OK, I'm Gonna Do It

I have seen it on other blogs.

I've even enjoyed reading it on other blogs.

But I swore it wasn't something that belonged here.

It's not my style, I thought. It's not what I'm about.

Well, my friends, I stand before you today to tell you that I am full of it. Because today, I'm going to do it.

Today, I'm going to put myself out there and write the post I told myself I'd never write.

Today, I'm going to ask you all if you have any questions.

***

Yesterday, I asked everyone a few questions. I loved the feedback, and you all really straightened things out for me. (Obviously, I will be wearing nude heels to my brother's wedding. I fear that if I don't, y'all might cast me out as a hopeless fashion cause and never speak to me again. As you should, my friends. As you should.)

Then I spent about an hour e-mailing back responses to a round of questions I got last week from other bloggers and friends.

And I realized something.

It's super-fun to find out random things about people you think you "know."

Like what political affiliation they have. What they do right before they go to sleep. Or what they intend to do in light of the apocalypse.

I mean, these are things long-lasting friendships are based on.

Can you count on your fellow sister at the end of times? (Especially if she's a member of the Green Party who sleeps with a "Don't Wake the Beast" eye-mask.)

So, I'm going to ask you to ask me something. Anything.

What I eat for breakfast. How I talk my husband into buying me Vera Bradley. What I enjoy on a hot-dog. Where I shop for Ella's diapers. How I have two of the world's most embarrassing moles. (For real. I do.)

Ask me anything, and I will answer. (Probably some time next week when my house has been emptied, and I find an unprotected Internet connection that belongs to a neighbor. Allegedly.)

I'm finally giving up the ghost and doing a Q&A.

And you know what? I kind of like it.

***

Happy Thursday, everyone.

I Have Questions...

My house is a wreck. My emotional state is a hot mess, and my baby is teething.

Moving Again 2012 is in full swing, and it stinks just like it always does.

I'm freaking out; my husband is frustrated with me, and Ella is dealing with the less one-on-one attention she's been getting by throwing a fit that can only be soothed by holding her and nursing for two minutes at a time every 20 minutes or so.

Which is why I've now taken to obsessing over the inconsequential.

You know how when everything is in full-swing, balls-to-the-walls bananas, and you decide to sip a cup of chamomile tea right then and there? You know how when it's crunch time, and you can't help but take a relaxing long bubble bath just because?

That's me right now.

I'm obsessing over things that have no bearing over the next week and a half. I'm researching things that really have nothing to do with moving. I'm wondering about stuff that won't help me finish packing or assist me in living out of a suitcase and the back of our car for almost a month. (Oh, did I forget to mention that little tid-bit? Yeah, I'd tell you about it, but I can't even think about it right now.)

So, today, I have questions for you. About shoes. And cloth diapers. And what you recommend making for dinner when you're cleaning out your pantry and all you have left are chick-peas, dried blueberries, and canned sauerkraut.

You know, the stuff that really matters.

***

My brother's wedding is in a few weeks, and I've decided - i.e., already own and/or purchased - to wear a royal blue pencil skirt with a champagne colored top, accented with royal blue gemstone jewelry.

I have made these decisions based on the fact that it's a day wedding, but the wedding party is in tuxedos; I have to be able to nurse in the outfit, and I already own half of the necessary items.

One such item I do not own for the aforementioned ensemble is shoes.

Like, I can't wear black shoes. And I don't own a lot of other options.

So, what would you do? Silver shoes? (The jewelry has silver accents.) Go with the royal blue theme and hope like heck someone sells a shoe with some sort of blue accent? (That just sounds ugly.)

Seriously, what shoes do I need with this outfit?

***

It has been brought to my attention that the area we are moving to has hard water.

This isn't normally a big deal, but for a cloth-diapering mama, it can be calamitous.

Basically, it means your diapers may never fully rinse out and therefore, can be left with a horrid stench.

