Persian Gulf Weather Phenomenon

While much of the gulf coast here in the United States is bearing down for another Hurricaine, its easy to forget that in other parts of the world they too have weather problems.

Here is a "normal" picture of Matt's ship (copied direct from the website.)


Apparently they've recently had a dust storm. I didn't know they could have those in the gulf, I thought you actually had to be on land... but at any rate here is a photo snapped, probably by one of the helicopter pilots, after the storm.

They're brown!!! That's a lot of dirt! I mean, everybody that's ever been around the navy knows the ships are painted "Haze Gray" so that they dissappear on the horizon. But, if they have different color camoflauge uniforms for the troops depending upon their area or operation, I guess they probably paint the hummers and tanks different colors too. Maybe this is the ship's attempt at better blending in as well.

I'm just glad I don't have to clean it.

It's Football Season!!!!!

Go OHIO! Beat the Penguins!


We are the Buckeyes, we are Killer Nuts!

I woke up this morning, just before 9 am with an overwhelming sense of excitement. At any moment, my Buckeyes would be kicking off their new football season in Ohio Stadium!!!

As I put the dog outside my stomach started to twist with that feeling of homesickness that I only really ever feel on a college football Saturday. Here in Poway it is a rare drizzly morning and it smells just ever so slightly like home in the fall.

I long to be at the game. I would even trade something very valuable to at least be able to watch the game on TV instead of staring at ESPN's bottom line for updates (We're playing Youngstown State so the game in only being played on The Big Ten Network, which isn't even offered here.) I wish I could feel the crispness in the approaching fall air, kick through the fallen leaves, drink beers and scream my guts out at every play then dance to the sounds of The Best Damn Band in the Land.

Actually while I'm at it, it'd be neat to be back in that band. Sweaty wool uniforms, psychotic exhaustion and all. Today is the alumni game. It might have been stupid to fly across the country to attend, but the invitation got lost in the mail so by the time it found its way to me I'd already missed the deadline to sign up. So sad. I've never been one of the Red shirts in a Quad Script Ohio.

So, in honor of my Buckeyes and their awesome marching band... Here are a few photos from my own band days. (Perhaps I'll post more throughout the season.)

My first ramp entrance. I don't remember who we were playing. (I'm the second person on the left.) All I remember about that experience is not being able to breath or feel my legs. When that first pregame performance was over I was just happy to have stayed on my feet.

At the Penn State game that year, our Big Ten Opener (back before nearly everyone in the country hated on the Big Ten) it poured rain! The field was squishy and slick. The girl next to me went down as she turned the first corner of the ramp entrance, but thankfully recovered. That was the first time I marched in a full Script Ohio. (I'm on the left side of the Big O, towards the bottom on the 25 yard line. You can barely see the big silver disk that is my cymbal out to the side, I'm the one closest to the sideline almost right next to the number 20.)

**It is important to note that this particular script was widely regarded as AWFUL by my fellow band members. Perhaps because of the rain, both o's look like complete crap as the alignment is way off. But for me, and the i-dotter, at least, and probably all the other rookies that year who were marching in their first Full Script, it will always be my favorite, even if it is crooked.
This last photo is from my second year. We were playing Ohio University which was significant to me because my parents had originally gone to OU and had always gone on about how wonderful their marching band was. (W-h-a-t-e-v-e-r!!! Find me another marching band that has summer long conditioning, a week's worth of tryouts and cuts at least as many students the 225 people it except and then just try to tell me how they're better than the OSUMB.) Anyway, this photo was taken as we arrived at St. John's Arena for the Skull Session before the game. I LOVE the intense facial expressions as we yell "FIGHT!" and come to a halt. (I'm in the middle just to the left of the bass drummer's mallets.)


Anyway, Go Bucks! Here's to a third consecutive trip to the National Championship, and maybe not getting stomped on while we're there. :)

Fred

I suppose it was only natural. While I love my husband dearly I am only human and therefore very flawed. Despite all my best efforts to be faithful, I have a confession to make:

Since April of last year I have had a serious boyfriend on the side. I met him at school, and at first I didn't really like him. In fact, I thought he was scary and a little gross. But my friend introduced us and before I knew he was cuddled up in my arms. It was love from that moment on.

His name is Fred and here is his picture. Isn't he cute?

I only hope Matt will understand.

Ok, seriously, Fred is my friend Christina's classroom pet. I often find myself in her room after school playing with Fred, because he's funny and he makes me smile. (Plus, we do make an awfully cute couple....)

Obviously I hadn't seen him over the summer so after school today I went in to visit him and catch up on the lovin'....


However, a short while later I was sitting at a desk with Fred on my lap grading some papers for Christina. Suddenly, Fred perked way up. I was confused because most of the time he just sits around and maybe nuzzles for warmth. Then suddenly he leapt (as much as a lizard of his kind can leap) out of my lap and onto the desk and pile of papers. I was confused and asked Christina what might have gotten into him.

She came running over and was like " he probably needs to go poop!"

Just then a funny noise and odd smell came from the lizard. She grapped him and put him on the floor as he made the most horrifying mess imaginable. For a little reptile, it was appalling! Oh the horror!! Oh the smell!!!

(Maria, in the attached classroom next door came in to find out what all the yelling and giggling was about and prompty ran away screaming, shutting the door to her own classroom behind her.)

I put Fred back into his cage. Christina rolled her eyes and cleaned up the mess. I laughed until I cried and held my nose, thankful that my little boyfriend had jumped off my lap and not made that AWFUL mess all over the white skirt I was wearing.

Maybe I'll stick to my husband after all, him being toilet trained and all. Fred and I will have to settle for being just close friends.

Don't mind me, I'll just be tormenting the dog for a while...

After another long day...

....a day which began by me sitting at my desk and immediately dumping coffee all over myself...

...and ended with ANOTHER trip all the way across town (and I'm not downplaying here people, its like 40 miles) to the dentist, (and yes San Diego is a very big town and yes I realize Vista is not technically part of San Diego but, whatever....) only to find that the replacement for my veneer STILL doesn't match and looks like complete crap and I'll need to go back AGAIN next week...

...I returned home to play with my doggie, who I was assuming would be happy to see me.
(By "happy" I mean he'd get to be let out of his crate and then refuse to go outside to do his business as needed.) To cope with all this, I created a fun game to drive the dog insane like he does to me all the time.

Since he won't go outside, I go outside and leave him in. He then barks and whines to be outside with me. Eventually I let him out and then go immediately inside without him so he barks and whines to come in. A few rounds of this and maybe 30 minutes later I've not only gotten a number of chores done both inside and out, but I've driven the doggie more nutso then he already was.

But, it was funny to see him freaking out trying to be with me and it brightened my day. :)

Now that we are done, he has responded by chewing on his empty food bowl. Maybe that's puppy for pouting.

(Also, please stop judging me because other parents torture their human children all the time. They dress them in funny clothes and make them eat yucky vegetables like brussel sprouts and they drag them to the grocery store which is a place I hate as an adult and remember absolutely loathing as a child.)

