So, my mama decided to cut my hair.
I told her I was only three and a half months old, and that I couldn’t guarantee much head control; but, alas, she insisted.
There are four four year olds and two almost three year olds splashing around in my yard right now.
Which should be a recipe for fun!
But five minutes after I had finished slathering the last child with sunscreen, some of them were already to come inside.
“She’s splashing me!”
So, when Tiny Dancer came inside just now, I gave her the evil eye and said, “Gooooo back outside!”
She responded, “Or else you won’t paint my nails?”
And I answered, “Yes, or else I may never paint your nails again.”
I was piling my hair up on my head and tying it with my favorite silk scarf. Cuddle Bug stood behind me, looking on in awe.
“Mama, you’re like a princess!” she gushed. “Princess Tylenol!”
“Oh, honey, that’s sweet. But I’m Princess Advil.”
On Sunday afternoon, while at McDonald’s, I spotted a woman with a confused look on her face. I’m not sure if she was confused, or if her face had just been frozen that way.
Like, maybe, she was having a really rough day and one of her kids ran up and hit her in the back of the head.
But, I took note of the fact that there was really no other way to describe this particular woman (or at least that “confused” was her most defining characteristic), and I had to laugh at the conversation that immediately played in my head.
“Oh my goodness, are those two sets of twins?”
“I think so, that’s their mother over there with the baby.”
“Over there, see? The woman with the confused look on her face.”
“Oooohhh, I see her now.”
If you ask me a question in the comments section (and you care about knowing the answer), you should really check back because I will probably answer you there.
That is, unless I decide to answer you here, which is what I am doing right now.
Yesterday, Stephanie asked what I would write when I’d send letters to the Marines who were fighting alongside my fiance.
Well, Stephanie, probably nothing very important. I just reread one particular letter in which I talked about CNN and asked them if they thought Saddam was dead (there must have just been a bombing).
I wrote and sent stories, poetry, and devotionals; but mostly, I just told them how proud I was of them, over and over again (and sent deodorant, sunscreen, cigarettes and mouthwash).
I love me a Marine; and, quite frankly, I miss being a military wife.
Stephanie also asked if anyone was angry that we just ran off and got married.
I really try to block that part out. I thought the whole thing was incredibly romantic, and the looming guilt kinda tends to ruin the memory for me. But yes, there were repercussions.
To be fair to us, we didn’t “run off”. Papa Bear asked for my dad’s blessing, and my parents knew we would be getting married any day. They just didn’t know exactly when or exactly where.
To us: romantic and exciting.
To them: unnecessary and insulting.
But I was too caught up in the whirlwind to realize I was hurting anyone. In fact, I didn’t really notice at all until about a month later.
Oh, there you are hindsight! Good grief I can see you clearly!
Tiffany wants to know what happened next, and yeah, I guess there is quite a gap between our elopement and the start of this blog (and that’s assuming you’ve even read back to the beginning of this blog -which I wouldn’t necessarily recommend).
Well, we spent two weeks together as man and wife before he flew back to Camp Lejeune, alone. We’ve both decided that this was the first monumental mistake of our married life. But he only had one year left in his four year service, and he already knew he would be spending a large part of that year in Afghanistan. I didn’t know anyone in North Carolina, and he thought it would be too difficult for me to relocate there, just to be left alone.
I flew out to visit him twice (once for the Marine Corps Ball) before he left for Afghanistan. We stayed in seedy Jacksonville motels so that we could afford the two-week stays; but, nonetheless, those trips still hold some of my all-time favorite memories.
The week after he returned from Afghanistan we celebrated with a formal, planned, renewal ceremony.
We got pregnant right after our renewal, we were thrilled, and you can probably gather the rest from the scattered bits on this blog.
And I guess that’s it! But I’ll be back soon with some brand spankin’ new pics of the Baby Bear.
A few nights ago, I was loading the dryer while Papa Bear was getting into the shower. Through the bathroom door, I could hear him singing.
He was singing about his sunburn.
freak crisp, super crisp, I’m super crispy.”
Now, as funny as that might be, it’s not unusual. There is a lot of singing in this house. Our life is a veritable, and pretty bad, musical (we especially love the homage to the 80′s and early 90′s). When face-to-face with a picky eater, I am known to break-out into a chorus of, “
Beat Eat it. Just eat it. Open up your mouth and eat it.”
And the kids sing too, all day long. Bay Bit’s most famous ballad is a heartwarming medley of Jesus Loves Me and The ABC Song.
But still, Papa Bear’s shower song interested me, and I cracked the bathroom door.
“Did you know I was out here?” I interrupted.
“No,” he laughed.
“You were just singing Super Crisp for your own benefit?”
“Yeah, why? I always sing,” he insisted.
“Well, yeah, I know.” And then I brilliantly concluded, “I’m just never around you when I’m not there.”