DrawnInFaces.com

I’m fairly confident I’m going to offend someone by the end of this. There’s absolutely no denying that I’m no longer capable of caring.

Back one night when it was still February, I sat down after putting the mongrels to bed and penned a little something to…I’m not even sure who it was intended for, but I put it in words all the same. Specifically, I talked about being frustrated about my irritation at seeing all these girls I used to call friends talking about how helpful their baby-daddy is, or about going to the spa while baby-daddy watches the kids.

The ridiculousness of it all is not lost on me, I can assure you. I’m more than well aware of how absurd it is for me to be getting so bent out of shape about it all. No one needs to tell me about how little good it does to whine and complain over my own inconveniences. That’s all been solidly reinforced in my mind. Every day I wake up and face the reality that nothing I say or do can change what lays ahead of us.

But really, is it so much to ask that I not be subjected to daily reminders? Can I not wish that things were different…that I didn’t hafta do this all alone? Am I not allowed to get bummed about a piece of my life being taken away and sent halfway around the world to protect the rights of people who don’t deserve the service? People who have absolutely no respect for the sacrifices that he and our family are making.

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And on that same train of thought…I’d like to “broadcast” a reminder to the jerk-offs who have forgotten this little fact. These men and women – our service-members – are not (all) voluntarily going to these foreign countries. They don’t want to be over there fighting every day. In case it wasn’t completely clear, they have families, too. They have husbands (because there ARE females in the military) or wives and kids…FAMILIES that they have to leave behind.

My husband is missing a year of our childrens’ lives because he was given ORDERS to leave us and go fight on behalf of our country. That’s right, they’re not instructions or options or choices – they are orders. Of course he could disobey, but that would ruin our lives and destroy any worth-while future our kids could have.

Please, for the love of whatever you want to believe in – remember that they’re people, too. Don’t be like the dick I encountered at Wawa today, who saw my military dependent’s I.D. and decided it was his business and his responsibility to inform me that my husband is “a stupid fucking baby-killer” – those were his words to me, so forgive me – and that I’m just as bad as him for “knowingly and willingly supporting a murderer.”

At this point, I’m over it. Between today’s shenanigans in my personal life, and the Supreme Court ruling I’ve been seeing people mentioning all day – the one about the right to protest at military funerals…I’m done with the politics surrounding the military. I live this life, day in and day out and I don’t want or need to discuss the politics surrounding it all. In my mind, the reality of it is simple. If you think the people currently doing the job are so incredibly incompetent, then you should step the hell up and do it yourself. If that doesn’t work for you, then I’d invite you to come to MY home & start your schtick here. You put your 1st against my 2nd, and we’ll see who wins out in the end.

If you won’t stand behind our troops…by all means, please go stand in front of them. Idiots make big targets, and anything to draw attention away from the heroes is fine by me.

…I got ogled by prison guards & there was nothing I could do about it.

Right, back story probably necessary in this situation. Yes? Ok, here goes.

Our friend is in prison. Guilty or not, this is his fate. And since he obviously can’t come to see us, we drove to the SouthWestern tip of VA, then stayed in a WV hotel Friday night to visit him Saturday morning.

Let me just say, while the scenery & the view are absolutely spectacular? The drive to get there is almost a form of torture all its own – when made w/ my husband, at least. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so scared in my life! (And considering scaring me was like an Olympic even in my family, that’s a new level of hell, all its own.)

Anyway, we got there in one piece, signed the visitor’s log, processed our paperwork (which was a feat in itself), & were doing the security search to enter the actual prison grounds & the visiting room. Apparently, there’s a rule against “ripped clothing” & I get that. You don’t want some chick coming to visit her old man & all the other cons making eyes & then causing either a riot or a brawl later on. But seriously? I’m 22, & most of the jeans made that fit me have “distressing” on them somewhere. No skin was/is visible, due to the placement of the “holes” so it didn’t *technically* break any rules. But this female guard was all about by-the-book, so I had to wait for a Sgt or Cpt to come make a decision.

Decision making process? I had to let male prison guards who could’ve easily been my father check me out. Awesome. My crotch area, my butt…I’m fairly sure they woulda checked out my “rack” if I’d bee wearing a different shirt & not holding my daughter. Under normal circumstances, I raise holy hell if someone looks at me like that – consciously looking for something that could be sexually enticing. And holy cheese, I wanted to then, too. But really? If I said word one about it, they would’ve instantly suspected something & either further detained me, or just not let our whole family go see our friend. And THAT? Would’ve been a total waste of our time after the hassle it had been to even get there in the first place.

So there you have it – I was ogled by prison guards, & I couldn’t make it stop. I know – you so wanna be me.

Sometimes? I go through the day simply repeating the same things over and over and over (repeat 923xs) again. Today? Its been this stuff:

~ take/get your finger out of your nose
~ sit down on your heiney
~ no you may NOT hit your sister
~ get yourself off of my coffee table
~ that TV is not a jungle gym
~ put the toy down before I throw it away
~ throw that & I will throw you (so I’m not perfect…I’m over it, are you?)
~ do you WANT to go see grandmom & gia this weekend? Then you should probably cut that crap out
~ you are 3 and you are 2 (very nearly on both counts, shuddup) so you can go right ahead & feed yourself. I’m not here to put your apple slice in your mouth so you can bit it anymore

What kind of stuff do feel like you say to your kid(s) allllllllll the tiiiiiime?

