Frustrated and watering a tree that doesn't want to grow.

I'm so frustrated this week because I'm running in 20 different directions. Isn't that every mom's story though? I have three meetings tonight, and I missed on last night due to finding out too late and having no back up childcare plan. Last night was a Marine Corps League meeting, the first back from summer break. I was so disappointed about this.

So, tonight, we have Open House at my daughter's school, which also happens to be the same evening of a parenting group session that starts tonight. We have to forgo one. Next week, I have a class that commences on Wednesday night which also happens to be the first PTA meeting of the year. Oh, yeah, and I'm SO going to be THAT parent. So, I'm hoping to make at least half of the PTA meeting before my class.

Of course, all of this begs the question, Am I the only one who feels like everything always happens on the same day or at least the same time? If the times didn't coincide, life would be peachy. One might say that this is where cloning might be a good idea. Scratch that, with my split personality tendencies my husband alleges I have, cloning might be detrimental to my reputation or that of my child.

I'm also trying to raise funds--beaucoup bucks to fund and initiate IRS filings for an organization. The money tree is not growing. I keep watering and watering and it looks at me, sad little sapling that could, and taunts me.

Yes, my dreams are bigger than the tree. Fear not! I have confidence in the universe. My mother tauts the powers of the universe, Put it out there, and it will happen, she asserts. Now, I enjoy a rousing discussion of entropy and energies as much as the next gal, but sometimes I don't have the intestinal fortitude to wait for the universe to spit something back at me in the form I desire. I'm impatient. I think (rarely brainstorm). I decide. I create. I like to see my plans realized instantly. You know, One shot, One kill instant. However, I know that just like red stuff in a plastic bottle, good things come to those who wait. So, I wait (drumming my fingers).

I think I need to go take a dip in the hurry-up-and-wait pool to bring up some of the patience I once had. Maybe if I wait really long, I'll be the next Albert Einstein or Stephen Hawkins. Hey, maybe I should talk to Mr. Hawkins about that whole universe thing. Maybe he's got some pull. ;)

Genius is eternal patience.

~Michelangelo

My little old lady.

I bet you didn't know I gave birth to a middle aged woman. Well, now, she's matured into a little old lady. Alright, so she's just an old soul with a penchant for music from a bygone era, much like her Mama.

Walking, hand in hand with her Daddy on her first day of school, he reported that she regaled him with the following:

I've got the world on a string

I'm sitting on a rainbow

Got the string around my finger

What a world, what a life ...

Good sign, right? She was quite obviously optimistic about her little world and the first day! From her perspective, opportunities abound, it would seem. I will admit thought that she hears the Michael Buble version more than version sung by Ol' Blue Eyes, just because that's the CD most often played in the Mom-Mobile.

Let's hope that after a rough day someday, I don't hear her crooning Blue's in the Night. Of course, that might just come after her first little crush heart-break. Of course, if she ends up makin' it big, like Katie Melua, I think I could handle almost any song she wants to sing.

WW

Watching from afar. There were no tears, for those of you wondering.

Bittersweet Feelings - a little girl and her hero

While folks are buzzing and bickering about Vice Presidential candidates and recent Olympic memories, my sights are set on smaller, yet, important-to-me things for the time being. Today, I ushered my daughter into a whole new world. We met her first teacher at Open House. My daughter shouted to me after asking her thoughts today, "Mommy, my teacher is going to be
F-U-N". That's right, off to Kindergarten she will trot next week. Of course, don't get me wrong, I don't normally dismiss political issues or athletic triumphs for grade school matters. Still, right now, this is what counts. The campaigns still have a few good months left in them, the first day of Kindergarten; however, is breathing down my neck.

I have all the usual emotions—excitement, happiness, sadness. It's all bittersweet. My first baby is going to school. She's growing up. The worst part, I'm not going to be there to see her off. I'll be at home, probably balling my eyes out.

Our daughter declared "Daddy is taking me to school on my first day. Mommy, you can pick me up later." Hmph. Trying not to pout, I plastered on a smile for my girl and hoped she can't see the tears in my eyes. I wanted to be the one to bring her and hold her hand and watch her walk into her classroom. I always planned on being the one.