What a day!

We've been back at work officially for a week now. But today was my first day with students, and as it worked out, I only had 3 classes. Why then do I feel so exhausted?

Something like 5:45 this morning I woke up in a very usual way. There was a small, faint, but very very annoying "scritch scritch scritching" at my bedroom door. One of the cats was either wanting in or wanting fed. This woke up Brutus first, who started stirring, thus causing his collar to jingle which then woke me up. And then I too heard the scritching which kept me from falling right back to sleep.

I opened the door to let the cat in and the dog out. Normally the first place he goes in the morning is straight to the back yard to do his business, but it seems that he has developed this lovely new habit of waiting to do his business until immediately AFTER I let him back in. It doesn't matter whether he's out for 10 minutes or 3 hours, he is intent on saving all his "goodies" for me. (oh lucky me.) So this morning I thought maybe I'd let the dog run around a bit before going outside (not long, 9 minutes, give or take, since that is how long the snooze setting lasts on my alarm.) You know, why rush him?

Bad plan. The second time my morning got started (post snooze)it was to kick the dog out the back door and clean up the messes he made. (Yes, plural.) Stupid dog.

Just wait til his Father (the morning person) gets home. Matt will show him. (I hope.)

So anyway, I go to work.

I teach the kids music. We sing, we dance a little. It's, you know, fun.

The children look at me like I am strange.

The teachers look at me annoyed that my schedule doesn't better meet their needs.

The principal looks at me irritated for having a dentist appointment tomorrow which means I need to leave at the bell instead of sticking around for the extra hour of prep time.

The special ed teacher looked at me REALLY irritated because I accidentally dumped an entire cup of coffee on her desk and drowned some very important paperwork.

The counselor looked at me several times before finally asking me when I found out I'm pregnant.

Ummmmmmmm... I'm NOT! (And at this point I'd have some real marital issues if I was.)

(And I suppose that it was inevitable what with the A-line dress, because they aren't in style or anything. And while, I freely admit, I carry any extra weight in my stomach first. So, I have a bigger-ish belly. But WHY do people think that is is EVER acceptable to ask a woman that?)

Anyway, when I got home I put the doggie out again and crash landed on the sofa to put my feet up for a bit,relax and munch on some popcorn. The doggie had other ideas. He did not want to be outside. He is very co dependant that way.

He whined and barked and jumped and yipped at the back door.

Until it got very quiet..

A moment later someone small, orange and furry walked up and licked my elbow.

Yes. Brutus the crazy, super, wonder dog- the same animal who can not seem to master puppy potty training just 3 days shy of his first birthday- had let himself in. We have french doors which open inward, the kind with the push down handles that pop the latch, and Brutus has mastered the mechanism. He managed to push down the handle and push the door open.

Super.

And now, while I type this, he's helping himself to the rest of my popcorn.

Housework

*sigh*

 Apparently, we've reached the point in this deployment where the trash is winning. or, I guess rather the recycling... but still. I emptied all the trash on Friday (because the garbage men were coming) and it is only Tuesday. How is it possible that one person (me, alone) can have generated this much recycling in only 4 days?

(Obscene caffeine addiction- all the soda cans- not with standing, of course.)

Its not that I can't take out the trash. Its more like I can't keep up with it. There's a reason its a boy's job.

Seriously.

Matt left me 5 months, 9 days and just shy of 12 hours ago. And, generally I've coped. It's like, a really annoying challenge to take care of everything while he's gone. I'm really independent and head strong which helps, and it does make the really stressful times at work easier to deal with because you don't have anyone else's crap to pile on top of your own.

But....

all the novelty has worn off.

In my spare time (or procrastination time, perhaps) I've stayed in project mode. The living room, hallway, entry and master bathroom have all changed color. The bed linens have been replaced. I had the yucky hedge trimmed back (and subsequently killed actually which means now it needs to be replaced, but that is another story...) 2 ugly trees removed and some palm trees replanted. The entire outside of the house was resided and changed color. I had the fence and garage door replaced. I've reseeded dead spots in the yard. I bought more decorations for the house.

Actually, looking around this place I'm wondering if Matt is going to recognize the fact that he lives here.

But then there's the other thing. The part that is going to get me killed. Or possibly divorced.
Matt left me with strict NO SHOPPING orders. He is bound and determined to get rid of the stupid credit card debt we racked up when we bought the house. A task that is not easy to do what with all the home renovation, but he is getting tax free/hazard pay so there has been a great deal of progress.

But then this morning I was staring into my closet trying to figure out what to wear to work today and it occured to me just how many items in my closet were not there when Matt left. Hmmm....

The thing is, I like to shop. I enjoy it, as I enjoy fashion and trying new clothes and looking nice every day. It relaxes me, and it makes me happy. (Spoiled and trite though that might make me, its true.)

So naturally, when the man I love is on the other side of the planet for 5 months and counting, I get a little down and can tend to head to the mall. Over a span of 7 months, even if a person has one of these outings just about once a month, even while trying to be thrify... they're going to rack up a lot of stuff.

By my count I have aquired the following new items to be held accountable for--
1 new skirt, 3 pairs of pants, 1 pair of jeans, 2 new sweatsuits, 1 pair of sweat pants (I love cute sweats!) 6 pairs of shorts, probably 20 new shirts (a variety of tanks, tees, blouses and sweatshirts,) 6 new dresses (casual and every day wear-to work kinds,) 3 pairs of flip flops, 2 pairs of flats and 1 FABULOUS pair of Jimmy Choo high heels.

I'm not sure fessing up to this is a good idea, (Matt was just telling me he checks my blog daily)but I really did think I was doing better than that.

as it turns out I suck.

And I am unable to hold myself accountable.

seriously, its not looking good for me. Divided up over time that still means I purchased aproximately 7 items of clothing each month. ugh. And yea, lots of those items were cheap (less than 10 dollars) but others-gulp-weren't. Take those fabulous Jimmy Choos for example...

I'm a bad, bad wife.

Hmm, I wonder how much the two grand (ish) I earned at Sea World this summer off sets all that shopping. Granted, that money would have been much more wisely spent on debt, but... at least there's something. Something small I find myself clinging to desperately.

Anyway, I've officially crossed the lines from blogging to confessing to downright rambling so I'm just going to stop typing now.

(I love you honey, please keep on loving me, bad habits and all, as I promise to love you for yours.)

The Military Wife

Across the street lives my friend Nikki. Her husband is a helicopter pilot. They got here in December, he deployed in May. She has 2 children (age 4 and 1.) On occassion, when I am feeling stressed out, and lonely and I really want to escape from my life for awhile I go across the street and hide at her house. I play with her girls and vent to someone who understands.

Today, she told me I should read this email. I don't know who wrote it, but its awesome. And it only makes me cry a little.

WHAT IS A MILITARY WIFE?

