Just don't talk about it!

"Just don't talk about it!"

I tell myself that nearly everyday. If I don't mention it, if I don't say a word, if I don't make it an issue, then it isn't, Right? Wrong!!

For nearly 4 years now, I've been struggling with pain, daily! It started when I was pregnant with my youngest. Of course at the time I chalked it up to being the comparable size of a beached whale. But being pregnant wasn't my first Rodeo, so to speak. I figured everyday I got closer to giving birth to my last baby, the better I'd start feeling and I would finally being pain free. But this wasn't your normal "pregnancy pains and discomfort." Knowing that my doctors would, all, make 101 excuses for me I never really peeped a word. How could I?

Just a few short months after my youngest was born, the pain never went away. The pain that originally started in my heels, had migrated to my hips. Some days it was so unbearable, that I would find myself begging for mercy to the Pain Gods. I'd had enough and finally talked to my primary doctor. Of course he listened, only briefly, did a few range of motion tests and when I would break down in tears, threw some Motrin at me, and told me to get some exercise and do stretches. Of course, at his mercy, I did.

Another month or two would pass and the pain intensified. My headaches (which I was already prone to) would get worse. Back to the doctor I go. By now, he's tossing around the notion that maybe I'm just depressed. I mean, I had 4 kid's, a deployed husband and thousands of miles from any sort of family. I guess everyone is suppose to be depressed about it. Sure, there was a small part of me that was depressed, what military wife isn't during deployments? But it certainly wasn't medication worthy depression. And most certainly, in my heart of hearts, not the reason I was in so much pain. I refused anti-depressants for many reasons, including the fact I was breastfeeding my 5 month old infant. Plus, I didn't feel like being in a medicated coma with a perma-grin for the next 12 months. It would have been a lie and most certainly wouldn't have helped the pain. I knew I wasn't that depressed and there was (and is) something wrong.

I felt like prey, just waiting for the fierce predator to strike and do me in. I went rounds with my physicians, I wasn't looking for pain meds to keep me doped up and pain free. I just wanted to be pain free all together. I wanted them to do their job and fix me. I didn't want to wake up in the morning wondering if moving was going to be challenge. I practically begged, on my knees, for someone, anyone, to please just make it go away.

Yet, here I am a couple years later, still in pain. I gave up talking doctors, that I actually quit going all together. It was a lost cause in my eyes. I was doomed to be in pain forever. I don't think I've ever learned to manage my pain, it's a struggle everyday. I hide behind this facade that everything is "okay," when deep down I know it's not. It finally takes a "come to Jesus" moment at the doctors (a new one by now), before they actually feel like doing something, or at least attempting too. More tests are ran, blood drawn, x-rays and Catscans. NOTHING! By some some strange microscopic miracle, this doctor actually took it upon herself to finally say I have: Fibromyalgia. It's purely a rule-out theory diagnosis. Lupus, Multiple Sclerosis, RA and myriad of other tests came back normal, for what that's worth.

For the last 4 months we've been trying different drug therapies. Unfortunately, none of have really helped in the slightest. I'm almost positive that even my doctor is at her wits end with trying to figure it out and ready to send me on to the next doctor.

Struggles...

I don't expect everyone to understand my daily struggles. The black veil I hide behind everyday. The dark cloud that seems to follow me around, ready to rain on me at any given moment, just like a scene at out some ACME cartoon. I know it sounds a lot like depression, but it's not. It's PAIN. Excruciating and debilitating pain, every single day.

In the mornings, you find yourself hitting snooze for the 342nd time, because you've only been asleep for 2 hours. 3 if you're lucky. You're afraid to move, even a smidgen, because you're terrified to find out which part of your body isn't going to function properly.You think:  "Will my knees bend today?",  "Ugh, my hands are incredibly swollen",  "My neck hurts and my head is pounding." to literally praying that moving is even an option, before you've even wiggled a toe. Yet, every morning I struggle to move, but know that I have to. I don't have a choice. I have four very beautiful children that rely on me every single day. But there I am, hiding again. Pretending to be okay. Grab my cup of coffee, my morning ritual of Motrin, Naproxen, or Tylenol  Take my newly prescribed Cymbalta that is suppose to help, but doesn't and my daily vitamins. I walk around with my fingers crossed that I make it the next four hours, till I can take another dose. I've even resorted to over the counter Analgesic Pain Patches.