When I see my husband don his uniform and throw his sea bag over his shoulder as he boards a ship, I know he's going to miss things. These types of things often are seemingly small but are big in our world. In a life where change is constant and deployments plenty, it's nice to have the little things and childhood moments to share. Fortunately, he's home right now, which is why HE became the chosen one and not me.

Despite my melancholy mood about the situation, I know how much it means to her that Daddy is home right now. He's missed so much in her little life so far. Being there to escort her to her first day is an achievement—an extremely proud moment for her. He's her hero. Who wouldn't want to show off their very own superman to a new set of friends? Smart girl, I have, very smart girl who loves her Daddy so.

In 2025, my boy will be old enough.

He will be old enough to enlist. He will be eligible to apply for entrance at any one of the military academies. Of course, my girls, being older, will have reached that eligible age already. However, for the sake of all that is sugar and spice and everything nice (and to not cause ulcers in my husband's belly), we'll just discuss the boy.

I was a Marine. My husband is a Coastie. Stop laughing. Yeah, yeah, he can swim, and I sink. I've heard it all. Carry on.

At any rate, we are obviously a military family. I had always envisioned that if I bore a son, he'd grow up to show interest in the military. Notice I say show interest? I'm not going to force him. My husband is quite possibly going to dissuade him. Still, I can't help but wonder what the years will bring. I am on the fence about the matter, which is quite comical because (1) he's still in diapers and (2) since it will really be all up to him one day.

I see many parents in this day and age cringing at the thought of their child trotting to the local recruiter's office. I try to put myself in their shoes. It's frightening. It's got to be. I'm sure for many, it's honorable and they are extremely proud of their youngin's joining the Armed Services, but not everyone feels that way.

I've recently been reading about a mom named Carla. You see, she writes a blog "Some Soldier's Mom" (and apparently many other things) all about her life as a military mom and spouse. In 2004, she wrote:

We always thought he would grow out of it. The wanting to be a soldier. It was going to be just a fad he went through. Like most boys...Although his two older brothers were in the Navy (one after high school and one during college), we actively discouraged this son from enlisting. It wasn't that his Dad and I objected to the military, but we wanted him to consider all his options. At his insistence, enlisting remained a part of every conversation we had with our son about his future.By his senior year, we were certain that he could be distracted from enlistment as his and his friends' attention turned to colleges and graduation. By November, we had become so tired of his insistence that we sign the consent for the Army's delayed entry program (DEP), that we forbade any mention of it until after the first of the New Year.

He honored our wishes. Until New Year's Day. Then the floodgates opened. And every day after that, multiple times each day, he implored us, begged us, pleaded with us, argued with us to meet with the Army recruiters. We refused. After all, he was still about 90 days from his 18th birthday. No amount of cajoling or urging on our part could convince him to apply to colleges. With the talk of war escalated, he never wavered. His friends talked to him, but even they will tell you that he wanted to serve, that his highly developed love of his country and his patriotism drove him.Three weeks before his 18th birthday, accepting that it was unlikely that he would change his mind, we agreed to meet with the Army recruiter. But we made no promises other than to hear them out...He wanted infantry. He wanted Airborne. Straight. Square. Bold. Certain. He looked us firmly in the eyes and said, "Yes, Dad. Yes, Mom. This is really what I want."

(To read Carla's full post, visit: http://somesoldiersmom.blogspot.com/2004_12_01_archive.html for her most updated post, please visit: http://somesoldiersmom.blogspot.com/)

So, I guess my worrying is for naught. My son will grow up. He will ultimately make his own decisions. I should know this. I should accept this. After all, I too had the passion (perhaps rebellious streak) that Carla's son had. I too had my heart set on the military much against my parents' (mostly my mother's) wishes. When I was 17, I joined the DEP and less than a year later, I was on a flight to Parris Island to begin my military journey. *sigh* I suppose if my son is anything like me, I better get used to this idea now.