They have THIS IN COMMON!

lots of moving---
moving
moving
moving far from home
moving two cars, three kids (or in my case 2 cats) and one dog----all riding with HER of course
moving sofas to basements because they won't go in THIS house
moving curtains that won't fit
moving jobs and certifications and professional development hours
moving away from friends
moving toward new friends
moving her most important luggage; her trunk full of memories

often waiting--
waiting
waiting
waiting for housing
waiting for orders
waiting for deployment
waiting for reunion
waiting for emails
waiting for phones calls
waiting for the new curtains to arrive
waiting for him to come home for dinner

They call her 'military dependent', but she knows better
she can balance a checkbook
handle the yard work
fix a noisy toilet.
She is intimately familiar with drywall, anchors, and toggle bolts.

She can file the taxes, sell a house, buy a car, or set up a move,
----all with ONE Power of Attorney.

She welcomes neighbors that don't welcome her.

Reinvents her career with every PCS

Locates a house in the desert, the arctic, or the deep south and learns to call them all 'home'
She MAKES them all home.

She is fiercely IN-dependent

Military Wives are somewhat hasty

They leap into decorating, leadership, volunteering, career alternatives, churches and friendships.

They don't have 15 years to get to know people.

Their roots are short but flexible.

They plant annuals for themselves and perennials for those who come after them.

Military Wives quickly learn to value each other.
They connect over coffee,
rely on the spouse-network
accept offers offriendship and favors
and
record addresses in pencil.

Military Wives have a common bond.

The Military Wife has a husband unlike other husbands.
His commitment is unique.
He doesn't have a job, he has a 'mission' he can't just decide to quit.
He's on-call for his country 24/7
but for you, he's the most...
Unreliable guy in town...

His language is foreign: TDY, PCS, OPR, ACC, BDU

And so, a Military Wife is a translator for her family and his.
She is the long-distance link to keep them informed; the glue that
holds them together.

The Military Wife has her moments--
She wants to wring his neck,
dye his uniform pink,
and refuse to move to Siberia .

But she pulls herself together.

Give her a few days,
a travel brochure,
a long hot bath,
a pledge to the flag,
and a wedding picture.

And she goes.

She packs.

She moves.

She follows.

Why?
What for?
How come?

You may think it is because she has lost her mind.Or that she even has a choice.
But actually it is because she has lost her heart.

It was stolen from her by a man
who puts duty first
who salutes the flag
whose boots in the doorway remind her that

as long as he is her Military husband,
She will remain his Military wife.

They may look different and each is wonderfully unique

But this they have in common.

The First Rule of Fight Club....

... is don't talk about fight club.

I never was very good at following the rules.

So last night I was sort of lounging on the couch, trying very much to mind my own business when I noticed Chase sitting in the laundry basket. Since Chase is the scaredy-cat around here, whom we rarely see, and whom I rarely catch doing anything funny enough for a picture I was sort of surprised. So here he is:

Not surprising though was when KC came along a few minutes later and became all annoyed that his little brother was sitting in what he clearly regards to be HIS laundry basket. (Notice the angry kitty ears.

So then KC sort of pounced in and a battle ensued. There was a lot of meowing and some hissing and I scrambled to take another picture before it worked itself out. I was surprised to capture the following shot where Chase is so clearly biting KC. Apparently he's not as much of a wimp as we all think he is.

  

He did end up getting out of the basket though, and KC was happy in his fat, cross-eyed way once again.

Notice also that in the above photo there is a rawhide chewie toy sitting next to the basket.

A short time later though Brutus became involved in the scuffle because apparently, KC had managed to get the chewie into the basket with him, and this upset the doggie a great deal. So Brutus jumped down to investigate and this is what happened:

I don't think Brutus ever did get his chewie back.

Poor Brutus, he is so out numbered.

As for me- at least life around here is always interesting.

Doggie Playdates

Obviously, by my lack of posts its been a pretty dull week. I spent a great deal of time at work, organizing my classroom and schedules and everything in preparation for the rapidly approaching start of the new school year. But today Olivia invited me to hang out with her her parents house where she wanted to spend the day with her dog since her parents are out of time. For extra fun, she suggested I bring my own little monster along to make things interesting.

So, here is Brutus meeting Tyler, under the careful supervision of Olivia. (She may be a dolphin trainer now, but I know that she's destined to be the next dog whisperer.)

Tyler and Brutus got along fine, considering the 60-odd pounds weight difference. The bigger problem is that Brutus didn't really want to play with Tyler. He sorted of wanted to sit behind me and and watch or else sniff around while Tyler wanted to run around together like a little pack of wild dogs. Brutus is far too co-dependent for that. He is a total little Mommy's Boy.

It was entertaining, You know, in that, nothing else exciting is going on today, kind of way.

Summer isn't over yet!

While I might be done with my summer job, I do actually have a week and a half before I am due back at school. And, while I have work for my CLAD class to do, class schedules to set up, lessons to plan and loads of teacher stuff to organize... I fully intend to make the most of my remaining freedom.

So today Stephanie and I rented kayaks at La Jolla Shores for a teeny bit of exercise. Here is Stephanie paddling ahead because, well, she's a much stronger paddler than I am. (Especially since I kept stopping to take pictures.)

Here I am, looking FABULOUS against the cliffs of La Jolla Cove, sporting my blue life jacket, a white rash guard, yellow floral bikini, and Kate Spade sunglasses atop my Lime Green Scrambler XT Ocean Kayak.


Here is a large male Sea Lion we saw sunning himself on the rocks in a spectacular display of male Sea Lion-ness. (There actually were several, but this one was the coolest.) The picture doesn't show it well, but the hair on his sagittal crest (the well defined big forehead on a male Sea Lion) had dried like a furry little mohawk which was something I think you'd only be likely to see on a CALIFORNIA Sea Lion. They are the most trendy pinnipeds after all.


After about 45 minutes our arms were getting tired and we were both starting to be ever so slightly sea sick so we decided to head back. Here is the view of how far we'd paddled. We started out on the beach just to the left of the ocean front hotel with the orange-ish roof.

Fun times. :)

Part 2 of Kristin's Big Birthday Extravaganza Weekend

As an intelligent, trendy, lovable, girl, Kristin has decided to turn her birthday into a 3 day event. We started of course with a casual dinner on Friday, we continued the fun Saturday night, getting dressed up to go downtown but never actually making it out of Normal Heights and this morning we are headed out for Sunday brunch.

All the alcohol and hip-trendy food is doing a real number on my stomach, but alas, I only have so many friends who can make a birthday celebration last that many days so I shall push through and overcome.

Anyway, last night we ended up having dinner at a little organic restaurant call "Spread," which we chose purely because we found the name to be quite entertaining. (The name incidentally refers to the wide range of organic peanut butters they offer, but that is completely besides the point.)

Kristin found the appetizer plates (shaped like giant lips) to be entertaining.