Of course, I have better days. I wouldn't call them good or great, they're just a little better than the day before. It's a little easier to function, but even those mornings aren't necessarily a precursor to the rest of my day. Those days sometimes result in me having to have a personal pep-rally at the edge of my couch, vying with myself. Talking myself into walking upstairs to go to bed at a half decent hour of the night, and pray that I get a little extra sleep. It doesn't always work in my favor.

I've reduced my wardrobe to yoga pants and anything that stretches and moves freely with my body. Everything else hurts. Yes, putting on a pair of jeans literally HURTS. I can't even wear a regular bra for more than a few hours before my skin feels like it's on fire. This just isn't normal!!

There are days where I have to sneak away to the bathroom, to silently shed a tear or two, so my children and husband don't see me fighting the pain. The nights where I plead with whatever deity actually, just out of sheer hope, may be listening, to end it all. No, I don't plan on taking a long walk off a short bridge, although taking a long walk would be wonderful. It just isn't possible, not even physically most days.

I'm not asking for sympathy from anyone, I'm just asking for a little understanding. To many I may look just fine, not like the picture of what everyone thinks that someone, who is sick or in pain, should look like. I don't think there is just one picture that can even remotely describe it. Quite honestly, there shouldn't ever be and no one should ever question it.

Whatever this is, battling Fibromyalgia or not, it's a curse. Every day is a battle of will. Every day is a battle with myself to keep moving forward and not let it get the better of me. But, every single day that I struggle to be pain free, I struggle non-the-less.

"Just don't talk about it..."

We have to talk about it. If we don't, it stays a silent and debilitating killer; not of our life and every breath we breathe, but a killer of will and hope to find an answer. A killer for a cure. A killer to those that don't believe and ultimately a killer, someday, to be pain-free forever. All I know is, I would "kill" to be pain-free for even just one day!

It's never really good-bye!!

The last few days have been an emotional whirlwind.

Death and dying are never on the forefront of our minds. I don't know too many people that like to think about it. I know it's an inevitable part of life. Just the mere thought of someone close to me departing this earth, makes my stomach knot, my jaw clench and tears fill my eyes.

Just the mere thought, my heart shatters into a million pieces!

On Wednesday we received some pretty devastating news. My husbands mother had suffered a massive stroke. As we sat for hours uncertain of her prognosis, we started preparing ourselves for the worst. These are plans that we never, EVER, hope to have make. These are the thoughts that curdle your blood, you feel your throat starts to clench shut and the fear rips through you like a thousand little knives, all at once. Certainly this isn't really happening? Is it just a horrible dream? Please wake me up, someone, pinch me! PLEASE?

It's no horrible dream, but it is truly horrible and terrifying, REAL LIFE!!

I've dealt with death in the past. I was devastated when my Grampa passed away in 2002. The feelings are still so raw, even 10 years later, it doesn't feel like it's been 10 years. That was tough. This is....this is, well, I don't know what this is. Seeing my husband in so much emotional pain, killed me. I couldn't even begin to imagine exactly how he was feeling, but if it's any indication....that kind of pain goes well beyond anything I've ever felt before. Not for me, but for him! I hated every minute of it.

I met Mary Lou 8 years ago. She embraced me and loved me as though I had always been part of her family. My in-laws are wonderful, beautiful people. We talked as frequently as we could remember to pick up the phone. I always kept them updated when Jay (Rick, Ricky or Opie, to some) was deployed. Sent them pictures of the kids, although I had been slacking lately. Shame on me!!! I promise to do better. But, we did get to go home this summer during Jay's block leave and spent some wonderful quality time with them. We had a great visit. The last day of our visit with them, we all gave Grandma Mary a big hug, told her we loved her, and as we all got a little weepy eyed, we vowed we'd see other again, as soon as we could. I guess God had different plans!!

I don't want to think about the sadness of the last few days, it's still too surreal and there's a little part of me that is bitter that I can't be there in the coming days. So for now, I'll tell you the story about the "pigs"!

