Planning a Move?

In the end, we didn't really make a decision about this, and in not making a decision, we decided by default to plow ahead and see what fate will have in store for us. I can't give you an exact, logical reason... we're just not ready to give up on this just yet.

In the meantime, we've set our sights on a more shorterm goal. We might be getting our wish and moving to Parris Island. Mike met with, called, tried his damndest to be annoying and bug them about getting us a house, and in the end it was to no avail. Finally, I called myself and was given the distinct impression that we were very last priority to get a house on Parris Island, and if we didn't do something about it, we would never move there.

So I wrote a letter. Which my mom revised. Brilliantly, I might add. She made the focus of the letter that our desire to be on Parris Island is really a safety concern for Michael. His long hours have him drivng on dark, winding roads at ridiculous hours of the day and night on very little sleep. The letter advocated that series commanders and drill instructors be given first priority for base housing on Parris Island due to their work hours. Of course, also mentioned in the letter was our initial hardship with the fleas and how we had been told that our house had been "recently renovated" with "all new flooring throughout the house". Both of these proved to be untrue. It's true that some houses in this neighborhood had been recently renovated with brand new flooring, but our house is far from one of them.

Mike sent his Commanding Officer a copy of it before we sent it out -- to see if he would like to be CC'd. He didn't, but he said to "fire away" and even recommended that we send it to the CO of the Air Station here as he is the one, apparently, with the power to make changes in policy for the housing.

It was sent. And we waited. And waited. And just when I shrugged my shoulders and thought, "Oh well. At least we tried." Mike came home from work and said his CO wanted to see him about the "housing letter.", but when Mike had gone to see him he was at the Airstation. The next day, Mike finally caught up with the CO who said our letter had made quite an impression on the CO of the airstation. Mike and his CO are scheduled to have a meeting with the head of housing next week.

Small victory. I think.

Of course, last night I lay awake in bed for several hours mentally planning our "move". The idea of boxes and everything having to be re-organized and re-placed in a new home had me reeling. I think it will be very worth it in the end, though, if they do in fact give us our wish and give us a house on the Island. No, I don't have any grand ideas that the cool kids will suddenly welcome me in their midst once I am living in their "hood", but having Mike so close by will be completely priceless... especially with the little baby on the way. I can't tell you how many times I have felt completely helpless here, stuck alone with my sick baby (or my sick self) with Michael stuck on Parris Island and not able to come by to help me out at all.

Crossing my fingers and praying this scheduled meeting next week goes our way, and if it does... praying that the move doesn't take the last bits of sanity I have left.

The Dawn of a New Age in Parenting

This weekend I had a bit of an eye-opening experience. I saw my little "angel" through the eyes of others... and it left me a little uneasy. Generally, when I take Sawyer places, I almost always leave all swelled up with pride in my amazing little man. This weekend, that was not exactly the case.

First of all, you should know that we went somewhere that was not child-proofed and had lots of stairs (which we do not have at our house so that means it's a complete novelty for Sawyer). There were also a lot of people packed into a small space AND there was a baby girl about 11-months-old.

When we arrived, Mike and I took our places. He was stationed on one end of the room and I was stationed on the other. For the first 45 minutes Sawyer literally ran from one end of the room to the other. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Stopping only briefly to take the magnets and pictures off of the refrigerator, venture into the laundry room and zone immediately in on the ax that was in there, try to climb the stairs repeatedly, make himself comfortable in the master bedroom, grab at the food on people's plates, and make the little baby cry.

What? Yes. The other things? Those are completely expected and boy-age-appropriate, I would say. Admittedly, I think the kid-less couples were watching Sawyer's boundless energy and thinking, "Maybe I'm not ready for kids just yet" and the couples with kids were thinking, "I'm really glad that's not MY kid." But he wasn't being bad. He was just being... a toddler who does, in fact, have boundless amounts of energy and curiousity.

It was when he stepped on the 11-month-old's hand and made her cry. (Not on purpose, of course, but who wants to be the parent responsible for the kid responsible for making a baby cry? Not I.).... or when he actually took her toy phone and threw it AT her (right after I told him, "don't throw that") and made her cry again... that's when I started to feel a little uneasy.

I'm used to Sawyer being the little one you need to watch out for... not the big one who needs to be careful around the little one.

It appears we have entered a new dawn of parenting, folks. Discipline is starting to rear its ugly head, and I am at a complete loss. While I'm certain that Sawyer does indeed know what the word "no" means, he rarely, if ever listens. To be quite honest, most of the time when I tell him no, he smiles and does it again. I tell him no again. He does it again. I pull him away from said thing he isn't supposed to be doing/touching/whatever, he waits until I put my guard down and runs back to do it again. My guess is this is all pretty normal toddler behavior, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't shake my confidence just a tad.