I've been doing my research, and I've found several options. (Using a water softener, baking soda, vinegar, a hot soak, etc.)

None of them seems particularly fool-proof.

So, any cloth-diapering moms out there who deal with hard water? How do you do it? What do you use?

***

The hubs and I are thinking of buying into a well-known online stores' "prime" deal.

You know the one. Where you spend $79 a year and get free two-day shipping on basically everything you order?

We're basically considering it because our new home is located in a smaller town than either of us have ever lived in, and getting out to get certain things we use a lot - a very specific dog food, essential oils, green paper products, homeopathic remedies and vitamins, and other types of things - may prove a lot more difficult in our new Georgia house.

I won't lie; I also like the idea of being able to order everything but food online and having it show up at my doortwo days later. Especially considering that the aforementioned well-known online store is competitive or lower priced than almost any retail outlet out there.

So, my question for you all is: Do you use something like this? What do you think? Do you recommend it? And if you do, what kinds of stuff do you order on it?

***

Besides moving and my brother's wedding, we're also going to spend a week in Northwest Arkansas visiting my in-laws while we move. (Now do you see why we're living out of a suitcase and car for about a month?)

And this winter, my friends? Well, it's been weird all over the country. But from what I can tell, it's been especially wonky close to the Midwest.

My mother-in-law said her neighbor was in shorts one day and then the ground was frozen the next.

So, I don't know what to pack for Ella.

Should I expect snow? Cold rain? Sun? Warm breezes?

Help a Southern sister out.

***

So, say you're out somewhere with your baby. A play-group. The community park. The grocery store.

Another child approaches you and starts toward Ella.

You know how toddlers are. They pat and touch and get really close to babies because they are genuinely fascinated by them. They mean no harm.

Except when they have runny, snotty noses and then cough directly in your child's face.

Seriously, this has been my reality for the last month.

Every stinking toddler around this place seems to have a cold.

And they all are obsessed with Ella. At work, Ella gets coughed on at least 18 times a day.

Today, I had her and my friend's baby, who I was watching, on a the swings behind my house, and some 4 year old boy with snot all over his face, whom I've never even seen before, ran up and started poking at them.

Meanwhile, his mother was right behind him and didn't say a thing. She let him cough-spit on my kid and poke at my friend's with his snot-covered hand. (L, if you are reading this, he actually never made contact. I managed to finagle the swing away from said snot-covered hand just in time.)

But still, the mother didn't say anything. Furthermore, no mothers say anything.

They show up everywhere, let their kids germ-spread all over my kid, and say nothing.

Let's not even dwell on the fact that they shouldn't have their kid out in the first place. They already do; it's too late for that. (Plus, I do realize that sometimes, a little runny nose is not an excuse for you not to go to, say, the grocery store. Everyone's got to eat.)

So, what do you say? To the toddler? To the mother?

I don't want to be rude, but I am over it.

Ella, my perfectly healthy baby, has started coughing tonight. Girlfriend is congested. And I'm not happy at all.

I'm surprised it took this long, in fact. She's been exposed to so much crap, it amazes me she just has a little cough.

Still, not cool. Not. Cool.

Give me the words, fellow mamas. What do I do to make it stop?

***

Happy Wednesday, everyone!

The Secret to This Life

I have a new client who is really struggling here.

She must moved onto the Navy base, and she's very far from her original home.

She's new to military life, and she has a little baby girl she stays at home with while her husband works as a sailor, like mine.

She feels lonely. She feels lost. She's overwhelmed sometimes being the sole care-provider for her child. She's not really happy here at all.

So, mid push-ups, she was venting to me. And, as I've lived on this base for almost two years, she asked me what to do.

I didn't miss a beat before stating, "Get a group of friends, stat."

I elaborated.

"Get out there, and meet people. Keep meeting people till you find someone you relate to. Someone you like. Someone who has a kid or a dog or a husband like yours. Get out there and find someone to hang out with. It is the only way to survive this military lifestyle."