****

The first time I ever stepped foot in my husbands parents house (before we married), I had noticed these hand-painted pigs. Of course, I ogled over them a few times. After awhile, the comfort had set in, I'd asked Mary about the pigs several times, she'd explain that they were hand-painted, a few by her and she'd had them for many many years. As the years passed, I'd always joke that I'm gonna get the pigs, and after awhile I'd leave the house after a visit and say "Okay Mary, I'm taking the pigs with me today." To which she'd reply..'" OHHH NO you're NOT!" and we'd both start laughing. I suppose you could say it kind of became our inside joke.

The "pigs" always make me smile and they'll always remind me of Mary. Always, and Forever!!

****

Back to reality. Wednesday came and went. Thursday got a little darker. Friday morning the World lost a beautiful person, but heaven now has a very special Angel. I could probably write a book of the events of those 48 hrs, but fact is, I don't think it's something to dwell on and it makes me a little angry too. I'd rather cherish the beautiful person she was and the wonderful memories I/we have.

I can't express how appreciative I am of those that have come together in my husband, father-in-law, and extended family's, time of need. The love and support has been overwhelming and my heart is sure to burst. I thank you ALL from the bottom of my heart.

I guess when it really comes down to it, it's never really good-bye!You may no longer be with us in body, but always in heart and soul, and every treasured memory. Mary Lou Rebecca Johnson, you will forever be in our hearts and we'll always have the "pigs."

In Memory of Mary Lou Rebecca Johnson; 18 February 1939- 24 August 2012.

Calling the Hogs!!

It's countdown time...

T-minus 2 weeks....WOO PIG SOOIE!!!

We're huge Razorback fans here in this house, Arkansas Razorbacks for those that don't follow college football. Acutally, "Huge" is probably an understatement. We don't miss a game (if possible) and we stand by our Hogs, win or lose. Come NCAA football season, nothing else matters.

Our doormat is an ode to the Razorbacks. "All ye who enter our domain, enter honorary Razorback Country." (<-- I just made that up. Hmm, I think I'll have that made into a sign!)  We have a garden flag (in New York) that tells all, that pass by our house, we pay homage to our beloved Razorbacks. Heck, I even have a Scentsy warmer that has the Razorback logo on it. Lets not even get started on the epic cozy Razorback blanket and the endless number of t-shirts, hats and coffee mugs, fishing lures, and don't forget the license plates and covers on our vehicles. Obsessed? I don't think so! Give me a few weeks and I'll probably finally have my Razorback Garden Gnomes (AHEM..I have a birthday coming up). YAY! OH, and who could forget my personal autographed poster of Darren Mcfadden, #20? Not me...THANKS MOM!!

I consider it a lifestyle and a way to stay connected to our roots here in the U.S. Since we travel so much, and never in the same place for more than a few years, at a time. We definitely need something; other than pickled green tomatoes, catfish and lazy Sunday's on the White River. Since those things are hard to come by these days, the Razorbacks are the only thing that keeps us connected to home. ARKANSAS!

This years season will be kind of somber season. My partner in "crime and cheer" will not be here to watch the first and last half of the season. Thank God for DVR. So, we'll have to resort to virtual high-fives and random text messages to give him the play-by-play. I've done it before and will do it again!

Be ready New York, these Arkansans will be CALLING THE HOGS!! We're starting at #10 in the Coaches and AP Poll, although I, personally, think we should have been ranked higher than South Carolina, at the very least. We will work our way to #1!! Oh yes we will.  USC who?

In the giving mood? I'll gladly take those tickets to ANY game, you're not planning on attending! *HAHAHA*

A Razorback Beetle? Say it ain't so? I MUST HAVE IT!! 

I would totally drive this epic car!

And just in case anyone needs a quick lesson on how to properly call the Hogs..here is your brief tutorial. Watch, learn, repeat!!

Volkswagen...DAS AUTO!

Ever wanted anything so badly, you can almost "taste" it?

Ever have a dream about something and just knew, some how, some way, you'd make those "dreams" come true!

This isn't about making millions of dollars, or owning a Yacht, or becoming (in)famously famous. This is about a young girl, who had a vision, a dream and the want for something...

A VOLKSWAGEN!!

And not just any Volkswagen...A 1979 Super Beetle Convertible.