Darn. Just when I had mastered the feeding/sleeping/clothing/taking care of basic needs bit of parenthood, now I have to add a new talent to my resume? Enforcer of rules. Teacher of proper behavior.
Wish me luck.

My Wild Man

What's in this Water, Anyway?!

You know how they say, "There must be something in the water" ? Well, I am beginning to get very suspicious of just that.

Since I found out I was pregnant, it seems that everywhere I turn I am running into another lady who is due within a month of me.

One of my friends is due in September, my neighbor down the street is due two weeks before me, Mike's boss's wife is due two days before me, the lady who organizes our Thursday playgroup is due one day before me, and another girl who goes to the Thursday playgroup is due in November....

That's not even counting the person who started this whole baby boom and is due in July.

Hmm. I don't know. Maybe someone should do an investigation. It seems the military is adding extra hormones into their water trying to build up a new generation of military for WWIII.

Either that, or I just happen to be living in a unique situation around a bunch of 20 and 30 year-olds who are in the baby-making phase of their life...

I prefer my first theory, though. It's much more interesting.

...BUT

...but then again. We've put so much into this life, how do we possibly just walk away? I was walking past the really nice houses on base and saw a Marine in the front yard playing with his kids. My first thought was, "Dang. He looks young." My second thought was, "He's probably just a Major, that's why."

One year. We're one measly year from *those houses. From *that status. From *guaranteed retirement and financial security. How do we just walk away without knowing for sure whether that life was possible for us?

Clearly I am very torn.

We would have just approximately 10 years left in the good old USMC if they let us stick around. My dad turned 65 yesterday. He will be 75 when it's time for Mike to retire. In those 10 years, who knows where we could be. We could be sent to Japan. Hawaii. Back to California. Places far far away, and my kids could grow up the first decade of their lives hardly ever seeing their grandparents... and then when we finally move back? Those grandparents will be older than I ever want to believe that they will actually be. That's painful for me to think about.

Or...

Or Mike could get his wish and become the Marine Corps Martial Arts Instructor in Quantico and we could ride out the rest of our years close to the fam.

You never know.

There are many possibilities and what ifs to consider when making huge life decisions such as this one. In the end, I think it will come down to following our hearts. Mike followed his heart when he decided to stop flying helicopters and I supported him 100%. Neither one of us regrets it now - even though it is the very decision - the very reason we are faced with this predicament today.

I do believe it will all work out how it's meant to in the end. In the meantime, we just have to decide how hard we want to fight for one outcome or the other. Or if we want to fight at all, and just let fate take over.....

The Promise of Maybe

In December we were blindsided with the news that our worst fear had come true. Mike had been passed over for promotion. It was a shock since he wasn't actually supposed to be up for Major for another year, but thanks to a dramatic downsizing in the military they looked at a larger pool of people, thus promoting many less than usual and dooming the rest for "terminal" status.

He does have another shot at promotion next year, but we're not very hopeful. His dad, a retired Two Star Admiral in the Navy has lots of connections, so we're getting everyone and their brother with any kind of status to write letters of recommendations for Mike's file. It's a last ditch effort. None of us has any idea if it will work.

And as time passes, I don't know if I want it to work.

Mike is pretty worried about the future. Much more worried than I am, which is very strange. I imagine it would be pretty tough for him - feeling like all the pressure to have a viable income is on his shoulders. To be honest, it really is. I don't plan to go back to work until these kids are old enough for pre-school and since one of them is still cooking in my tummy, well, that's a while down the road yet.

Yesterday, Mike texted me what the voluntary separation incentive pay is for his rank. He's an officer but not eligible for retirement yet. Thanks to their attemps at downsizing the military is desperate to get rid of him and others like him. The voluntary separation incentive is more zeroes than either of us has ever seen on any check made out in our names, I'll just say that. If we wait until we find out that Mike indeed did NOT make Major again (assuming that's what we'll find out come December) that separation pay halves. It's still a nice chunk of change, but it's half of what we could get if we just cut our losses.

I was thinking about it today quite a bit and I'm not sure entirely what the reason is, but the thrill of the nomadic lifestyle has really run out for me. I yearn to put down some roots - real, long-term, deep roots. I desperately desire to be near my family. Maybe I'm done with this military life. Maybe that voluntary separation incentive is just enough for me to say, SCREW financial security and Mike being able to retire at 42. I'm ready to get out of this world, and I'm ready now!

I know it's a really tough economy out there right now, but Mike has set his heart on law enforcement, and with his military background, I really feel that he has it in the bag. That and he can charm the pants off anybody, so I know he'll kill it in an interview. I'm really not very worried about him finding a job. Yes, we will take a HUGE paycut. Probably by half. So there are many things to consider...

