eMail to the Front
Page 3
Just like every other parent does, I guess. We're not that different, after all.
6
The Lawn Mower SNAFU
June
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: The lawn mower is not working.
06/02: We just bought this thing before you left and there is no reason why it shouldn't work Maybe I need to change the oil?
06/03: I got your e-mail about the little rubber button on the rear of the engine and pumping it. What does "prime the fuel in the mower" mean? Also, is there a correct number of times to pump the button? I pumped it at least 35 times, but it didn't seem to help.
06/04: It's not really fair to expect me to know about flooding the engine, if you don't tell me. I'll go try again.
06/05: It still doesn't work. I really think I need to change the oil.
06/06: How would I know if the spark-plug wire is loose from the top of the spark plug???? I didn't even know that lawn mowers HAD spark plugs.
06/07: What's a spark plug?
06/08: I changed the oil. I even turned the mower upside down to make sure all the oil drained out. Then I put fresh, new oil in it. I asked the guy at the shop, so I know I got the right kind. I filled it to the top.
06/09: Evidently I wasn't supposed to put so much oil in the mower. The smoke went away fairly quickly, though. Connor even got to go for a ride in the fire truck.
06/10: This is ridiculous! We paid good money for this mower and nothing works. Our grass is so long, I think I saw leopards and orangutans wandering around. I am taking it back to the shop. If they think they can sell me a defective mower, they are seriously mistaken. I am not some meek person who will put up with this. I will sue them for fraud. I am taking it back first thing tomorrow morning.
06/11: Apparently lawn mowers need gasoline.
Most married people develop a comfortable system of who does what. It's a big part of the reason for getting married in the first place. We all have different strengths and preferences.
He's a gourmet cook; she thinks microwave mac and cheese was a great invention. She does the gardening; he cleans the garage. After a few years of marriage, it becomes a seamless process.
Unless you're a military spouse.
Once deployment starts, the whole system ends up in the garbage. Which you now have to take out, by the way.
In our marriage, the lawn is firmly on Judd's side of the balance sheet. I'm allergic to everything green and growing; he worked in a nursery (the plant kind, not the baby kind) to help pay for college. So it just makes sense that I never had to do anything in the way of yard work.
Then came deployment.
We had a nice, sensible apartment in Florida. A lawn service came once a week, at about 5 a.m., and woke us up by firing up weed whackers underneath our bedroom window. Normal city life, in other words.
Then we moved to Washington (state of, not DC) and into a house with a lawn the approximate size of Yosemite national forest. We actually had deer wandering around our backyard eating berries off the bushes. Most people would think, "How lovely. Whidbey Island is so beautiful and unspoiled, we have deer roaming from the forest into our yard."
I thought, "How wonderful. Deer poop."
Note: It is a basic law of physics that one six-inch pile of steaming deer poop located anywhere in a five-acre yard will be found and stepped in by any child worth her $79 Nikes.
So, faced with the deer-infested yard, and being unemployed and frugal, I decided to mow the lawn myself. Planning the logistics of Mowing Day was something like Patton planning the invasion of Sicily. Only he had help.
First, I had to find something to occupy Connor, so he didn't get anywhere near the lawn mower. It's important to know that tiny boys are irresistibly attracted to anything with a dangerous engine that might potentially chop an arm or leg off. Also, Child Protective Services frowns on tying children to the porch railing.
Or so I've heard.
Then, I had to determine the range of the nursery monitor and map the areas where trees, hills, or the neighbor's karaoke machine would knock out the transmission.
Finally, Lauren had to take a nap. During the daylight. When it wasn't raining. This is easier said than done in Washington.
After accomplishing all pre-mission tasks, I began the actual mowing.
I am very proud to report that three days, two boxes of allergy medication, seven broken fingernails, and three temper tantrums later (only one of which was mine), I paid a neighbor kid $50 to mow the other two-thirds of the lawn.
The deer poop still hasn't come out of my shoes.
7
You’re Off Saving the World, and I’m Home Cleaning Dog Vomit
July
To: Alesia
From: Judd
Subject: The Bahrain Hard Rock Cafe
We were flying again last night and worked with a British Royal Navy ship. One of the people talking to me on the radio was obviously from Scotland and had a very heavy accent. I'm sure he was saying the same thing about me!
We went to the Hard Rock Cafe in Bahrain for dinner (absolutely not like any Hard Rock we've ever seen, picture a bunch of people in turbans eating burgers). I had a BBQ Lamb sandwich (their "most popular sandwich") and, as you might expect, I have an upset stomach. I think I just need to get used to stuff and am going to try some new foods the next time we go out. In the meantime, you might want to mail me some Pepto-Bismol.
Priority mail.
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: It’s been one of those days.
When you wake up and step in dog yark the moment you get out of bed, and that was the high point of your day, you're in big trouble.