        (photo credit: http://www.yenko.net/ubbthreads/ubbthreads.php?ubb=showflat&Number=424133)


Back Story:

I've always been a little on the spoiled side. I admit it. Growing up, there isn't anything that my parents wouldn't do, or get, for me. When I turned 18, I was finally able to drive in Germany (legal driving age over there). My dad had always had this thing about me driving and I was not allowed to drive, or own a vehicle on their dime, unless I could change a tire, the oil and operate a manual transmission. It made sense!

I despised learning to drive a standard and  on the Autobahn, of all things. Germans (or Europeans in general) drive notoriously fast. They're somewhat impatient. Okay, so they're a lot impatient. They love flashing lights at you, when you're going to slow, and the horn is used as frequently as the blinkers. I really hate car horns!!

Just before I was allowed to start learning how to drive, my parents bought my Aunt Petra's 1988 Renault R5 GT. It was a little white, 2-door, with sunroof and sheepskin covers on the seats. I was riding in style!! Well, not quite yet...First, I had to learn to drive that thing...

just in case you need a visual of my little pimp car:

Isn't it beautiful??

So, there I was, learning how to drive. Dad and I would drive to Frankfurt to the little "driving course" and we'd practice. It was actually really cool, because at least I wasn't the only incapable idiot trying to learn how drive, up hill, both ways, in the snow (note the exaggeration). If you drive a standard, you know exactly what I'm talking about! Till this day, I swear every "hill" in Germany had it out for me. I digress. I learned to drive that little white car and I drove it EVERYWHERE! If it weren't for the fact that it was built to metric standard and technically not a "classic" car, I probably would have brought it back to the states with me. *SIGH* 

The point is, while I loved that little car, it wasn't my first choice. I'd always wanted a Beetle. A 1979, and it HAD to be a convertible. Yeah, I'm grateful my parents bought me a car and left me to my free will. But don't think that my car came without any "conditions". I had to pay for my insurance and my petrol. And my parents had every right to take it away if they felt I was abusing the privilege. They never had to. 

Oh there goes my ramblings again. 

Since I didn't get my Beetle and "settled" for the Renault, my parents then made me a promise. Well, my dad made me a promise. Dad keeps his promises too *wink-wink*! The deal was; once I graduated from college, with at least a Bachelors, he would buy me that Beetle. My 1979 Super Beetle Convertible. Just the way I want it. Red, with white-wall tires, mint condition, leather interior. You're probably wondering why 1979, right? First, it was the year I was born. Second, it was the last year they made that particular Beetle before halting production. I guess you can't perfect something that has already been perfected (HA, I make myself laugh). 

So, I'm inching my way closer to owning My vintage, 1979 Super Beetle Convertible *Squeee*. Wait, does that mean, I'm vintage too? In case you're wondering when that will happen...Dad has exactly 669 days, 10 hours, 59 mins and 9....8...7..seconds, till I graduate with my Bachelors. See where I'm going with this?

Lets recap...1979 Super Beetle Convertible....669 days...8 hrs...56 mins...6 seconds.. 

I'll be waiting for my Keys! Please and Thank You!

I AM a Phoenix!!!!

Both literally and figuratively.

When I was younger (before marriage and children), I had a dream for myself. I always *thought* that I wanted to be a nurse. But my very first dream was joining the U.S. Navy. During my senior year in High School I was completely enthralled with the notion that I would go into the Navy. Not sure why the Navy, considering my dad was in the Army. But it was what I wanted. I wanted to be a medic, then go onto nursing and eventually work my way into being a Flight Nurse. I had never experienced anything in the medical field, other than a short stint volunteering for the Red Cross one summer, a couple years prior.

I remember sitting down at the dinner table with my parents one evening and I handed them a stack of papers; "Mom, Dad: I want to join the Navy. Here's the info, here's where you need to sign. Thanks." I literally thought it would be just that easy. My parents were great at guiding me in the "right" direction (if there really is such a thing), but also let me learn from my own mistakes. They let me be a teenager. Pretty much do what I wanted, within reason, but always kept a loose reins for those "just in case" moments, I ever went buck wild. I never really did. My mom recently said that she was pretty grateful that I was a "good kid" and not some rebellious punk. I've done some off-the-wall things, but nothing that would send either of my parents to their grave, early. I rebelled a little at times too. What teenage kid doesn't?

