With little more than 2 1/2 months remaining in Brian’s Air Force career, we have both been hit with the realization that this is not just a job we’re leaving. We’re not merely moving to a new city or a different house. We’re leaving behind a lifestyle. We’re saying goodbye to a community that we’ll never really be a part of again. Sure, Brian is and always will be a veteran, but there’s a different camaraderie amongst active duty service members and their families.
And while this change is 100% what we want for our marriage and for our kids, the bitter part of the bittersweetness hit us both last Friday night like a ton of bricks.
Or like 50 cannon blasts and an amazing fireworks display.
Nearly one year ago, Brian and I made the commitment to maintain a weekly date night with each other in order to make time for our marriage and to give us approximately 4-6 hours every week where we don’t have to worry about cleaning up another human being’s feces or vomit.
Oh, sorry. You’re not eating, are you?
I almost always plan our date night activities because Brian never cares where we go “as long as we can be together.”
[Okay, NOW I’m going to be sick.]
As I mentioned several weeks ago, Brian is voluntarily separating from the Air Force this fall, and we are in the process of looking for a job, looking for a house, and moving out of our current house here on Fort Leavenworth. In addition Brian is working longer hours this week while I’m wrangling a 2-, 3-, and 4-year-old in 90 degree heat with 337% humidity.
Anxiety cocktail, anyone?
Long before Brian and I had children, one of my absolute favorite TV shows was Supernanny. This was a reality program where a female, British nanny named Jo observed the dysfunction in a household and then coached the parents on how to undo years of bad habits they have instilled in their children. Shows like Supernanny are simultaneously hilarious and disturbing to people without children. Brian and I would sit there — in all our childless naïveté — and bemoan the parental failure on public display.
I mentioned on my various social media accounts yesterday that JJ, our 4-year-old, wished Brian a very happy “Fodder’s Day.”
It’s almost like he knew about this blog and that Brian provides me with an infinite amount of fodder for it.
I got a text Tuesday from a friend and loyal blog reader asking if everything is okay here in the Land of Milk and Hotdogs. I suppose my absence from the blog for more than a week throws up red flags. The truth is that my heart has been so heavy this past week that I didn’t even know where to begin. Still, I’d like to share what God has taught us in the midst of a devastating family tragedy.
The next time someone asks me what I do for a living, I’m going to pull out the following photo and show it to them.
I’m a mommy blogger. So, I basically force my husband and kids to do fun things with me so I can blog about them.
No, I’m not pregnant.
Just wanted to answer that question before you even have time to ask it. Trust me, when/if I’m pregnant again, you will immediately see shares of Krispy Kreme soar 800 percent.
Give or take.
This BIG news is not quite as life-altering as giving birth, but it is (in my experience) no less stressful. By the way “stressful” for me is both exciting/fun and terrifying at the same time. I actually enjoy a certain level of stress in my life.
Probably because I just love the taste of Pepcid.
Y’all may remember last year’s string of hypochondriacal posts like the one where I diagnosed myself with Bleeding Esophageal Varices and the one where I told you about my embarrassing trip to the ER. These are still two of my favorite video posts of all time. Probably because they’re both incredibly melodramatic and also exactly what happens inside my brain when I allow myself to visit WebMD without a chaperone.
It’s like unleashing a monkey inside a banana store.
[With metaphors like that, I can’t believe Katy hasn’t won a Pulitzer yet.]
If only they had a “blogging” category.