Noelle was annoyed at the teeny tiny mojito glasses because she felt they discriminated against her large-ish nose. (Please keep in mind, I am only reporting what happened here, I would certainly never assert that any of my friends has a large-ish nose, at least not out loud. She brought it up.)



I think Mike mostly just wanted me to stop taking pictures. He didn't much care about my need for photos so that I could properly blog about the evening. He's kind of grumpy sometimes anyway.


For my part, I was just happy to sit in the big swinging bubble chair, even though periodically I would make a sudden movement and clunk loudly into the table or wall.

Bubble chairs are fun. Do you think Matt would be annoyed if I got one for our living room????

Kittyhawk and Kristin's Birthday

This morning I noticed this photo on the cover of the San Diego Union Tribune. Although it is nearly 2 months later than originally planned the USS Kittyhawk (CV-63) has returned "home" to San Diego.

At well over 50 years old it is the Navy's oldest operational warship but it is sadly on its way up to Washington state to eventually be decommissioned. This after having spent the better part of the last 25 years or so home ported in Yokosuka, Japan. In fact, when we were in Japan, this haze gray rusty bucket was Matt's second home. He ran the ward rooms and the accounting on board and also stood bridge watch, eventually driving the great beast throughout much of the Western Pacific and Indian Oceans.

And while I very much disliked our time in Japan and the ship which took my husband away from me... I must admit that I am a little, tiny bit sad to see it go. You know, as a great big piece of American History. During a deployment, this ship runs with a full crew and air wing of roughly 5000 people. Over the last 50 years how many sailors spent time working on board? And if its decommed does that mean that I shouldn't wear my Kittyhawk windbreaker anymore?

The article which accompanied the front page photo included this spectacularly amusing shot of some nice young sailors happy to be returning stateside.

Heehee. Silly squids.

Anyway, all that sentimental junk leads nicely into how I spent my Friday evening which was celebrating the birthday of my friend Kristin who was stationed on board the Battle Cat along with my husband. I joined her, another doctor friend of hers, another former Kittyhawk Officer and very disgruntled, rather jaded Engineer who is still technically attached to the command but is in the process of transferring. We had dinner in Hillcrest at an Indian Restaurant and then went down the street to Corvette's (a 50s type place) for dessert.

Here is a photo of me, Kristin and Noelle with one of her two birthday desserts.

Mind you, it's a great deal funnier if you take into account that Kristen (pictured here with an extraordinarily funny hat) is an actual medical doctor, currently working as a surgical resident hoping to become a Cardiothoracic Surgeon.

Meanwhile, the writer of this blog can not even be entirely sure how to spell the name of that specialty. But in trying to determine how to spell it finally figured out that the "thoracic" part refers to the chest cavity. You learn something new every day, and apparently it often involves your friends and the wonder that is google.

Happy Sad Day

Today was my last day at Sea World, for the third time. Except this time there is a very good chance its forever, since Matt is due to transfer next June and probably won't be able to come back to San Diego for a couple tours at least.

Anyway, when I came home I was emailing Matt when I heard a commotion coming from behind the sofa. This is what I found. Stupid Dog. I guess toilet paper is better than the carpet, but still.




He is a very bad puppy.

Just wait 'til his Father gets home....

The Heat Over There Must be Getting to Him

Late last evening I received the following email from Matt. It made me laugh so here it is:

"well, today looks to be not only hot, but humid...crazy humid. yesterday, it was actually raining in the passage ways when i passed through and i think at one point, i stepped into a non-a/c'd space and my contacts fogged up. it was quite bazaar, my vision went blurry then i blinked and it all came back. to make matters worse, besides the all heat and humidity, one of our evaps went down. you know evaps right? (these help make freshwater for the ship) so now, we are all getting hot and sweaty, AND we are low on water. it is going to be a great day.

so i was talking to francine (one of the young ensigns on the ship) yesterday and she was bitching about missing all the great sales, i guess she is kinda a shopaholic too. then she started discussing shoes and i told her about your recent acquisition and she said "She got Chus!" "Three hundred dollars is a great price!" and more stuff to that effect. then she asked me to have you send a picture of your shoes, but i was like i already have one, then she was like oohhh, can i see them? then i was like, ill email it to you and she was like cool.

so enough of the high school girl talk, that's about all for now.

Yes, back in June I did get a fairly good deal on a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes, which is what they were talking about.

Snorkling Fun- Part 2

Another week, another Camp Sea World field trip snorkeling. This time with high schoolers.

Anyway, here are some more pictures. Fun times were had by all!

Here I am getting ready, relying on my snorkel to breath in a whopping 1 foot of water.

There were some actual fish today, and the sun was out, so there was much more to see atleast.

Somewhere along the way there was supposed to be an Octopus, but I didn't see anything.

I quickly started to get bored, so instead I tried to take funny photos. Here I am doing my

impression of a Navy Seal rising up out of the water.

Of course afterward there was some time to play in the sand!

**********

And on a completely different note, I was amused when I came home today and found KC heartily chowing down... on the dog's food. Rest assured, his own bowl was plenty full.

No wonder Brutus is always trying to drag the cats around by their tails.

More of what we do...

You may ask yourself the question, "How does a ship at sea, stay at sea for extended periods of time?" Well, as a frigate, we are can hold about 20 days of food on board. Now that does not take into account FFV (Fresh Fruits and Vegetables). They tend to have a very short shelf life, fifteen days at the most. Even using the Ethylene filters that help to extend. Now that is food, fuel is a completely different issue. About every ten days or so, we would run out of gas and just be left floating in the big, wide ocean. So, about every ten days or so, we are schedule for a rendezvous with an supply ship.






The are netted in cargo nets and "pogos" are attached. The pallets are then moved out to the edge of the ship's flight deck where a couple members of the flight deck crew     stand underneath and hook it to the cargo hook.
 
All of this is done so ships can stay on missions longer or have shorter times off mission for replenishment.

so, with all that,

i have to work now.

The process is quite complicated and takes quite a bit coordination. We pull alongside the supply ship, and we are between 160 and 200 feet apart. Which you may think is not close, but when you have tens of thousands of tons of ship running side by side, it is close of enough for the high pressures and low pressures in the water to effect both ships. Then lines and hoses are passed/pulled over, and finally, the fueling probe is passed. Getting food and other material is done by helicopter. Material is moved one or two pallets at a time.

For those of you who want to know why I hate my parents

This blog is mainly about me, and my life and in recent posts I've mentioned the broken relationship I no longer have with my parents. I feel that if anyone is ever going to understand that, or in many respects me, they need an explanation and here is mine.


I originally wrote this during the summer of 2003 for a friend who has known me since college but had never really understood all my issues. Writing it was very therapeutic for me and, despite the large amount of swear words and the content I'm really happy with the way in which I was able to sum up this particular part of my own story. Back then I posted it on my old LiveJournal and I am transferring here now as well.


The interesting thing to me now is that as I reread it I'm actually surprised but some of what it says. Certainly over the years I've cleaned up my language but I've also managed to forget a lot of what happened and reading about it now actually surprises me a little. The memories are easily stirred up, but time really has healed those wounds.