“Hell honey – that family is just a bunch of crumbs, cuz somebody done danced the flamenco on all their cookies!”

Clearly, she has a pretty damn good idea of what she’s talking about.

I’ve been trying and trying to pull together the inspiration to post something. For whatever reason, I’ve got nothing.

Or maybe I’ve got it wrong, & there’s too much inspiration and I can’t buckle down to focus on just one thing.

So, here’s hoping that if I toss it all out in the open I’ll free up my head and be able to re-focus myself enough to get back to some quality posts….

~ We’re moving into our new apartment in less than 3 weeks. Now, when I say new, I mean that since the building contract changed to civilian control every unit has been gutted & refurbished, so we’ll be the first people to live in it, & it will be wonderfully fresh.

~ I’ve never lived on my own before…never been without some kind of support system more stable than myself. This will be a new experience and I’m more than a little nervous about it all.

~ 2 full weeks ago, the girl child and I spent a long weekend completely alone. The boy child went with the grandparents and oldest aunt to AL to visit The Husband’s grandmother for an extended weekend; at the same time, The Husband went to drill for 3 solid days. It was some of the most relaxing time I’ve spent since becoming a mother, & I still wanted to go hide in a hole for a month when the cavalry came home Sunday evening. Clearly I have high hopes for our new life.

~ Since we’ve had the majority of our furniture packed away in a storage facility for the better part of the last 18 months, actually packing ourselves up from here with MIL & FIL is a nearly non-existant task. Plan is to load things from storage to my aunt and uncle’s trailers & truck beds to be taken to the apartment, and everything from the house will probably fit in the backs of a couple minivans & some additional pick-up trucks to make the 15 mile treck to our new residence.

~ Despite appearances, my ‘berry is experiencing some serious difficulties and I’m beginning to lose my patience with it. (For instance, I updated WP for BB & lost the whole App Zone. Its just…gone.) Time is not moving fast enough to be able to upgrade this piece to something better without having to pay for it. Makes me sad.

Amazingly, I’ve gone from having a lot to say, to having it all come out in a big spray of word vomit, to now I’m scrambling to try and drag things out because I really don’t have all that much worth saying. I suppose what’s most important right now is that I’m trying to tread water and little things are resulting in big waves making it harder to keep my head above water. I’m around, always around. Things are just keeping me rather busy, trying to prepare for this move. Please don’t forget me. I’ll be back once things settle down and I find my center.

Please take note, this was from Saturday, that is all.

Dear Momma,
Is it horribly wrong of me to feel somewhat vindicated by today’s unfolding of events? Mayhap I should explain first: Last night The Husband and I went out for a few hours to see some friends, sans our kids, and we got in late. It probably wasn’t my best choice, since I’ve not felt 100% lately, but I needed to get out of the house to be a grown-up. Well between going out and being semi-sick, and us staying up so late, I somehow managed to stay in bed until a bit after noon.
By the time I was jarred awake by piercing baby screams, and then whacked in my eye by a swinging pacifier keeper, I went out into the hallway to a seething The Husband, babbling about how he was losing his cool because he was left all alone with his own children. I was taken by the face and told that if it meant I never had a social life again, I would never “lounge in bed while the kids run around terrorizing things.” I think I laughed at that since Boogaloo tends to fall when he runs, and Pickle hasn’t even started to crawl. Well that didn’t go over nicely. Everyone was gone, the kids both needed attention at the same time, and there was no help to be had, since their mother was sleeping and “ignoring the cries for help from downstairs.”
Let me take this time to say that it was 12:30, the kids got up at 9, and “everyone” left the house at 11:30, so they’d been fed and entertained for the morning and it was PAST the beginning of their usual nap time. It took me less than 10 minutes to get them both calmed down and into their respective cribs for naps, where they BOTH stayed for the next 4 HOURS.
My words to The Husband about the situation? “I get up with you at 6AM, Monday through Friday, struggle to get back to sleep by 7AM, and then get up for good no later than 8:30AM with the kids. By that time ALL the people in the house are LONG gone. I have to contend with dirty diapers, the likes of which make me gag, and then clean up dog shit from the kitchen floor before I can even bring the kids downstairs. I get both of them contented, fed, and entertained by 9:30. ALONE. And then, to top it all off, I manage to put the pair of them down for naps, by 12:30, 1PM at the latest. Please do not forget that I have no one available to wake up when I’m overwhelmed, and I haven’t EVER called you at work to ask you to please COME HELP ME NOW in a half-crazed voice. I know and understand well how you feel, dealing with them alone, but it does NOT compare to what I do while you work. Have a full-on function-ceasing panic-attack and I’ll give you some attention, but you will never have my whole or even partial sympathy.”
Now, keeping in mind that I get EASILY over-stimulated or “touched out” when the kids want to sit on my face from wake up PAST nap time and REFUSE to go to sleep, I consider his experience an easy day. I’ve been victim to full-on panic-attacks that render me useless; like I have no choice but to put both kids in cribs with bottles in their hands, then walk away to hug my knees and rock while they scream each other and themselves to sleep, because if I keep dealing with them I’ll snap, and there’s no near-by relief team to come in and dry tears and quiet the screams…my tears and screams, that is. I ask you again, was I too harsh with my words and attitude, since he was an integral player in the creation of said crazy-making babies? I think not, ’cause I’m a crazy, heartless bitch today. And, really, every day he’s an inconsiderate jerk.

Heartlessly,
~Caitlin