I read your e-mail about flying with the British Navy and talking to some Scottish guy over the radio. I wonder if his wife wants to escape and move to Mexico, too? We could be beach buddies . . .
And the Bahrain Hard Rock Cafe sounds fun, too. Probably not a lot of women in Harley tank tops? We had lunch at the exotic Whidbey Island McDonald's. Gourmet chicken McSomethings.
P.J. keeps trying to make a break for the hills every time we go out, even with me standing right there. He's a city boy, and all this wilderness is messing with his tiny doggy mind. He sort of sidles off, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, like I won't notice. Much to his dismay, I send his butt back to the house. One taste of freedom, and suddenly he's Jack Kerouac. Next he'll be wearing a little leather jacket and singing biker-dog songs.
The neighbor said we have CANNIBALISTIC COYOTES around here who have actually EATEN some neighborhood dogs. Are you getting this?? You moved me to the wilderness. Me, the woman who considers "roughing it" to be a hotel without room service,in a place with deer poop all over the place and pet-eating coyotes.
I have decided that I'm not what you would call a domestic goddess. The house looks like very messy burglars ransacked the place. I am pretty much too tired to care—Lauren had me up four times during the night. Another growth spurt, they tell me. She is going to weigh 600 pounds and be 12 feet tall, at this rate. When we finally got to sleep at 5 a.m., Connor decided it was time to get up for the day.
I am shipping you the children—watch for a box with airholes in it.
To: Alesia
From: Judd
Subject: Still sick
We are back in Bahrain and just finished moving into the barracks this morning. I'm feeling pretty miserable, since I have a cold now. Sneezing, coughing, and stuffed-up head. If it gets worse, they'll down me from flying. Things are pretty busy here. We had another flight last night. When we get back, we usually have another two- to three-hour debrief. Along with the three- to four-hour preflight, it is usually about a 15-hour day or more. I miss you so much and am sorry you're so tired. Give Connor and Lauren lots of hugs and kisses from me!
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: Guilt trips and other journeys
I am scum. I'm c
omplaining about stepping in dog vomit, when you're off saving the world. I'm sorry. I just get so wrapped up in exhaustion some days. I hope your cold is better and you get some rest.
Please know I am so proud of you for what you're doing. We talk about Daddy every day and blow kisses to your picture every night. The kids love and miss you. Talk to you soon.
8
I Don’t Churn My Own Butter, Either
July
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: Learning to be on our own
We are getting into a routine and figuring out life without Daddy. It is pretty sad around here in the evenings and on Sunday, though. Sundays are always the worst, for some reason. The lack of routine, I guess, plus Sunday was always our laze around with the whole family day.
We went to church today, and I was brave enough to leave Lauren in the nursery for almost 14 whole minutes. It's the longest I've ever been away from her. NOTE TO SELF: I really need to get a life.
After church, I decided to let Connor "swim." It's a beautiful, sunny day here. So I inflated his little pool, put on his sunscreen, filled the pool with warm water on the patio, and made a "tent" between two chairs with a sheet for the tent and a beach towel for him to sit on. He was so happy!
I went inside for 30 seconds to get Popsicles, keeping an eye on him through the screen door and window. When I came back outside, an amazing sight greeted me: a naked boy mooning me from inside the tent, as he arranged his towel just so. I asked, "Connor, why did you take your swimsuit off?"
He looked at me like I was a complete idiot: "Mommy, I didn't want to get my towel wet."
In other exciting news bulletins, Lauren had her first green beans today and, right on schedule, had her first green beans poop shortly thereafter. It was truly nasty, yet even I can't believe my life is reduced to e-mailing you halfway around the world about green baby poop. This must violate some kind of international treaty.
I went to a spouses' meeting, and every single person in that room is coping with all of this much better than I am. I felt like a total loser. One woman brought homemade chocolate fudge that she was up till 3 a.m. making. She said she threw out the first two batches, because the sweetness-to-chocolate ratio wasn't just right. I'm not kidding.
I brought a tray of cookies I picked up at Albertson's on the way. The sweetness-to-cellophane ratio seemed fine to me.
The hostess's house was perfect, too. It looked like something out of Home and Gardens, while ours looks like the "before" picture in an ad for house-cleaning services. It was very depressing. (I did console myself with three pieces of homemade fudge, though.) The whole experience made me want to learn to cook, or bake, or at least churn my own butter.
In my continuing slide into life as a bad sitcom, I went out for some "retail therapy" afterward. I had a makeover and spent more on makeup than I did on my first car.
p.s. When does that combat pay thing kick in?
To: Alesia
From: Judd
Subject: Green bean poop
You have no idea how reading an e-mail about green poop braces a man to go off to battle.
p.s. By the way, just how much did your first car cost?
One of my big problems on the first deployment was that I was secretly convinced that everyone else was managing better than I was. It was so reassuring to talk to other people like me who loved their kids more than life itself, yet also wanted to change their names from Mommy to something else. Fred, for example. Of course, when I tried this on Connor, he never missed a beat. "Freeeeeeeed, can I have a juice pop now?"