Anyway, we're at the dinner table and it went DEAD SILENT. I can just tell by the silence, so silent you could hear a mouse fart, they were either a.)  in shock (fact) or  b) pondering ways to lock me in my room forever (probably also a fact). It would turn out that it wasn't the idea of joining the Navy that they were against, they wanted better for me. As in, if I was so dead set on joining the military to go to college first and go in as an officer. I didn't understand the major differences or roles of the enlisted or officer ranks. I just wanted to go in the Navy. It was one of the only "adult" decisions my parents would help make for me.

I didn't join the Navy, instead, I finished High School. DUH! I decided to give my parents the benefit of doubt and they helped me ease into college. I took a few classes to get the ball rolling on my back-up plan. Nursing. Somewhere along the way I got lost in my new found "adulthood". I was young, naive, worked hard, partied harder. I was living MY life, for me. Europe was definitely the place to be for a young and carefree girl, like me.

During this same time, I met a young man. Actually I had met him during my senior year but never gave him the time of day. It wasn't till several months after I graduated that I finally decided to give it a go. We dated, traveled to Paris together. Partied together. We just had fun together. I thought I was "oh so in love". About 9-10 months into our relationship I found out I was pregnant. WHOA, hello curve-ball! We decided to get married, without any thought to what we were doing or the repercussions.

By the summer of 1999 I was on an airplane, by myself, Pregnant, headed back the U.S. Scared half out of my mind and absolutely no idea where I was going. I know his family was just as shocked at the news. Here they were meeting the "new" family member. They embraced me with open arms, even if they were cautious. Looking back now, I understand why! My daughter was born that November and my life changed forever. The following year and a half is almost a blur anymore. Somewhere in that hectic life of mine, I had managed to go back to school for nursing, get job in a hospital and still be mom and wife. At the same time, things happened within my personal relationship that left my, then, husband and I, headed in separate directions.

slowly burning....

Spring of 2001 my dad was newly retired and my parents had moved to California. I called my mom on a Wednesday, told her what was going on. By that Friday she had flown in and Saturday morning, we would start the 1600 mile trek back to California, from Kansas. We stopped in Denver the first night. I sat in that hotel room, looking at my beautiful baby girl, I was a blubbering mess and wondering where I had went wrong. Mom and I sat and talked for hours and she even mentioned, that if I wanted to turn around and go back, we could. I didn't! We rolled into California and I never looked back.

Just embers now...

The next few years would pass and many changes would happen. Life-changes. Sooo many changes...Somewhere in all those changes I found myself again. Just me, working, going to school and striving for a better future my daughter and I.

I was living in a small town in North Central Arkansas. I was living, eating and breathing school and work. Three to four 12-hour night shifts at the local hospital, each week, and a full-time college schedule. Dangit, I was going to make  it into the R.N. program. Even if it meant getting off at 7:30 am to head to a Trigonometry class by 8:45 am. Go home take a short nap. Head to Chem II class. Head home. Pick Jenna up from Daycare. Get ready for work and do all over again the next morning with A&P II and Philosophy classes beginning promptly. I was so burned out in  2 years in and 9 credits shy of entry into the program, that my brain was a jumbled mess.

Cos^2 0 + Sin^2  0 = 1-->Et tu Brute--> polar covalent bonds--> did I forget to empty that foley bag?--> basic path of renal blood flow....What day is it again?

I felt like I was sitting in my high school Latin class again, and not of the spanish variety!! ( I promise I learned something Mr. W. )

Nothing but ash...

You're probably wondering where I'm going with this...I have a point. Promise!

When my husband and I married in 2005, I kind of thought of him as my savior. I know people probably questioned our relationship and probably placed bets how long we'd last. Jokes on you, isn't it? I quit my job. Moved to North Carolina with him and we began a new life together. I was forced to slow down a little and recoup. It was a blessing in disguise. I quit nursing all together and honestly, I don't really regret it. I know it probably seems like a waste of time, but it was a learning experience.

Rising from the ashes...

Last year, after a long hiatus from both work and school, I decided to deviate from my previous path. I enrolled in school again. On July 15, 2012, I graduated after only 11 months, with my Associates of Arts in Foundations of Business. Not even a week later I went feet first into my Bachelors program. In 22 months I will be done with my Bachelors.