The fact of the matter is, military wives are often painted as these lone beacons of light, holding down the fort solo while our husband's are away or working odd hours. Solitary. Steady. Hard-core women.

And, honestly, a lot of that's true. I know I'm in a unique position compared to a lot of other wives and mamas my age.

But the fact of the matter is, those of us that choose this lifestyle (and, yes, it is a choice) are not really alone.

I can guarantee you, if we're any good at it, we're not alone at all.

We've got friends. Back-up. A community of women who knows us, our kids, our dogs, our homes, our husbands, our boats, our commands, our diets, and our dreams.

My back-up watches Ella when I need someone. Drives me somewhere when I don't have my car. Takes care of Marvin the Dog while I'm away. Brings me soup when I'm sick. Has me over for dinner after the movers pack up my cook-ware. Talks me through a doctor's appointment. Cries with me when my brother was deployed. Jumped for joy when Ella was born. Walks with me and talks with me all around our neighborhood. Trusts me with their babies. Does my laundry. Picks up something I need at the store. Leaves me a birthday card on my doorstep when everyone else has forgotten. Cheers for my football team. Gives me advice. Listens to me gripe about my husband's job. Gripes about their husband's job with me.

My back-up loves me. And I love them.

***

Less than two years ago, when I moved here, I knew no one.

Now, I'm leaving here in a week and a half, and I've got at least 10 women who will be my forever friends. My community. My back-up.

Part of it is our lifestyle. We are forced together by a shared dislocation and job description.

But we also quickly learn to be each other's life-line.

We have no family, no baby-sitters, no long-time neighbors, no child-hood friends where we move to. What we do know and where we live often looks nothing like what we studied for or where we thought we'd end up.

So, soon, we become each other's family, baby-sitters, long-time neighbors, and child-hood friends.

I have seen these women mid-contraction. I have seen these women in pain. I have seen these women cry and laugh and worry. I have seen them exhausted and elated.

And they have seen me.

Last year, two of them stood over me as I laid on my kitchen floor, puking my pregnant guts out, offering me crackers and soup and a body pillow - anything to help me survive my morning sickness nightmare.

Two months ago, I woke up another one, trying to find some medicine for my neighbor, who happened to be nine months pregnant while she and her 18-month-old suffered through a stomach bug.

There was no, "What the heck are you doing calling me at 2 a.m.?" She simply asked, "What do you need? Want me to come over?"

When the power goes out, I walk down the street so I don't have to be alone with no heat or light. When Ella has a bad day, I text my girlfriends for advice between shushing her screams. When I make extra spaghetti sauce, I call up my nearest pal and offer her a jar.

It's what we do. It's how we live.

It's survival.

***

And, then, the moving trucks come.

We make them one last dinner. We help them load their cars. We watch their babies while they clean their appliances and do their final inspections.

Then, we wave good-bye.

We act like it's normal. Like it's part of the lifestyle. Because it is, and because honestly, we have no choice.

But as we hug them a final time and kiss their little one's heads and raise a hand as they peek through their rear-view mirror, we cry through our smiles.

Because they are our family and our friends and the community of women who have stood beside us come hell or high-water.

They are who we call before and after dark.

They help us survive pregnancy, teething, and the Terrible Twos.

They are our back-up.

They make this lifestyle bearable. Heck, they even make it fun.

In the shortest amount of time, the become the best kind of friends. Kindred spirits. Soul-mates. Life-long girlfriends who will always have your back.

And, then, they leave. They follow their sailor and take their kids and move away to wherever their next home will be, where they will find their next group of friends, their next community of women, their next back-up.

They have to; it's the only way to survive.

***

Now, it's my turn.

I have to do the leaving.

I have to stare through my rear-view and pretend to smile while I cry and wave good-bye as we head South to our new home, all the while knowing that I am amazingly lucky. My girlfriends here are the best. Not a day goes by that I don't talk and see some of them. We do a ton together. And we've got each other because often, our husbands are unreachable.