A couple weeks ago Matt asked me how I would feel if my own children some day decided to cut me out of their lives. I know he didn't like my answer, which was that I'd would never make the mistakes my parents did and force the same conclusion. I can only pray that this turns out to be the case.

Anyway, here is the story of me and my parents:

One of my earliest memories of my parents is when I was about 5. My parents were fighting and then my father came out of the basement with his shotgun and headed toward the back bathroom to lock himself in. My brother and I were quickly sent to the neighbor’s house, but not before learning that Daddy was supposedly going to shoot himself. I don’t remember the fight, but apparently my mom had had enough of whatever crap she was getting from his mother and had told my dad that he needed to choose, once and for all, his wife and kids or his mother, father and the whole rest of his extended family. Dad had been unable to choose and had decided killing himself seemed like a better option. I remember this nice neighbor guy from 3 doors down came and knocked on the door to talk him off the “ledge.” I don’t know what went on there, I was next door happy to be able to watch cartoons at the neighbors’ who had cable, but after that we didn’t see Grandma and Grandpa (or anyone else) on Daddy’s side of the family anymore.


That next year my mom went back to college. My parents had dropped out of college to marry against my dad’s mother’s wishes and my mom wanted to finish her degree so we could finally have some money. Not long after she started back at school she made friends with this European guy. It all seemed normal at the time, until when we celebrated my 8th birthday a few weeks early that year because Mom was going to be in San Francisco with the European guy for most of July. Dad spent the weeks she was gone fixing the house up, getting mom a lot of the stuff she’d always said she wanted, doing the chores she always nagged about, but when Mom came home she wasn’t too excited about any of the surprises we had ready for her.


When I was in 4th grade things started to get stranger. My Dad was supposed to come home from work just in time to take me to my dance classes two or three days a week, but he started to come later and later until a few times I missed the classes altogether. Another time he had this strange woman with him, but he said that her car had broken down, he’d been trying to fix it (that was why he was late) and he was going to drive her home while I was dancing. Somewhere around then I was looking for a pencil in my mom’s school book bag and I found some lingerie stuffed in the bottom of the bag.


Shortly thereafter Dad began to sleep on a cot in the basement. On Father’s day he never came home until late in the evening. He didn’t even care about the presents my brother and I had made for him. He had lipstick on his collar and my parents screamed and argued forever that night. Apparently he had taken that woman down to OU (where my parents had gone to school before dropping out) so that he could recapture his youth. His said he didn’t want to be a husband or a father anymore he wanted to just live his life and have fun with "real people."


He didn’t really stop being a father then, he tried for awhile… He would take me to play tennis at the park on weekends sometimes. But then one weekend he didn’t show up. He came home in the afternoon while my mom was at work and (I’ll never forget this because a whole bunch of my brother and my friends were over and we were playing Monopoly) he said his motorcycle had been stolen. He’d left it parked at the shady mall on the wrong end of town while he went to a motel with that woman and it was gone when he came back.


After that my mom decided I needed to confront my dad about it all. So she sent me down into the basement to talk to him. I don’t really remember the conversation but thinking about it makes me sick. He sat there with his socks pulled up to his knees (why I remember that I don’t know) and a pair of cut off jeans and his high school basketball jersey (like it was still 1970 and he was still 20 years old) and listened to me talk.  He tried to justify his actions to me in this sing-song way. (He always talked in a sing-song way. Like a seven year girl who hasn’t yet gotten over themselves and found out that they aren’t really God’s gift to the world gift after all.) And so when it was done I asked him if he wanted to go play tennis, but he said he couldn’t because he had a date with that woman.  I was 9.

If you'd ask my mother, she'd tell me that was the day I "broke."

But the worst was still to come.


By the time fifth grade started he had moved out. We tried to do the visitation thing for awhile but it was hard. My brother and I didn’t want to spend our weekends away from our friends to go to the west side and hang out with Dad. Besides that, we could never agree on what we wanted to do and mom wouldn’t let us go separately. When the divorce proceedings began mom told the judge we didn’t want to go anymore.


The two of them argued over EVERYTHING! You wouldn’t think a couple with nothing but debt would have so much to argue about. They fought every time Dad called to try to talk to us. When he would try to plan visits she would change the time and not tell him so we’d think he didn’t show up. She told us we shouldn’t see him at Christmas so he bought us a few presents and left them on the porch. Mom almost always made us return them. He ended up getting the motorcycle back, but it was all stripped down. I remember my mom trying to sell it with a lot of his stuff. She said she needed money but I'm pretty sure she was just being greedy and mean.  Then when he came with some friends to pick it up she said she felt threatened and wouldn’t let him in. Next she threw all of his stuff on the curb and took Steve and I out before calling him and telling him he could come get it. That way he couldn’t get angry that she’d sold most of it.


The divorce was finally settled when I was in seventh grade. As a final “resolution” the judge (who never once spoke to my brother nor I) ordered Steve and I to go to counseling sessions with my Dad. To me they were just big nuisance since I had to miss cheer leading and dance practices to go. (Looking back I am sure my mom scheduled them that way on purpose.) She’d actually come to school in the middle of 5th period to have me pulled out of class to tell me about the sessions. Like she couldn’t wait until I got home? Anyway, my brother said almost nothing during the sessions as I spent the hours yelling profanities at my Dad the whole time. To be honest, I don’t really know why. I know he thinks (or thought) that my mom had put a bunch of bad ideas about him in my head. But to be honest, I hated him all on my own; for fucking up my life but most of all for leaving me and my brother with my bitch of a mom.


Anyhow, Mom and I never got along after that. Not that we’d gotten along before. I remember when in 6th grade I wanted to try out for cheer leading. For some reason it turned into this REALLY big argument about how a selfish brat such as me didn’t deserve to inconvenience her mother by having the nerve to try out for cheer leading. This was one of the first times she told me I wouldn’t be as good as her at anything so I shouldn’t even try. The European guy, who by now was pretty obnoxiously doing my mother practically every afternoon when Steve and I came home from school, was there too… and somehow he made it all so much worse. I became very upset and was crying so hard that I hyperventilated and nearly passed out. When I recovered (or while I tried to recover) they told me I was a big faker and a drama queen and a selfish brat for ruining their evening and not having enough respect. Maybe the fight started because I didn’t talk to them in a kind enough tone of voice. I don’t know. Lots of fights started over my not using the right tone of voice. Like I knew what the hell kind of voice I was using. And why couldn’t they ever remember that being in middle school is just hard and kids get upset about stuff. In the end, I did end try out for cheer leading and made it, so score one for me I guess.


But Mom never seemed to want anything to do with being a mother. She was never home because she was either at school (which she finished when I was in 5th grade I’m pretty sure, so God knows what she was doing there) or working (so that she could always remind her beloved kids how much they cost to support.) And when she was around she was always with him. And when he was around they were always kissing, or announcing that they needed to excuse themselves to the bedroom. He would like reach over and touch her in the most blatant places right in front of me, and when my 12 year old self bothered to be shocked or offended or grossed the hell out it was always a big fight about how I was rude and disrespectful and ungrateful.


