When you call out my name, you know wherever I am, I'll come running, to see you again

For those who are new here, I keep most of my blog titles as song lyrics, or at the very least a close rendition of song lyrics. And I guess this is the reason for me being silent on this blog site, though, that is not that whole truth. The entire truth is, I really haven't had much time to write on the things I reflect upon. Mostly because the time I reflect on anything is when I'm in the shower or when I'm driving and in both of those situations, bloggin is frowned on. Nevertheless, there has been stuff to take up my time. Like, thinking I was going to have to prepare for a 6month deployment that was called off with only a few weeks left before he left. And then with only a year passing, preparing for a year long deployment which actually did take place. So far (and this is with knocking on SERIOUS wooden surfaces), this year-remote is going a little bit better than the last one just because I haven't received a call saying that the husband was being shipped back to the States because of a broken bone. As it stands now, I get to take the trip up to Greenland that never happened the first go around and this time I even have the option of taking our daughter. But, again, these are not the things that have been keeping me from sleeping or from being completely OK. These are just the things.

This time around, I'm in a place that I know and the car travel that I do does not involve mountain passes or cliffs or an infant who hated car rides and would just cry. This time around, I have places that I can go and things I can busy myself with doing while the child is at school and learning under someone else's supervision. This time around, I have built a support system on my terms and with people who have already been familiar to me, rather than trying to build new relationships with a baby who was yearning to toddle and make things even more exhausting. This time around, I had the benefit of the experience from the last remote AND the experience of what it means to be part of the military as a dependant.

But still, with everything that was handled came the things that were new and hard. Like having to deal with not just a crying baby, but a little kid with feelings she could express and trying to make sure not to make any lasting damage to her emotion growth. Like having to navigate the slight-to-major case of deja-vu because the last remote made such a lasting impression. Like having friends you want to hang with, but very little physical or emotional oomph to actually make it happen. Or, and this is a biggie, not having the network of reliable babysitting because the people who offer to care for your child who you trust are the very same people with whom you want to go out and have a good time.

This is not a cry for help or a pity party. This is just the mumbled frustrations of a gal who is only 4 months away from getting back a partner who actually actively shares the load. Not just the breadwinner. The partner who helps with the 4am wake ups from the kid with her masked whispers of "i....can't....sleeeeeeep" or the one who takes charge of dinner when my brain is too busy calling for a surrender.

I know I have the support system who would take some of my burden but it's not just about that. It's about being my constant companion. I wish I could say that I am replenished of all of my energy from a fun night out or an afternoon off. Unfortunately, I'm the sad sack who gets zapped of any found energy the moment "Mommy mode" kicks in. I love time to cut loose and have fun, but I know I have to be bigger and stronger than that because I have another human depending on me to be better.

I have let too many things take precedence over finding a mental health care professional to talk out all that buzzes in my head. I've had about two decades worth of stuff I should have unpacked, but over the last year when I've finally decided to deal with it, all I've been able to do is get some medication to help with the anxiety and depression. Which, quite honestly, may be the biggest superhero during this remote, not just the familiarity or any other factor. But I've left the work unfinished. I need to find the right person with a medical background to spill all of my pent up thoughts. I'm too tired, too sad, too angry, too invested in people I care about (including me, I guess) to not do the thing I urge others to do.

I need to breathe deep and easy, something I've only been able to do for a little at a time. I swear I have a much better version of me somewhere around here.

How bad does it have to be?

The me too hashtag. It's popping up all over to signify that you don't have to feel alone. And then, almost as many people who have seen it or maybe even say it are then perplexed. Why? Because they don't understand why saying it if it is so commonplace.

The hashtag was not meant ONLY for harassment, which I will agree is commonplace.
-Hey girl, why don't you smile, you'll be prettier.
-Shake that ass
-What? Why can't a guy just be friendly?
-Why can't you take a compliment?

Lewd gestures. Groping hands. Brushing touches. Staring, roaming eyes. None wanted.

yes. That is common. I also don't know a female who hasn't had to deal with it, ignore it, walk past it.

But, how bad does it have to get for the confusion to be gone?

If a person were to say, "Yes, I was raped", would that fine to speak up about?
or, I was a victim of sexual abuse as a child? or, I had my clothes ripped off, but he never got a chance to insert anything?

No, I was never raped.
No, I was never molested when I was younger.
No, I never was coerced to performing any sex act I did not want to.

But I did have to hide. I walked home alone from the corner bar to my house and an idiot in his SUV tried two slick lines and was upset I didn't return his attention with a smile. So he followed me. Down the street, turned onto the dead end street I lived on and followed me. I was able to slip into the shadows and waited until I knew his car was gone.

Was I raped? No.

Was I ever violated? No.
I think.

But I did have one night when I was out to a ball game with someone I had considered a friend and after the game was over, I wen to his place to sober up. I honestly can't remember what had happened while we were there, but I do vaguely remember something about his offering a backrub, but my only solid memory was that I had to relatch my bra and put my shirt on.