Seven years later, 3 more kids; life has thrown me for a loop a time or two. I have learned some very valuable lessons and there isn't anything about my past that I would change. So, here's my literal, and figurative, shout-out to The University of Phoenix. Thanks for the opportunity. Because just when I thought I was nothing more than "ash" I rose from those ashes and was given another chance.

I AM a Phoenix!!

You want me to "Bloom" Where?

Two in one day? Say it ain't so!!!

I've been wanting to write this for some time now...I didn't know where to start and quite frankly, was more afraid it would sound like a knock-off Blog, to one I've recently started following. Remember those "two unique storytellers" that inspired me to start? Well, I'll get to that a little later...

In the meantime

It's no secret that I live the life of an Army wife. I didn't marry the Army, I married a soldier, in the Army. But, this isn't my first rodeo. YEE-HAW! I've traveled the world and have seen a million and one places. With my dad serving for nearly 25 years and by the time I was 18, I had probably done and seen more than the average 18 year-old. I'm grateful for the opportunities I've had. I wouldn't trade them for a million bucks. Well, maybe! HA!

You see, I think I learned my style of adaptation from the master, herself, my mother. She was always really good about picking up, packing and moving thousands of miles from friends and family. She would plant roots, right where we were, and keep growing. She made new friends easily, adapted to new lifestyles like it was her very own. She kept friends, even after the years and miles separated them. She never let fear show, at least not to me. I never had an inkling of an idea, if she was consumed with stress and doubt. Although I'm fairly certain after my years of experience, she had her fair share. I admire her, for her courage, and fortitude to leave her home country, and raise her little family wherever the Army told her to. She's still the one I go to about things (Army related) when I have questions or concerns. But this isn't about any questions I have about the Army, or concerns I have. This is about "blooming".

                    "The problem with Blooming where you're planted is that we grow.
                      We grow like vines, climbing over our obstacles, and reaching out
                      to hold on. A lot of the times, we're holding on to each other. So
                      when one of us leaves, there's a tear that takes place. A rendering in
                      our hearts, an ache in our soul. This happens so many times, so frequently
                      that it is both a blessing and a curse" ~ Rebecca Yarros ~

I've held on to that little snip-it, from a blog, for a few days now. I've toyed with the emotions it brought out in me. It struck a chord with me. Something that left me speechless and, for the last few days, deep in thought. And here I still sit...

It's not the quote, in and of itself, that makes me all weepy, it's what deep down feelings I've been suppressing for some time now. Sure, I've got friends. I've got friends everywhere. And I have some of the best damn friends a girl could ever ask for. You're probably asking yourself; "Well what's her problem then?"  I'll tell you what my problem is; They're not here with me!

Okay, so Kristy is just an hour and half down the road. The first time we'd ever met, in person, was after a nearly 3 day drive up here, to New York, although we were internet friends for well over a year. She opened her home to my family and embraced me with the biggest leg-hump I've ever gotten *wink-wink*. I just love her to bits. Sadly, even with such a short distance, our schedules almost never coordinate, now that she's a working woman. But, I understand. I don't hold it against her. We'll always have the Drive-In, a Toblerone and Thanksgiving dinner. Eventually, we'll meet again!

 Then you have my Bragg girls...Jenn and Jennie. Two of the most AHH-mazing friends I've ever had.

 Jenn, I met my first day, after arriving at Bragg. We met at the little park next to the Inn. I think she noticed the color of my toenail polish. What an odd conversation starter! Whatever it was, it worked. We've laughed together, cried together, partied together. We've even sat in complete silence with each other. I've always said she was the sister I never had. She's a keeper, that's for sure! Even after years apart and major life changes, fate would bring us together again. Well, not entirely, but Rochester will have to do for now.

Jennie. What can I say about Jennie? She's an inspiration in so many ways. She's a lot like me. A product of the military, military wife and mother to 4 beautiful babies.  But, Jennie has that "something" that no one else does. If you ever have the pleasure of meeting her, you'll be just as inspired. I kind of think of her as the "bad girl, gone good". She has that magic hug, when things are so terribly wrong, just one hug from her will make everything, just, go away. Even if it is for a split second. Even though I've questioned my faith, in whatever Deity really does exist, Jennie always had words of encouragement. She always says just the right thing, at right time...

pause, for a good cry....