Moving stinks on any day, but when you've got to leave such pieces of your heart behind? Well, that's a whole different story.

It's bad enough that I have to say good-bye to my husband for months at a time. But every few years, moving me away from my friends? Well, that's a whole different ball of wax.

I keep pretending it's OK. I'm being brave because I have to be. But while I pack, I keep thinking, "Who's gonna watch Ella when I have a doctor's appointment?"

Or, "Who will I call to come check out some weird rash on her bum?"

Or, "Who will split a farmer's market share with me? Who will share their recipe for macaroons? Who will call me and tell me that the guys got hung up on the boat and won't be home till after midnight?"

Simple, silly worries, really. But if you listen closer, you'd actually hear me saying, "Who will laugh with me? Cry with me? Pick me up when I've fallen down and tell me everything is going to be OK, even when it's not? Who will love my children like their own and stand by me when there is no one else left? "

Who will be my friends?

Logically, I know that I've met people I love everywhere we've gone so far. I met people here - amazing, crazy-wonderful people.

So, in theory, Georgia should be a bastion of friends, too. It's a base undiscovered, just waiting for me to reach out and find my community.

And, yet, I'm afraid.

Unlike my husband, who moves to a new boat where there are 100+ guys he works with and goes underwater with for months at a time, I could live in our new house for the next four years and never meet a soul.

While that's not my style, it could happen.

And if I want to avoid that, I have to be, yet again, the new girl on the block, going to play-groups where I know no one, joining wives' clubs where no one knows my name. I have to smile and nod and play nice until I find my community.

Until I find a friend who won't scowl at my crunchy ways and who likes my big dog and who thinks my baby is a great addition to our life.

The older I get, the harder it is. Especially when you know you already have an amazing group of ladies here who know me, love me, and get me a thousand times over.

It makes me not want to move, at all. Even though we need a bigger home. Even though this is the best thing for my hubby's military career.

It makes me want to dig in my heels and stay here so I can be with my girls. So I can have friends who have my back while I have theirs.

While my heart screams "No! I love these girls!" I have to leave them.

This time, it's my turn. And I don't have a choice.

***

The husband leaving and the single-parenting gig? While I don't love those little attributes of military life, those I've learned how to handle.

But leaving behind the community of friends I made? The make-shift family God so blessedly pieced together for me here?

That's the part I don't like about being a military wife at all; that's the part that is the most difficult.

It's the part that makes me cry when I think about it. It's the part that makes me want to hug them all one more time. It's the part that makes me worried about what the future holds, without them living nearby at our next base.

It's the part I'm dreading.

Because while military life may not always be fun, for me, that's part's the hardest.

***

Happy Tuesday, everybody.

The Monday Real

No Messy Mom Monday this week.

Partially because we're in the thick of moving here, and my whole life is basically a mess, even when it's not Monday.

But mostly because my co-host Jess and I have both gotten requests from non-moms who want to join in on the messy madness. And because, when I wasn't a mom, I was still a mess, too. So I totally get that.

Not having it all together is not something that just happens to you when you have a baby. It's on-going for almost all of us.

So, we wanted to include any willing participant in the mess, and the current version of Messy Mom Monday wasn't doing that.

Plus, I'm not sure if any of the rest of you all noticed what Jess and I did, but a lot of our Messy Mom posts aren't really about being literally "messy," as much as they are about being real.

After all, that's where our inspiration came from. Being real. Being honest. Being us, imperfections and all.

So, thanks to Jess, we're tweaking Messy Mom Monday. More specifically, we're giving it a new name.

The Monday Real.

A link-up where anyone can join in, drop any facade, and get real.

Yes, we can still post the mess that is our dining room table. But we can also post about other realities that may not make the blog on a different day, where we're focusing on the happiness and sunshine and perfect little moments with our kids.