To celebrate the end of the divorce my mom put our house on the market. At first we were going to move to San Francisco (I guess so she could recapture the summer she spent there with him) but in the end she decided it would be more fun to go pester her relatives in Florida. So, in August just before my freshman year was to begin, we moved to Florida. Without telling anyone; we just sort of showed up. Strangely enough about 2 weeks later hurricane Andrew hit. We should have taken it as a sign.


Against all odds I was pretty damn happy in Florida. I made friends, joined the band and color guard and kept busy. My brother started off fine but soon got his heart broken by a girl and starting becoming more and more of a loner. My dad (who nobody had seen or heard from since the counselor’s office except via the weekly child support check) responded to our move by stopping payments. Suddenly we could no longer afford to live in the fabulous apartment Mom had rented for us (that we never really could have afforded anyway) and everything was a catastrophe. The European fellow decided he didn’t want to join my mother in Florida and play the step-dad guy after all and when he did visit hell broke loose. I can’t and don’t want to remember the fights, but I do know this: for the first time ever my brother punched the European fellow (and maybe my Mom too) and somehow my Mom ended up on our front porch naked crying and throwing a fit. Now I know how much that night bugs the hell out of me, so I can only imagine what it did to my brother.


After the fellow left I tried to get along with my mother. I tried to listen to her and help her. I told her she wasn’t crazy (even though everyone told her she was) and it would be ok. Once she came to me in the middle of the night with a knife, the water was running in the bath and she said she was going to kill herself. I stayed up with her until it was “okay” again and didn’t go to school the next day. I don’t know what Steve told my friends and teachers but everyone was very weird when I came back.


There was another great night, Valentine’s Day in fact when that girl who’d broken my brother’s heart called. She was in color guard with me and we were friends and I am not even sure who she wanted to talk to, but my mother grabbed the phone and told her she was a dirty whore who ruined people’s lives and never to call us again. Talk about kettle calling the pot black. The fight that followed ended up with Steve running out. I was sure he was going to kill himself and sometimes I think he should have. I searched and searched for him in our neighborhood that night but finally found him standing maybe 10 yards from our house by the pool just staring at the water. When the cops got a hold of him they assumed he was just a young punk and not a messed up, traumatized kid with a mentally unstable mother. They dressed him down pretty bad and although I knew what was happening, and how wrong it was all I could do was stand there, next to the psycho mother who caused it all, and watch.


One afternoon in early spring I came home to find my Uncle and my mother sitting on the living room floor having a very heated discussion. Much later in life I came to find out that Mom had been borrowing money each month from him in order to make ends meet. He (wisely) had decided to put an end to it and try to actually help her out of the sinking boat into one with out leaks instead of just bailing water. It blew up. It always blew up. We never saw our Uncle after that, even though he lived across town.


Not long after Grandma was out too. I wasn’t even there for that one. All I know is something about Mom and the fellow and my brother showing up at her door demanding stuff. Grandma freaked, and in her fear called the cops. So much for seeing Grandma.


Of course there were lots of other disasters, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, weekdays, weekends: it didn’t matter. Steve and I tried to run to Grandma and our Uncle but they never seemed to be home at the times. When they did call us back, we lied to forget about what hell had made us call.


In early May that year, Mom announced we were going back to Ohio. She couldn’t afford Florida anymore and she needed to be with the man she loved. I don’t doubt that she couldn’t afford it. Going to school everyday without lunch made me believe we had nothing. It is so embarrassing to have to beg for the forty stupid cents you need to buy your discount lunch. But then again, that had been going on for years. It was just easier to be hungry. If you walked around enough during the hour you hardly had to watch anyone else eat.


She left Steve and I for a week (one GLORIOUS week) with a full fridge and and twenty for emergencies and went to find out new apartment back home. When she came back we were told we would be leaving in a week. But I didn’t want to go. First of all it was embarrassing going back to Ohio. Besides I had friends and a life and why couldn’t I go stay with our Uncle or friends?


This was the first time she hit me. It was very late the night she came back and told us. I was in my room crying and she came up to talk to me. As I tried to make my point she ended up hitting me. SLAP. Right across the face. Maybe I even argued, but soon she was sitting on top of me, holding me down, hitting me over and over on my face. The next day my mom kept telling me to wash my face. But the dirt wouldn’t come off. I didn’t really realize what it even was until the next day in gym class somebody asked me why I had a hand print on face. By the time the third person asked me the same question I remembered when one of my friends had gotten shoved by her dad. My mom had told her to go straight to the counselor, so I did. I sat in that office and watched her stare at the bruises on my face and tried to explain it all. She told me that if I wanted she could report the abuse and have me “removed from the home,” but it was up to me. I was scared and didn’t want to leave my brother so I just left. That afternoon I told my mom that she couldn’t hit me anymore because I had told on her and that if she did it again I would be taken away from her. I don’t even remember that night. And I don’t know for sure, but I think she called the school and told them I was an out of control child and it had been self defense.


We left a few days later; Mom, Steve and I in a moving van for three long days. I told her I hated her and would never love her again. I meant it.


Once we were “home” things settled for a short while. My brother got a job so Mom couldn’t blame him for not helping out and we both managed to settle back in okay with our friends. I got back in the band and even found a job myself. But I hated her still. I had my reasons; soon she started taking $100 or $150 dollars from each of our paychecks.


There were always fights. Just about often enough so that the tension never really left. Sometimes it was me, other times it was my brother. They always had something to do with our disrespect for the damn European fellow, but he never showed any respect to us. I was always reminded that I was a snot. That I spoke in a rude tone of voice. She constantly told me I had never been the same after that day I went into the basement to talk to my Daddy. She should have remembered who sent me into that damned basement.


Soon, she also began to tell me that the reason I wasn’t good at anything, and why I was such a brat was because I was so jealous of her talent and “good looks.” If just once I could have puked on her when she said that it might have solved a lot. Of course Steve was always just as big a waste as Dad too, so I guess it wasn’t just me. But her children were worthless. Those nights always ended very late with a pronouncement that she was tired of always solving all our problems so we should all go to bed. But in the morning we had better have come up with a solution. I remember laying there wide awake all night fearful of what was coming at dawn.


Once she got so angry that she gathered my band uniform up and marched it out to the trash dumpster. Told me I wasn’t any good at it anyway and I was going to quit the band and the color guard right along with it. Mind you band was a class, that if I’d have quit I’d have failed, but she never cared how we did in school as long as she still got her money every two weeks.

I remember trying to explain to a teacher how I couldn’t do an assignment because there was no one to drive me to the library and it was always closed before I got off work. That was fun. Who needs a future anyway?