You learn to cherish the little accomplishments. At the park one day, one of Connors friends said to me, while we all sat around and played in the sand, "You're the only Mommy who gets dirty!" I considered this to be high praise. I want my kids to remember me as a fun Mom who played with them, not as the woman whose house was always spotless. Especially when we were all coping with missing Daddy so much.
So, no, I didn't churn my own butter. My house usually had toys, books, and games strewn all over. But, you know what? It's OK.
I'd write more, but I have to go build a tent.
9
My Nomination for Mother of the Year Got Lost
July
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: I am a terrible mother.
Connor was cranky all morning and afternoon, and he wouldn't nap. I actually gave him his first spanking. He was being a total monster, and when I tried to put him in the Time Out chair for a little break, he hit, pinched, and bit me. So I swatted his little behind once.
Then I burst into tears.
He's acting out so badly, and I don't know what to do. At least four times a day he says, "Mommy, don't ever leave me," or "Don't leave me like Daddy did." It's awful.
So, now I am officially a child beater and should surrender my right to be a parent and give myself up to the proper authorities. I don't think I've ever disliked myself so much.
We had a talk then and much cuddling and hugging. I think seeing me cry upset him much more than the smack (which he didn't actually seem to feel), and so we cried together a bit. I told him that I miss Daddy, too, but we need to be nice to each other.
To: Alesia
From: Judd
Subject: You are a wonderful mother.
I'm sorry that Connor is taking this so hard. I will try and call you soon, so at least I can talk to him on the phone. I know it's so tough for him to understand why Daddy's gone. I'm using the camera you sent to have everybody take pictures of me doing the things I do in a day, so Connor can have a scrapbook of Daddy. It's a great idea and maybe it will help. Talk to you soon.
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: Separation anxiety
The separation anxiety around here is amazing. Connor cries when I take him to preschool, but when we talked about quitting preschool and staying home with Mommy on those three mornings a week, he cried and said he wanted to go to school. I am pretty much at my wits' end.
He has learned new expressions at school, too. This week he learned the word GROSS. Everything is gross. He yelled in from the living room the other night: Chicken is GROSS. I started laughing so hard; it was just so funny and unexpected. Now, of course, it's every other word. I wonder what other exciting words he'll bring home?
Lauren had a busy and productive day rolling from her back to her tummy. She really hates being on her stomach, so it's pretty amusing. She manages to roll on her tummy, looks all around, and gets really ticked off. Then she either starts howling, so I flip her on to her back (at which point it starts all over) or she figures out, "Hey, I know how to roll back over again!" and does that.
There's a grim determination to it all, like she's got a job to do. She's going to roll on her tummy 50 times a day or else. Baby punching the development time clock. It's fascinating to watch. She is so beautiful she takes my breath away.
I made cookies to take over to P.J.'s home-away- from-home to thank the woman for rescuing him TWICE after he ran off. Did I tell you that there are roving packs of coyotes around here that have been known to attack neighborhood pets? Also, raccoons with no fear who actually came through the doggie door into the neighbor's garage and raided the dog food. Great. Just call me Grizzly Alesia. Maybe I can start trapping whales and harpooning beavers for a hobby.
I'll send you new pictures of the kids, as soon as you send me directions on how to get this digital camera to work. I really bring the phrase "mechanically challenged" to a whole new level, don't I?
We are trying a new routine of having special Connor-and-Mommy time now. Every time Lauren goes for a nap, we get out the "special" bag of toys and games. Connor gets to choose one, and we just play together for 20-30 minutes. I'm not getting a thing done around the house, but it is helping him a lot.
Doing laundry is so overrated, anyway.
10
Lattes and Diet Coke Transfusions
July
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: This is how cults brainwash people.
They make them stay awake for days and days at a time, and then make them shave their heads, eat tofu cupcakes, and ask total strangers for money.
Sign me up. They've got to get more sleep than I do. I could look good bald . . .
You're flying your check flight today, if I have the time change thing right and one of the ancient planes didn't die on you. I'm sending you good navigator vibes (sun rises in east and sets in west, remember—or is it different there? And remember, when in doubt, EJECT. 10-4, Roger, and all that stuff.)
I told Connor he had to help make my birthday cake this year, since you would be gone. He and I counted to my age together. He looked at me solemnly and said, "That's a lot of numbers, Mommy."
We went to the art festival today. Then we were inspired, so we came home and painted a T-shirt for you. I'll ship it off to you tomorrow.
Connor's handprints came out great. In case you want to know what the green splotch is, Lauren wouldn't spread her fingers out, but got a death grip on the fabric instead. The so-called washable paint really isn't, so now they're both napping with green fingers. Not one of my better ideas, maybe, but it was fun!