On Mondays, we can talk about our complicated emotions. our insecurities. The mistakes we think we may or may not have made.

Yes, those can be messy. But more importantly, they are always real.

So, next Monday, tune in here and over at Dude and Sweets for the first edition of The Monday Real.

Get a post ready; link up. And get real right along with the rest of us.

***

Due to the aforementioned mess that is my life moving life right now, if for some reason you can't find the link-up next week to The Monday Real on my blog - I've got uncertain Internet access starting this Thursday - make sure to check with Jess. At least one of us will have you covered.

***

Happy Monday, everyone.

Crunchy Moms, PCS-ing, and Almond Flour Pancakes

This week has been the week of the "Amen!"

I read a blog post and say it to myself.

I try out a recipe and say it aloud.

And I watch a funny video and scream it from the roof-tops.

"Amen! Amen! Amen!"

Lots of stuff spoke to me this week.

***

Jess, my fellow messy-mom buddy, wrote an amazing post about blogging as a Christian. It's real; it's different. It basically points out that, as Christians who blog, we often get all up in each other's business, pointing out that some of us aren't acting very "Christian" just as soon as we make a proclamation of faith.

I don't write about my faith a lot, mostly on purpose. Because a lot of the time, I don't want to engage in the dialogue and pettiness that so many other Christian bloggers seem to be party to. Jess' post explains why perfectly.

Another blogger I'm loving right now is my name twin Brittany, over Lessons in Life and Light. She's started her own photography business, and, as an act of artistry and activism combined, is doing a series of photos of women breast-feeding uncovered.

I have yet to comment on the current controversy stewing in certain places about whether or not a woman should or shouldn't nurse in a public place uncovered. I'm not sure I can engage in the conversation objectively after what I've endured nursing in public myself. But that doesn't mean I won't send you all over to see the beautiful, tasteful and important photos Britt is currently running. Go. Now.

Lastly, my sweet, wonderful childhood friend Melissa wrote a poignant post in the face of personal heartbreak and loss. She beautifully pointed out why we all need to be so much more careful when we discuss children and family size with fellow men and women. She handles the issue with grace and honesty. It's refreshing.

***

A friend and client of mine sent me to a link about how moving in the military (known in military speak as "PCS-ing") is much like having a baby. Man alive, it's true. True and funny. If you're a fellow military mama, you must read this.

***

Last Sunday, I made avocado chicken salad for a dinner with friends. I hate mayo, but I love avocado. So this recipe is the only way I'll ever eat chicken salad again.

And on the break-fast side of things, let's talk pancakes.

While we're not gluten-free in this family, I do try and limit our carb intake when I can. Which is why I tried making almond-flour pancakes this week.

Almond flour can be tricky to work with, but with this recipe, I was not only pleasantly surprised, I was astounded. Yum. You didn't miss the gluten at all.

***

Lastly, my midwives posted this little video on their Facebook page.

Now, I haven't found a lot of these other videos funny (mostly because I don't like the use of one oh-so-lovely word).

But this? This is funny.

I about peed my pants when I was watching, because my husband was watching my shoulder, and about the time where the actress goes, "Coconut oil...Where's the coconut oil?" he yelled out to to me, "Oh my gosh! That's you!"

And, oh man, was it ever. It's me to a tee. I've said almost all of the things she says in the video.

And I'm not ashamed of it. Because as serious as I take my healthy, crunchy side, I do realize how insane I also sound.

And how funny that is. To all of us.

***

What's on your radar? Happy Friday, everyone.

We Have A Home

On Tuesday, we spent nine hours in the car.

Nine long, boring hours with a baby who hates the car and who has learned to scream, hold her hands up, and chant "Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma!" with tears pouring down her cheeks.

In other words, it's kind of like the ninth circle of Dante's inferno.

But, for the first time in my short life as a mama, I can say this: It was worth it.

Because we found a house.