One wintry night I pissed her off somehow on the way home from her picking me up at work. We had to wear skirts to that job, so she kicked me out of the car and made me walk home in the snow. The next night the same shit flared up and she pushed me into my bed post, which cracked. This time my brother rushed to my defense but she locked the door in his face and then was so angry at the broken bed post that she started hitting me with that. I guess she was smarter because the bruises were on my arms and ribs this time so that nobody could see them. I never hit back. I just closed my eyes and prayed that she would find her mark. That’s the honest to God truth. Later, I remember asking people at work to carry the trays of dishes for me and then having to explain why. There were others who I could not tell. I could not enter into their minds a world where mothers try to kill there children. Because after all, if she wasn’t trying to kill me, why was she hitting me?


I hated her always. I honestly tried not to at times. Once we made plans to go to the mall after school just to look around. I was excited all day. I knew neither of us had any money to spend but I just wanted to do something fun with her. I came home that afternoon and she was lying on the sofa in her nightgown. So much for shopping.


She always wore those disgusting nightgowns around the house. I don’t know why she couldn’t ever wear clothes, if for no other reason than not to frighten my teenage brother. Most of them were practically see through and she never wore underwear. They were always stuck in her ass crack. It was disgusting.


Of course that made it all the more appalling when that damned man was touching her all over the place in front of us. I don’t know why any of it surprised me. This is the woman who called it a “pussy” when she was giving me the talk in fourth grade and told me it was ok to tell people I was having sex so they would think I was cool. She also asked me if I was a lesbian when I wanted to stay in Florida to be with my friends. I almost wish I had been, just to spite her.


Anyway, we settled into a nice rut of her taking money and not being around much except to be with her fellow with the bedroom door open occasionally when we came home from school. Oh and by the way, for some reason supposedly someone was always after us and the fellow was the one who protected us. The walls were supposed to be bugged so it wasn’t even ok to talk about it. We just had to live in fear and awe of him. More like disgust. That man was so full of shit.


The fights continued just often enough to drive us all insane. Steve finally graduated and moved out. I stayed home for two more years of hell with the ever ominous threat of getting kicked out for my snotty behavior Of course she couldn’t do that because she needed the money I gave her.

Finally I escaped before my second year of college and things started to improve. I was at last able to be in contact with all the people she had thrown out of her life. It was great to be able to talk to my Grandma and Uncle but it always came at the price of having to explain everything they hadn’t been able or willing to rescue us from. At least they provided powerful incite into my mother’s childhood that helped to explain a little bit of her insanity.


Then I was lucky enough to fall in love with a boy named Matt. He loved me and listened to me and didn’t care what my mother thought about me. He just knew I needed loved and that I could love him back. I should have known that introducing him to my mother was a bad idea. It happened after a choir concert and in the middle of that crowded lobby, rather than greeting the man that was changing my life she started yelling at me about- God only knows what.


Not long after that she popped up at my house one afternoon to educate me on the mistakes of her marriage because apparently I was doomed to repeat them all with Matt. She actually had the nerve to think I was that much like her. She may have driven my father insanely back to his childhood, but I knew from day one I was never going to do that to Matt. For one thing, I had watched her screw things up for herself with her stupid boyfriend for ten years. I knew at least a little better than her how to act. Oh, and I also possess the amazing ability to admit my faults and when needed actually seek help.


So then one day I get an email from one of those long lost family members on my Dad’s side. My cousin and I hit it off and he decided to help me reunite with my father. I did so, with Matt at my side to support me and it went remarkably well. Daddy was still as damaged as my mother left him and perhaps just as much of a child, but he had gotten his life together and found the love of a woman who accepted him for all he truly is. Daddy was astounded at my maturity and as surprised as the rest of that side of the family to find that I was very little like my mother after all. He was also shocked to hear of what he left me to grow up in. He couldn’t make any of it better, but at least he tried for awhile. He wanted to be a parent, but I could hardly find room in my heart to be his friend.


The greatest thing ever finally happened when I decided to tell my mother that I’d gone and met my daddy after ten years. She simply couldn’t handle it. To add to her pain my brother spilled the beans about us talking to and visiting Grandma and our Uncle without her knowing. She simply flipped out. I just remember her screaming at me and hanging up because I have no regrets and did not care to hear her opinion of my actions anymore. Then she’d call back and we’d go over it all again and again. I kept wondering, when a parent and her child are arguing, shouldn’t the child not the parent be the one who is immature enough to keep hanging up the phone?


Soon I told her I had no use for her anymore. I did not want to hear from her. She would not hear from me. She had the nerve to refuse. Apparently she had messed it up with her stupid boyfriend for the millionth time and she was all alone. I told her I hoped to God she really was so that she could not rain her misery down on anyone else ever again until she got to hell where she belonged.  


I hung up the phone, I was free.


She went instantly to harass my brother; unable to believe that her littler beat down child had actually had the nerve to stand up for herself at last. In the end he cut her off too.


A lot of time went by. I had no regrets and found there is no hole in my heart left by my decision. Instead I felt as if ten thousand pounds of shit had been finally been lifted off my shoulders. I didn’t have to be afraid anymore. I could enjoy my life. She could no longer make me hate myself. She could no longer make me feel guilt or pain. That was really the end of the story. My life went on and goes on, pretty much in happiness. Except for the times I look back.


Although… there’s one more night that needs to be discussed. As it turned out, just about the time I became free of one parent I suddenly found myself back with the other. For the most part that was okay. But I still had no use for that relationship. I tried to, but I had long since outgrown any need for parenting. So a few Christmases later I am sitting in a restaurant with Matt and my Dad and his wife discussing Matt and my recent engagement. I am still a blur of romance and dreams but Dad is playing the role of experienced wedding guy. He had done it twice. I begin to hear a million disaster stories. Then he begins to tell me how my cousin has had the nerve to ask both of her divorced parents to walk her down the aisle. She is very close to both of them and that is really what she wants but my Dad can simply not believe she would have the nerve to ask that of her parents. They hate each other see. (As almost all divorced parents do mind you.) I point out that on her wedding day, a girl should be able to ask for whatever she wants. I then bring up that fact that my dad’s ridiculously long hair will have to go if he is planning on attending my own ceremony. He refuses. He tells me that he simply can not cut his hair because he would be abandoning his principles. He can not give up his principles to make another person happy, not after the miserable time he spent with my mother. I simply can not understand how he can not put my happiness above his own on this of all occasions and then still have the nerve to bring up my mom. OVER HIS HAIR!?!

I storm out and the coward that is my Father doesn’t even follow me. He sits there and has the unbelievable nerve to try and make his point to Matt while his wife comes out to comfort me. So the way I see it, he can pretty much fuck off too. I’m done.


This isn’t the whole story. It’s just the highlights. The stuff my brain lets me remember. There was a lot more. But there’s a lot more to come too.

