell her.

The next morning my mil happened to be standing by the dishwasher while I was unloading it and saw that one of the mugs had been ruined. Needless to say she was pretty upset and I tried to clamly diffuse the situation by saying, "It's okay, it's no big deal"

In the tone you would say to a toddler who spilled their milk, not a mean, or dismissive tone.

She responded with, "(insert name) IT IS A BIG DEAL!"

In which I thought I said, " It's alright, you can always make another one."

But I guess what actually came out of my mouth was, "It's not like you're dying tomorrow!"

Let me add (to my defense I guess) that I've never even said anything remotely even contradictory to her. I've never been anything but totally accomodating. But I guess after a few years, my dental floss brain had had enough of that minty smell.

Also, I felt so horribly guilty for saying it, that I apologized and payed my penance with severe, anxiety induced IBS the rest of the day.

I was relieved of the tension within a day and things were back to normal "please walk all over me and tell me what to do" the next day and the rest of our visit went splendid.

But, wouldn't I be damned to find out only a week later my mil was lying in a hospital bed waiting for emergency surgery....

I was right, she wasn't dying tomorrow...She'd wait a week before she tried to kick the bucket.

* We are so very glad that my mil is just fine and healthy after a very random, weird scare and boy did I feel awful again. Me and the toilet have become best of friends.

**I do feel the need for one more disclamier, my mil is a great lady, and I'm pretty damn lucky to have her.

Conversations With My 97.5 Year Old Grandfather (Gramp): Guest Post!

From Lloyd:

I called my grandfather today to see what he was up to. He lives in Maine where he was born and raised. In fact he has never lived outside of a 6 mile radius of the town of Thomaston. Anyway when I asked him what was new, he said “Well, I’ve been eye-balling the big birch tree that I planted next to the house 70 years ago and decided that if a strong enough west wind ever blew it could push that old buzzard into my house”. I pretty much expected to hear what came out next knowing that old coot as well as I do. He went on to say “So I grabbed my ladder and a rope and climbed up the side of the tree and tied off the rope about 2/3 of the way up and then tied the other end of the rope to a spruce tree about 50’ away. Then I grabbed my come-along and got some pretty good tension on that rope. Then I grabbed my chainsaw and after cutting about half way through I went back over to the spruce tree and gave that come-along a couple more cranks. Finally I finished cutting and that tree landed exactly where I wanted it to. I cut it up into 16” pieces for firewood and tried to split it with a maul but the darn stuff was too damn gnarly so I had to use a hydraulic splitter.”

With that I asked him what else was new and he said “The grackles are getting pretty thick and I may have to declare war on them again,” which means picking them off with his .22 rifle out the window. Finally, it was time to end this short conversation so I asked him, “What are you doing tomorrow” he said “Well, I thought I would drive the truck over to Wes’s house (his 72 year old son) and give him a hand splitting the 10 cord of fire wood sitting in his back yard”.

Before we hung up he told me to “keep my powder dry” and to “hang in there boy” and “I love you and Anna, Weston , Shane, and Tori”. With that I hung up the phone realizing that this guy has seriously skewed the life-cycle “Bell Curve” and hoped to see him in 9 months.