ALOHA!! Our time in Hawaii came and went. TOO FAST!! But, just like my time at Bragg, it didn't come without meeting some more amazing women. Jessica, Carol, Betsy, Heather!! Each so different in so many ways, but each giving me the gift of true friendship.

Jessica is my southern Florida Girl. Lower Ala-freakin'-Bama if you ask anyone else. She was my first friend on Island. She was also a Bragg girl. We didn't know each other when we were there (oddly at the same). We bonded, almost instantly. We watched each others kids. We were there for our last born's births. I watched her dog, Tika. That yapping mutt...you still owe for that one! There isn't a single moment in the 3 years we spent together, I would change for the world. We'll be life-long friends forever.

Carol, oh carol, where for art thou, Carol!? My buddy. No really, we're a different kind of "friend". There wasn't any one thing that led us to be friends. Unless, of course, our love of pasta and pumpkin cheesecake can be considered that proverbial "bond". It was the selfless, "I'll come rescue you and make you epic pasta" that won me over. Random T.M.I text messages helped too. She's a character, that one! *smooches*

My sweet Betsy. I think I will call her Miss Congeniality. Smart, SO SMART! Almost too smart for me even. She is the voice of reason. Believe me when I tell you that our friendship was not based on similarities. We differed in more ways than one. So much so, we had a pact to NEVER discuss politics with one another. Or any other controversial topic for that matter. We clicked and that was all that mattered. Dave & Busters will never forget us!

Heather. She's a Chair Force, erm, Air Force wife. She's sarcasm! If you look up the meaning in the dictionary, you'll see her picture, right there ---> next to the word. What kind of friend will drive 45 mins (Island time) to your house, just to loan you her vacuum, wait for you to finish, then leave? Oh, I know..HEATHER WILL!! She's a lifer too, I just know it! Even if the chances of us ever being in the same state are as probable as flying pigs.

So I say...


Back to square-one... Good 'Ol Fort Drum, New York.

It isn't that I haven't met any people here. I have. I have met plenty of other wives and moms. I've been on play-dates, chatted up other local wives on local Facebook pages. I suppose it's safe to say that I, or we, haven't connected yet. I just haven't had that "we click" feeling. It's pretty pathetic when you sit here and ponder these things...Making friends use to come easy. Sure, they come and go. Sure, we live vicariously now through the internet, text messages and the occasional phone call. But "blooming" was never an issue before. "Blooming" has never been so hard before. And every day that goes by and I haven't met that one special friend here, another little pedal from that flower, slowly falls to the ground. Slowly withering...

I just haven't bloomed where I was planted!

With that, here is my ode to one of the bloggers that gave me the inspiration for this blog. Thank You Rebecca Yarros!

(her blog: http://theonlygirlamongboys.blogspot.com/2012/01/bloom-where-youre-planted.html#links)


                                         
                                           

My life in a 'Nut'shell!!

The year is 1979:

It was a somber morning, early November, the 5th to be exact. In Southern Germany, in the little town of Neu-Ulm, two of the most amazing people I've ever come to know, prepared for the arrival of their first (and only) child. A little girl they would name Tanja. Not Tan-Juh or Ton-JAY or Tan-gee...it's TON-YA. ME! Okay, so this isn't really some great birth story, I don't remember it first hand, I can only tell you what I recall over the last 33 years. UGH...33 years? Really? It goes by so quickly....

Anyway, I was born to a German mother and American father. My dad was in the U.S. Army, he was stationed in that small town when he met my mother. I only know they met through friends while my mother was a waitress at a small Bistro in town. Her friend was dating my dads friend, and my dad happened to tag along one night and hence, the 35-year-long marriage began...and still going strong! Almost rare anymore, really!

Present Day:

So, here I am. A daughter, wife, mother, friend and enemy to some. (Disclaimer: The enemy part is another blog for another day. I'll have to muster-up the courage to tell those stories. And, some of you already know those stories.) Honestly, I don't even know where to begin this blog...ramblings become me. HA! I suppose I avoided blogging of any type because it seems to be the "in" thing. Friends are doing it, friends of friends are doing it, you get the idea! But, if I'm being honest, there are two bloggers that have given me the courage and idea that maybe it isn't all that bad. Besides, sometimes, writing down how you feel, wanting to tell a story or get a general message across, blogging should come easy. It's natural, right? So, before I continue my life story, this is my shout out to these two very unique storytellers, that inspired me to start blogging.