Or, another instance of finding out on the morning following a big farewell party that a friend saw me making out with someone I would never consider having any physical relationship with and then finding out that the male in question was sober enough to know how absolutely trashed I was, but decided to make a move anyway. And the odd betrayal I felt when I understood that my friend made no attempt whatsoever to make sure that I was ok with a strange choice.

Were those two stories something I hold myself accountable for? Yes. Does it scare me? Yes, anytime I think how horribly wrong either situation could have gone.

No, my story is not one of rape or child molestation. No, it is not a story of stupid comments from a caveman. It's somewhere in between and somewhat harder to explain and even possibly harder to defend why I contributed to #metoo.

Wave it off and say your 'Thank God"'s that it's not worse.

But I'm still not 100% ok with what it has done to me for the long run.

Long, long time ago, I can still remember how that music used to make me smile

It's been over a year since my last post.

We've been through fighting for Scott's job, making a major decision about our time here in Japan and finding out that we get to go back to our home state.

I'm happy. And tired. And sad. And excited. And desperately hoping I get to write down what is in my head so it doesn't just stay there to fester.

Here's to my wishes coming true.

When I was a boy, See that picture? That was me, Grass-stained shirtand dusty knees

Recently a friend tagged me on Facebook to notify me of a Kickstarter project. While I appreciate the need for this and I may buy this if found on a discount, here's where I lie on getting clothes (and general upbringing) for my daughter: why choose?

I don't think clothes should have to be either girly or boyish. Yes, there is a distinct lack of printed fabric with pirates or dinosaurs or zombies (except, I guess Monster High) in the girls' department, but why should this stop anyone to shop in just the CHILDREN'S department.

During her infant stage, I did encounter several Moms who would just take a glance and ask how old my baby boy was, based purely on the fact that she had short curly hair and a NY Giants onesie (or Mets, or a blue shirt), and I couldn't really hold it against people like that and their quick categorizations. That's fine. But that's not what irks me. I dressed her up (and still continue to dress her up) in things that are undeniably 'girly'. Examples:

But, there's nothing stopping me from doing this, either:

Mixing and matching from the entire department gives me options. It gives me the freedom to mix deep blue, a 'boy' color, with a pastel color, a 'girl'. But, wait -- there's more!

Why choose between girl activities and boy ones? I was in T-ball, jazz tap, baton twirling, volleyball, stage crew for the drama club, and babysat on a regular basis. There's nothing spectacular about this. And, I'll tell you, there was a long stretch of time where I thought to be a girl, I had to know makeup, and dress cute and not know about boy things. I got over that eventually.

The pushback also drives me a little batty. To put a label on yourself like 'tomboy' just because you are so emphatically trying to distance yourself from 'girly' forces girls choose on the flip side of the coin you are trying to fight against. (And, it also corners boys into feeling like they have to choose, too.)

I have Violet enrolled into ballet classes because at the time, that was the only class I could put a 3 year old girl. Do I have visions of Sugerplum fairies dancing in my head?

While she does make an adorable fairy, no - I had her in that class to learn teamwork, listening and to play with other kids her age. The VERY MOMENT she is old enough to try to throw her hips in an attitude position, pout and sashay around, I will let her finish out the recital and get her into T-ball or ANY OTHER activity that will help teach her teamwork, sportsmanship and listening skills. Mamma ain't got time for divas. (Not when she wants to get dirty like this:)

Nothing should really limit me in what I encourage. My only concern is to make my daughter a better human. Sports? Sure, go for it - in participation or knowledge, or for the pure enjoyment of watching. Fashion? Sure, go ahead and know what styles you like. But, just as Coco Chanel is a style, so is Punky Brewster. Construction? Sure, you should know how to operate simple tools without fear.

Dress down, dress up. Original Legos, Lego 'Friends'. Dinosaurs, baby dolls. DC/Marvel Comics, Disney princesses. (Disney princesses is an entire different can of worms of which I will eventually jot down ideas.)

When I Was a Boy - Dar Williams

It's 'and', not 'or'. And to play.

(ADDITIONAL NOTE: I know this is going to be slightly harder to apply for people raising boys, namely for the clothing part. But I don't have a son and only know about raising a daughter, so keep that in mind.)

Hello, How are you, Won't you tell me your name

When asked about how I was as a baby, my Mother likes to tell one story in particular over and over. She was living with my Dad and her little baby in Japan where she got to be friendly but was mostly quiet and didn't talk to many people while walking down the street. But she would notice people giving big smiles and would wave and she was confused for only a moment until she figured out the baby she was carrying was waving and smiling enthusiastically to EVERYone in her eye line. That was me: friendly, cheerful and emphatic.