But.. thanks to the wake-up call in December we have really scrambled and gotten our financial situation in pretty good working order. Everything is paid off except for our wretched HOUSE in San Diego and my measly little student loan (which will be the last loan I ever consider paying off bc it is NOTHING. thanks mom and dad!!!!!). But with our pretty separation incentive, a free place to live in Maryland (for a while anyway - thanks to Mike's parents and his aunt and uncle for hanging on to Grandma's house after she passed away), and if Mike continues on in the reserves I think we will have just enough to make it work. Then we just need to hang on long enough for the housing market to go up (just a little bit? please? for the love of GOD!!) and we can unload our San Diego house, hopefully for a decent profit...

I'll go back to school using the GI bill and be ready to start a career when pre-school time starts for these youngins....

and... maybe it will work.
Maybe.

First Trimester Saga Part 1

I kissed my first trimester goodbye last week (I think? Gosh, it's sooo much harder to keep track of these things the 2nd time around). Let me tell you. There was no love lost as I shoved it out of my life and slammed the door behind it.

I feel like I've been living in my own universe these past couple of months. Holy Cow. It's been NUTS.

First of all, I am SO SUPER happy to be pregnant, but it was indeed a surprise. I had just started thinking that sometime in the next few months would be a good time to get pregnant, so I had started charting my bbt. Because of the charting and a handy dandy phone app and some breast tingling that felt distinctly like let-down during breastfeeding, I had a pretty clear idea that I was pregnant way before any pregnancy test on the market would verify it as a certainty.

I struggled a bit with it at first because of course a test verified the pregnancy amidst one of Sawyer's few bouts with being totally and completely miserably SICK. He wasn't sleeping well day or night. Mike got banned from our bedroom where I had Sawyer set up in a pack-n-play for the first part of the night, but he inevitably ended up in my bed with me for the 2nd half of the night. This went on way too long, and I spent a couple of those wakeful nights with my sick little man wondering how the f$%# I was going to manage another little tiny person when this one was challenging me quite profoundly as it was.

Then of course, when he got better, the task of breaking him of his horrible sleeping habits ensued. Why would he want to go to bed nicely in his crib when he'd been sleeping happily with his mama for the past week? Smart kid. Miserable mom. It took two weeks of the dreaded "cry it out" method before I got him back to his regular sleeping patterns. That was 3 crazy weeks of my life...

Soon thereafter I sat down one day and felt some slight pain in my tailbone. Hmm. Strange. The next day it was worse. The next worse. And worse. And worse. And HOLY GOD what is wrong with me? I looked it up online and found that many pregnant woman experience tailbone pain/discomfort due to everything shifting around and bla bla bla. Coccidia is what it's called. I couldn't sit down. Sleeping was a nightmare... the only position that was remotely bearable was on my tummy. I was beyond worried that I would have to deal with this pain for the rest of my pregnancy.

Then one day, pus starting coming out. HUH? Back to my handy google. What's this? Pilonidal abscess? An infected cyst? On my tailbone? Around that same time I started spiking fevers. A visit to the doctor was necessary. I went believing that he would drain my cyst and all would be right with the world.  Well, he was unsuccessful. He put me on an antibiotic, gave me some painkillers that I was determined NOT to take (I was freaking out enough about all of the tylenol I had consumed over the past week), and scheduled me for another appointment 2 days later to figure out how we would proceed from there.

The drive home was the most excruciating experience of my life. Now not only did I have an infected cyst but I had a scalpel wound in the same area and I was in PAIN. I actually called Michael SOBBING MY EYES OUT begging him to pick me up and drive me home. But he was right in the midst of some overnight stays at work where he was the only officer present and he said he could not leave. He was really so very sorry, but he could not leave. I still don't know if I've quite forgiven him for that.

When I got home (my guardian angel must've been working triple time during that drive) I took that stupid painkiller - just one. Thanks to it, I somehow managed to take care of my child while I was in the most horriffic pain of my life (worse than childbirth, I really do believe). That night I didn't sleep at all. The pain spiked to unbearable, and I found myself unable to do anything other than lay on my stomach (but I refused to take another painkiller becuase I was so so so scared for the vulernable little one growing in my belly). I called Mike and told him he had to be home the next morning to TAKE ME TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM. Thankfully he got home before Sawyer woke up because I have no idea how I would have taken care of him by myself.

We went to the ER. I was sent to see a surgeon. He successfully drained it. HOLY PAIN. It was disgusting!!!

The healing of a pilonidal abscess is the most important part. The wound has to heal from the inside out, so it is not sewn up. It is left as an open wound (a pocket in your skin) and I was tasked with soaking it twice daily and vigilantly cleaning it by sticking q tips inside the wound. NOT FUN.

It was. CRAZY. I'm all healed up now, but still find sitting flat on my butt for any length of time to be quite uncomfortable. I don't know if it's just going to be this way for the rest of my life or if this is because though the abscess (the infection) is gone, there is supposedly still a cyst there. My surgeon instructed me to come see him after I have my baby... so I can have the cyst surgically removed... I'm really not looking forward to it. (Unless the cyst is removed, I will continue to have recurrences of the abscess for the rest of my life. I just pray I don't have a recurrence again during this pregnancy...cringe.)