The good stuff…

Definitions

After work this evening I spent an embarrassingly large amount of time watching reruns on tv and surfing the net. And, as I've mentioned in previous posts one of my favorite things to do on the world wide web is peruse blogs and social networking pages. It's probably because I'm a people person. I really am. I like people. Everyone has their own story and that's fascinating to me.

But, I digress...

Tonight as I was reading through the random profiles of various people it occurred to me that these pages very rarely ask you to list any characteristics about yourself that are, in any real way, defining. I mean, sure, its great to let people know my taste in movies, music and hobbies, but this tells people what I do and what I like, NOT who I am.

So who am I, I begin to wonder. If I wanted to identify, say, the 10 defining buzzwords for me... what would they be?

Hm.

(in no particular order, other than that in which they occur to me:)

1. Navy Wife-
As a spouse of a US Navy Officer, perhaps it is fitting that this label occurs to me first. Certainly that is not to say that I have no life of my own, but in so many instances my choices in life are influenced or made by his career because I choose to (or was meant to) marry a man who is willing to give his life for his country. No matter how much he might love me, he can never truly make me his number one priority. His country, his duty, always must come first.
I guess it's easy to see then why this came out first. Well, that and the fact that we are now nearing 5 months since I've seen him.

2. Music Teacher-
While I have not always been fortunate to have a job in my chosen profession, this is what I do. What I studied and dreamt about becoming. This is how I make my money even though most of the time it doesn't feel very much like work at all. I love music and I feel passionately about sharing this joy with young people. In fact another person might label me a "music lover" rather than a teacher. Of course, there is also a certain fellow teacher who calls me "the musician" because he's trying to get his students to understand suffixes. And, while I'd LOVE to think of myself in that very professional sounding way, I am far from being talented enough to deserve it. Like I said, I do what I do, for the love of the music, talent be darned.

3. Buckeye-
A Buckeye is a type of tree that grows, well, in Ohio for sure and probably many other places too. It is also the name of the brown, inedible circular nuts that the trees produce as their fruit. (It would follow then, that peanut butter balls dipped in chocolate would have the same name since the candies look so much like the tree nuts.) The Buckeye also happens to be the very intimidating mascot (killer nuts!!!) for The Ohio State University and therefore also the title of any alumni of that school or fans of its football program.

I grew up in the shadows of Ohio Stadium, my parents attended when I was a kid so I spent many a day off from school on campus attending classes with them, I also attended and graduated from that fine University. While I was there I worked my butt off to be able call myself a member of The Best Damn Band in the Land, my heart still suffers with every play of Ohio State Football and I met my husband there. While I grew up in Dublin, Ohio; Ohio State for me, represents my home, my tradition, my values, and the beginning of my adult life. I AM a buckeye, I bleed scarlet and gray. (Especially on Saturdays September through November.)

4. Christian
I'm a little shocked at how late this one came to me, but I guess for me religion is a very private matter. While the previous items are all things that I will talk about loudly and discuss at length, I keep my faith in Jesus Christ as my savior to myself most of the time. I'm not a very good Christian probably, I'm a work in progress. And I'll even admit that often times I find myself walking, no stumbling through the shadow of doubt, but through it all I know He is with me and I always find my way back.

I remember sitting in Sunday school one day when I was very young, probably 4 or 5. It was the part of church where the grown ups stay in the chapel to hear the sermon and the kids, after having been addressed by the pastor go downstairs to cut out paper apostles, work with home made play doe, have a snack and learn a bible story. Anyway, I can remember feeling so completely content in my knowledge that this wonderful God of ours had sent us his son. And, oh but it is very sad that he had to be crucified but even that's ok because our Father was nice enough to resurrect him. I was missing several key points of the story back then, but the thing that strikes me, is it never occurred to me then that this story might not be true. It hadn't yet entered my mind that there are people on our planet who do not have this same knowledge to believe in. Or that people might hear the story and not believe it. It was fact to me, there was no other way.

And even though over the years I've heard so many other ideas, beliefs and theories.... even though sometimes it is SO hard to believe that God has a plan and things will turn out for the best in the end... I always have that memory of feeling 100% sure when I was a small child to hold onto.

And you know what, if you pay attention things are always happening to show you God's plan.
For example:
Last summer I had a MISERABLE time at Sea World, but in September I found my teaching job.

So what if it was really, really hard moving to Florida before 9th grade only to move back to Ohio, 10 months later. If I'd never have moved back to Ohio. And if I had stayed in Florida we might not have needed to get jobs to help my mother pay the bills, I'd never have worked in a movie theater and I'd never have met my future husband.

Those really seem to be the big ones. But still there are these:

5. Animal Lover
At first I wanted to put Dog Owner, since my puppy, though he drives me nuts is totally my baby. But then I felt this was really giving the shaft to my cats who I think a pretty darn fantastic as well. Plus if I phrase it this way it will explain other things like why I work at Sea World and why I'm always in Christina's classroom after school playing with her pet lizard, Fred.

6. People Person
This is a nice way of saying I talk a lot and I tend to be a bit of a social butterfly. I thrive on human interaction, even if (much to my husbands bewilderment) it happens to be with total strangers sometimes.

7. Home Owner
While this seems like the type of defining characteristic that would only matter to creditors or investors as I am sitting here it is becoming clear to me just how substantial my home is as part of my life. First of all there is the fact that my own childhood home was sold many years ago and there is essentially no home for me to go back to (even if I did speak to my parents.) But also something like 85% of my paycheck pays the mortgage while Matt's paycheck pays for everything else. While that might seem odd, we certainly wouldn't have the house without my paycheck and I'd have a lot my free time on my hands without all the sanding and painting and lawn repairs and watering, etc, etc, etc. My house is a huge part of my life.

Oh our home is in California, so it cost a lot. Too much. And here we have Earthquakes and Wildfires both currently considered to be a likely threat... that just makes our decision to buy seem so much more substantial.

Ok, well, now I am really out of major ones, but I wanted 10 so let me add some filler defining words for myself

8. Crafty
I'm always looking for a new project to start... (This drives my husband crazy.)
Artistic might be a better word choice, but I feel like if I call myself artistic that sounds very conceited and I do not want conceited as one of my buzzwords)

9. Moody
Let's just say I feel my emotions strongly.
At first I put temperamental, but that ignored the positive side of things. I think "moody" covers the range better encompassing the good moods as well as the bads.

10. Sleepy
hahha! Ok, well the reason I picked these is Matt often comments that I'd really rather sleep than do many other things. And while I do LOVE a good sleep, you can always tell how much I like something based on whether or not I'm willingly going to get up early for it. Case and point, 5 am OSUMB report times, 7:30 am percussion methods class, and working at Sea World. All things I love doing that force me to wake up far too early. (Plus, as I write this it is almost 11:30 at night and I am really sleepy.)


One thing I notice is that nowhere in there did I feel the need to define myself based on my race, heritage or cultural background. I wonder why I feel that way when so may others would definitely include their race and gender as overwhelming defining aspects. Maybe it is that even if my ace, culture or heritage changed, I still think I'd be all 10 of these things.