That continued to be me until my preteen/teen years beat my emotional growth up. I still was able to make friends, but I let myself get too shy, too reserved. My bravery to approach people and have the notion that the good ones will become friends with me was muted. And for years, I let that shyness take over and limited my involvement and weakened my comfort level with people,

Then, I became a mother. And within the early stages of motherhood, I spent some serious time reflecting on what I can do to help the emotional growth of my daughter. I knew that I had to protect and cultivate her confidence level, for that is the best weapon against bullies and peer pressure.

Just recently, my Momma-Bear rage nearly got away from me when I witnessed a girl 2-3 years older than Violet try to openly exclude her because she decided she ONLY wanted to play with their mutual friend and not had to have the 'baby' play with them. I know that is how kids are, but her openly hostile bossiness gave me the instant fight-or-flight rush that made me want to immediately grab the brat by her shoulders and have a talk (ok, "shout" is more appropriate) with her about how to play nicely, especially with kids younger than her. But, I saw no reaction in Violet's face. Thankfully, she was blissfully unaware of what was being said, so I acted quickly, scooped Violet and her things up and whisked her downstairs to Scott so that she never knew of her "mean girl" encounter and I could continue with my meeting.

She was fine - she got to play with other girls and had a great time. But I had to spend the rest of the day getting my inner child to calm down. I know I have to get a grip and this won't be the last time, and the day Violet does get her feelings hurt, I have to prepare myself so that I can act like an adult.

Right now, Violet is so friendly and wants to be so engaged in people's lives by wanting to know if they have a family, how many kids, what are their names, where do they live on base, do they have pets ---questions, questions, hundreds of questions to get to know someone. Anyone. EVERYONE. People at the store, People on the phone. People Scott works with. People I volunteer with. Every. Single. Person. And I love it. She not only asks, but she remembers. And she files it away and she continues to broaden her friend-database.

For as long as I can, for as much as I can, I have to protect this. I cannot pass down my insecurities to her (as much as I can help that). I have to do that and somehow come to place where I don't personalize what she goes through. But, as in all things, this is a life in progress.

The one beautiful byproduct of watching my daughter's outgoing personality is that I have slowly rediscovered my own roots. I have taken her lead and have become more who I once was. Friendly, and more importantly, less afraid.

Sees babies everywhere she goes, And she wants (another) one of her own

When I was little, the only thing I knew for certain about my future was that I wanted to be a Mom. I didn't wonder what kind of husband I thought I would have or how my wedding would look or even where I would be living or what I would be doing for a living. Just that I was going to be a Mom to a small clan of offspring.

Well, 3 years ago, that wish came true with the birth of my daughter. I was everything normal for a first time mother. Nervous, scared, relieved, thankful, scared (because that feeling is worth mentioning twice), and truly blessed. Then, news came that Scott would have to spend a year away from us in Greenland and I decided that timing would work out fantastically so that we can have a little bit of time between Violet and the next baby. But, in all pure honesty, I was afraid of being pregnant with him away.

During my pregnancy, Scott was so unbelievably incredible that I was frightened at the thought of carrying our next child without him. So, I reasonably lobbied to wait and we’d start trying after he got back and in our first year of being in Japan. I thought that once my body bounced back from halting the birth control, we’d be pregnant in a few months. Tops.

Now it’s been over a year. Yes, most people have been optimistic and confident and encouraging, saying a year is not that long and we should keep trying. But sometimes people are too quick to encourage and not quick enough to listen. I say that I am 36 and they say, ‘oh, that’s not that old, you still have time!’ without really letting me say, no, my body does not feel 36. It feels 86. Joints, muscle, skeletal issues for me and a very present ankle problem for Scott. We have trouble literally chasing after Violet.

For a year, every time I find myself having a period, every time I see someone else’s news of a pregnancy, every time I am invited to a baby shower, I have the pang in my heart.  Most of the time I can get over it with a renewed sense of hope. But it's been harder and harder to get to that hopeful place with every passing month.

I count myself lucky with Violet and I do feel selfish complaining about my lack of a second child while I know ladies who have had miscarriages and still have no child. But my guilt over my selfish complaining usually is drowned out by pain.

I know we have other avenues, of course, and I’ve met one mother who went to an infertility doctor while here in Japan and another mother who has adopted both of her children, so I know I have at least two resources I can talk to in person. I’m not sure if we’re going to look into adoption (which would be more likely of a choice for me) or if we’ll decide to not pursue having a second child. I don’t know. I have doctor appointments lined up and I’m forcing myself to just wait. Pray and wait.

With the wheezes And the sneezes, And a sinus that's really a pip!

Being sick sucks. 

Being sick sucks on Valentine's Day, especially when your husband hasn't been home the last two. 

Having everyone in the house sick sucks. 

Being sick sucks when you're ovulating and the likliehood of getting pregnant is very low. 

I am mad at the whole situation and frustrated is not even close to the word that applies.

Sucks. Sucks. Sucks.