In any case... It was a fun little adventure to have at all... let alone to have in the first trimester of pregnancy. The upside was that after all of the pain from the abscess subsided simple nausea from pregnancy was NOTHIN! shoooooot.

That completes My First Trimester Saga Part 1.

Up next... my 8 hour road trip to Florida that commenced a week after my abscess drainage and involved some awesome car trouble....

until then..

The Swamp

To be completely honest, I firmly believe that when we first moved here to South Carolina everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong. The fleas were horriffic, yes, but it was much much more than that. It was driving on long, ugly stretches of nothing and the sinking feeling in my stomach that I really and truly have moved to the middle of absolutely nowhere, the fact that only one of my new neighbors greeted me with kindness (or greeted me at all, actually) and even from her I got the very strong impression that she had more than enough friends thankyouverymuch and really wasn't interested in adding another to her list.

I was even very bold and forced my introverted, nervous in situations where I know no one self to go to an officers' spouses' gathering.  There I put on my biggest smile and forced myself to walk up to complete strangers - many of them - and engage them in conversation. I was looking for 2 very specific things. 1. someone with a child or children in Sawyer's age group AND 2. someone who lives in the same base housing community I do.

I found a couple of people who had kids Sawyer's age. I found no one who lives in my community. In fact, the people I told where I live did not even try to hide their disdain. Apparently, the officers who work on Parris Island do not live in the base housing community I do. *They live on Parris Island (which we tried for, of course, but there was nothing available - so we took what we thought was the next best option).

I don't remember for sure, but I'm pretty sure I left that night and cried a little bit when I got to my car. The event was held in an absolutely stunning house on Parris Island - where it was clear to me that all of the cool kids live. I felt angry. jipped. and frustrated. It seemed that here in this place - this place that I had held such high hopes for - I was starting with all of the chips stacked against me.

I can't tell you that it has gotten a thousand times better since then. I have met people. People in my neighborhood. People associated with Mike's Battalion. Some of the cool kids from Parris Island. None of whom have done what it is that I really need from someone in order to secure a real friendship - reached out. I still have hope, though, for the fledgling friendships I have going.

When people ask me how I like it here -- how my transition was -- I always tell them that it was culture shock. I don't have any better way to describe it. This place is unlike any other. Many military families here make this joke, but it's actually the truth... we live in a swamp. Marshland everywhere. Mosquitoes aplenty. Crocodiles galore. How I'm raising a toddler here and actually willing to go outside where the bugs attack you in swarms I do not know. All I know is he needs to go outside, so we do.  That doesn't mean that I don't daydream daily about the lush, green Pennsylvania grass that does not carry the threat of fireant attacks or the beautiful humidity free weather of San Diego where doors could be left open all day long without worry of bugs infesting your home.

And yes. I'm just going to come out and say it. I miss Target. I so badly miss Target. And Kohls. And shopping malls. I will admit that a Sunday afternoon trip to one of these places was always my mental health therapy and now I have to travel long distances to find something other than Wal-Mart or the absolute worst JC Penney store you could ever imagine.

With all of that said. With all of the total imperfections of this place in which I live, the truth of the matter is... it's really not so bad. Even my neighborhood. I have had a lot of time to look at it through discerning eyes. The cool kids look at this neighborhood with scorn, but it is a perfectly fine place to live. Our house is completely fine - not my dream house, certainly, but not the pits by any means. The fleas, yes, that was absolutely terrible, but they're gone. I kicked their butt thankyouverymuch. Just outside my back door you can walk out onto a fishing pier and watch dolphins jumping from the bay at night. A little Sunday stroll takes you to a small horse stable. The people here are all very normal and nice - though I have not found my best friend amidst this crowd just yet. I still can't understand why that very first night when I met all of those ladies so many of them looked down at me with thinly veiled pity when I told them where I live.

Then there are times, like today, when we were driving through this very strange and interesting area of South Carolina that I really felt very thankful to be living here. Certainly it is my least favorite place the Marine Corps has sent us, but it's different and there is this big part of me that feels very grateful to have had the opportunity to not just see and visit but to actually live in and experience so many different parts of this intricate and beautiful country.

With approximately another year and a half to go here in South Carolina (and very possibly only a year and a half to go as a Marine Corps spouse) I still have high hopes for this place and these people. I hope to make the best of this situation yet.

the bay behind our house at sunset

*for the record this is called the tri-command area, meaning there are 3 military bases in the area. The military housing community in which I live is a military base that consists purely of military housing. Anyone from any 3 bases can live here.  (but apparently the officers from PI choose not to).