In what can honestly be described as a rather horrible and exhausting day, we drove down to our soon-to-be Georgia home, met with realtors, looked at homes, and finally settled on a place we thought we could live in for a couple years.

It's bigger, with great common areas, decent-sized bedrooms, and a functional kitchen. It's in a great neighborhood, with a community pool, playgrounds, plenty of (military) families, and a huge yard.

And it's close to work and base and all the other things we need every week.

But it's also older. And I won't lie; the exterior didn't thrill me.

Part of my big hang-up about this military lifestyle is that, when renting on a fixed income, you can never truly have your dream home.

We sacrificed a newer, shinier house for a home that is more open and airy and in a great neighborhood, where both Ella and I will be comfortable inside and outside. Where we'll have room to grow as a family. Where we can have company over. Where the adults and kids can all have a place to have fun and relax in the house.

Marvin will be thrilled with the yard.

My husband is stoked about the stocked pond he can teach Ella to fish in.

And I'm just happy we found a place that doesn't make me feel like the walls are closing in on me.

Still, that didn't change the fact that I had a mini anxiety attack after we signed the lease and filled out the gobs of paper work they handed us.

Because it isn't our dream home. It isn't perfect. It isn't shiny and new and exactly like what I dreamed of when I pictured myself a domesticated lady with children.

But it was in our price range and met our specifications. In fact, in almost all cases but a few minor aesthetic tweaks, it exceeded them.

And, yet, the worries came.

The fact of the matter is, I always do this.

In the rush of moving; in the bustle of discovering our new home and setting it all up, I always freak out. I always panic a little.

I always immediately regret putting pen to paper for something that is anything less than my ideal.

I always wonder, "Can I really live there?"

So far, the answer has always been yes.

I walked into the home we're in now and freaked out two years ago, too. And we didn't have Ella then.

But, for me, this is something I do.

I'm a homebody who lives a nomadic lifestyle. And I forgot how crazy-difficult that can be on me.

So, on the drive home, after I finally got Ella to fall asleep, and while my husband started talking more and more excitedly about what we'd do with the patio and the yard and the master bedroom, I sat next to the car-seat in the back and retreated.

Back into my own head. Back into the place where I let myself scream, "No no no no no! This is a horrible idea! I'm not moving! I refuse to move! I'm never going to like it there! I'll never have there what I have at our home now! I'll never be comfortable! There's nothing I like there! There's no one I know there! It's completely new, and I don't even know where to start! I can't do it! I won't do it! I'm. Not. Moving!"

I had this same conversation with myself two years ago, when we moved here, to South Carolina.

And, of course, I now love it here. This is our home, and I don't want to leave.

But I remember sitting on my couch those years ago, after being in this house a whole two days, and going, "We've gone and done it now. We made a horrible mistake moving me here."

Apparently, this is my process.

Regardless, after an almost sleep-less night, I woke up a bit happier Wednesday morning. I went ahead with a few online purchases - things I wanted for the new house that would make me happy there. I also made a few lists and began to envision where certain pieces of furniture would go.

I went from out-right to denial to "I can do this, but I'm still not totally sure about it."

It's a healthier place for me, luckily. Though honestly, the mini freak-outs probably aren't over.

I walked to work this morning, and the sun-rise was so beautiful, I started to cry; Ella in the stroller, me jogging along, like we do almost every day.

Because I love my life, and I'm going to miss what we have here. It's beautiful.

In other words, I'm a mess.

But this mess is moving in a week.

So, hold onto your hats, ladies.

If you've ever wanted to see a train-wreck blog, now is the time.

Next week, I'd wager you should expect a few freak-outs, some tears, and a few photos where Ella is balanced precariously in packing boxes.

Because I have the world's best baby who babbles happily at me while I pack, even while I'm wracked with mama guilt because I should be on the floor playing with her and not bubble-wrapping breakables..

And here come the tears again.

Man, next Friday can't get here soon enough.

And then again, it's coming too soon for my liking already.

***

Happy Thursday, everyone!