Ramblings be gone:

I think I'm your average girl. My youth wasn't anything other than ordinary (for me anyway). I spent the majority of my youth growing up in Germany. Traveled around Europe with my parents, grandparents, uncles and cousins. (Sidenote: I've even been to Tunisia, Africa) Had wicked "beer" parties (not that I was able to partake) in my Opa's garage. Rode my bike all over [German] creation. I've eaten plenty of pretzels, semmels, schnitzel and rouladens to last me a lifetime, although they're still my favorites. I really miss the lifestyle sometimes and would die for a "true" Spaghetti Eis (pictured below), right about now.  I was fortunate enough that I was able to grow up living both sides of my heritage. I speak, read and write German fluently, well, as fluently as I can anymore. I've lived in the U.S. now, consecutively, for 13 years. I embrace my heritage and still practice many traditions today. I love blaring Xavier Naidoo on my stereo and I even pay $10 p/month for a German t.v. station on our cable bill. Who does that? Although none of my children know my native language (sadly), I'm pleased to announce my daughter wants to learn now. YAY! So there ya go!

My kidlets:

My daughter, Jenna, was born the day after my 20th birthday. I've had nearly 13 years to reflect on that time of my life, but truth be told, I don't regret a single minute. Not an ounce her being goes unloved and she's everything I am, and even better. Perfection! She's tall, lean, blonde, blue-eyes and just the epitome of everything I'm not. That's a good thing. She's ambitious, smart, witty, charismatic and has a solid head on her shoulders. I JUST LOVE HER!!

Then you have Brody & Ashton. Born 6 years later and although they're twins, I'm often asked how many months apart they are. Every time someone asks that question, I feel my eye start to twitch. Literally. They look nothing alike, they act nothing alike, they're literally NOTHING ALIKE. They're the perfect combination of me and my husband. Ashton is my oddball. He's the only one, of my four, that looks anything like me. In fact, he looks like he was literally carved right out of my left butt-cheek. Brody the braniac. I swear the kid is a genius in sheep's clothing. To say they keep me on my toes, is an understatement. To be continued...

Last but not least, Bonus Baby. The G-Monster. Gun-Gun. Gunny. G-man. Well, actually is name is Gunnar Milo. Gunnar is Scandinavian for "brave soldier". Milo is German for "from the miles". Ironically, he fits his name to a TEE. Some days I wonder if we should have named him "Energizer". The kid just keeps going and going and going and going. You get the idea. He's fearless, just like his dad. If he makes it to his teens, well, I don't know exactly what will happen. I suppose I'll have to build a padded room, because it's the only way he'll make it to adulthood. I swear I'll do it!

Dear Husband:

Oh, hubby dearest, what can I say about him. Lets be honest, he isn't really the man of my "dreams". He's not anything of a man that I ever pictured myself with.  Our meeting was purely accidental. Our courtship was quick, our ensuing marriage was even quicker. I was single for YEARS before we met.  I wouldn't say I settled, that was the last thing I did. He's definitely left me questioning my sanity some days. But, 8 years later, he's definitely the man that I want to spend the rest of my life with. I 'thought' I loved before, but my love for him is nothing short of a godsend. He's tested my patience, my survival, he's made me question myself, he's even made me question him.

Together we've conquered so much in life. No, not raising children (albeit a challenge in and of itself) , not our marriage. But, we've conquered our inner demons together. Things that would have, and probably should have, torn us apart only made us stronger. Together, we've salvaged what was left of our own being. Our humanity. Our friendship. Our lust. Our trust. Most of all, our undeniable LOVE for each other. Sappiness aside; he's everything and more, I could ever imagine in a life partner. I can honestly say, without him, I would fade away into the deep abyss of life. The meaning of love would mean nothing more than that of a tragic [Greek] love story. A dream. A fairy-tale. A myth. So, with that my love; you are my Poseidon and I am your Aphrodite.