Stuck

You ever just have one of those weeks? You know, the kind where you have absolutely no motivation in all aspects of your life? Yeah, I'm there.

I've battled depression my whole life. I finally had a great doctor diagnose me years ago with dysthymia, an ongoing, low-grade depression that can easily slide to full-blown depression. I don't take any medication, because I'm a bad pill-taker and quite honestly, don't want to spend the rest of my life on Prozac. I'm not anti-medication at all, because whatever malady you have, if your doctor gives you medicine for it, you take it, right?

This week I've been down in the dumps. There's no particular reason; I guess it's probably a myriad of small things.

I'm alone, all day. Addison leaves for school at 8 a.m. and is home at 3:30 p.m. Adam goes to work at 5:30 a.m. and usually is home after 5 p.m. That's a lot of hours for me to twiddle my thumbs. Quite honestly, I can't get into the housewife frame of mind. I can't clean all day. My brain needs constant stimulation, although I do enjoy trying new laundry detergent and continuously smelling my clothes. Ahh, yeah, that sounds weird, sorry.

If I could pinpoint what is getting me down, maybe I could try to change it. But usually, for me, there's nothing specific that gets me down. I guess I'm in a rut. I hate that summer's over (besides on the calendar) and it's not Fall yet. I love Fall and decorating and getting pumpkins and everything related to it. Sometimes I get so sick of summer that by late August I will put out my Fall decor inside my house, just for something different. It's kind of hard though when it's 90 degrees outside to get into the autumnal mood.

Most people tell me to get out and do something, maybe I'll feel better. I'm not quite there though yet. Usually it will take me a few days to wallow, then I get back on my feet. I hope it happens this time.

So Far Away...

Although I have been known to quite regularly trash the military when I get pissed off, for the most part, I can't complain. I'm not going to spell out all the benefits, but there are definitely ups and downs.

One of those downs is living so far from family. Our closest relative is my sister in North Carolina, about 8 hours away. Most of our family is in Massachusetts, about 22 hours away by car.

Most military families move every two to three years. My husband just hit his 13-year mark in the Army, and we are still at our first duty station. We have been incredibly lucky to be able to do this, especially since my son is 9 and has never had to move. He knows about moving, and has been very sad to see so many of his friends come and go. In a few months, we will make our first move to Savannah, and I'm not complaining!

The point I'm trying to make is this-it's hard to not live near family. How I would love to visit my mom on a Sunday afternoon and watch a Patriots game. I wish my dad could just come by and pick up Addison to go golfing. I wish my son knew his extended family better.

Adam's dad and brother came and visited us this past weekend. They left Monday morning, and Sunday night, Addison was upset. It breaks my heart to see him cry, to know that there's no possible way in the next seven years we will be able to live a short distance from any family members. I am upset he will not grow up around his aunt, uncles, cousins and grandparents.

I have a feeling, though, once we move to Savannah, we will see a lot more relatives coming to visit!

Chance of death with scattered injuries...

Addison is my only child. He is 9 years old and weighs 73 pounds. He turned 9 just over two months ago. And he's playing tackle football.

I was okay with this until us parents were told that since there weren't enough kids signed up, we would have to play teams off-post (in the city of Columbus, Ga.) if our kids were going to play football. They had prepared us for this, but at the parents' meeting Thursday, I felt like I was trapped in a bad dream.

If, we as parents, decided to take our team off-post, we had to be prepared: the kids our kids would be playing against are twice their size. They have been playing tackle togther since they were 5 years old. Their parents (not all, but some) will trash talk in your face. Oh, and yeah, they will not win a single game.

Ahhhh, okay thanks for the warning. But no, then we had to sign a form that said our child is very likely to suffer from low morale and low self esteem since they will get creamed every game. There is a high chance of injury-the worst last year was a broken clavicle. Nice.

I was upset and ready to yank Addison from practice and take him home and try to stuff him back in my womb. Then Adam said, "You tell him he can't play football then." I tried to calm myself, because I know Addison has been dreaming about playing tackle since he was 5.

That night, I told him he wasn't going to win any games. Do you have any idea how awful that feels to tell your son that? "Coach said we might win one or two" he told me. "That would be awesome if you did, buddy, but I want to prepare you that you probably won't" I told him. I also told him he was going to suffer from low morale and low self esteem. I'm pretty sure he had no clue what I was talking about, because he's a pretty confident kid.

I'm not trying to be all doomsday, but I also believe in being honest with him. He's a mature 9. To try to take the brutalness out of what we were telling him, I also told him that as long as he wanted to learn the game, play the game and have fun doing it, then we would support him wholeheartedly.

He stepped up and said he wanted to play quarterback and now he's co-captain. I'm so proud of him that it kills my soul a little that everyone is so negative, including myself.

I will worry endlessly this entire season. Stay tuned.

Vitamin B12...puhleeze....

The newest thing going around here is Vitamin B12 shots. Fellow military wives are paying up to $200 a month for the shots and appetite supressants in an attempt to lose weight. Are you kidding me?

Whatever happened to good old fashioned exercise? B12 is not going to make you lose weight. It is going to give you energy, and if that helps you exercise, great, but seriously, you're better off paying $200 bucks a month for a personal trainer to get you off your butt.

Everyone wants to lose weight, but are too lazy to do it. Everyone wants a magic pill or magic shot because they can't put down the Twinkie and hit the gym. Apparently, if you're willing to pay enough, you can get whatever medicine you want from the doctors around here.

I don't have a lot of energy (I'm naturally lazy) but when I feel like I need to lose a couple pounds, I muster up as much motivation as I can and get on the treadmill. I walk around the field while my son is at football practice. Last night, I let my husband be my personal trainer. Um, yeah, do NOT let an Army Ranger be your trainer. You will be like me today-shaking arms, walking like I got a stick up my butt, etc.

I'm not knocking B12 shots, because if your doctor recommends them, then that's different. A lot of people need to look at their eating habits, lifestyle and exercise regimen before they go and seek out unnecessary medication, though.

Time in a bottle

I've read a lot of blogs lately and noticed a lot of stressed out moms. Moms of babies, toddlers and young kids. I'm here to say, as much as it sucks right now, it gets better. And then you want to cry.

First, let me say, I am in no way knocking anyone in the military or their spouses. But typically, us in the military tend to get married early and have kids when we are young. I'm not sure why, but it's just the way it is. I know personally, I got married at age 22 (hubby was 19-I'm a cradle robber!) because we just couldn't afford to not be married. We were engaged and just sped up the wedding date because really, if we were going to get hitched anyway, why not do it sooner and stop paying rent for free housing?

I was 25 when I had my son, Addison. This is considered "older" in the military environment. I would say the average age, or at least from all the people I've known in the Army, that 19 or 20 is about when most women have their first baby. It feels weird when I see classmates on Facebook who have real young kids and even older people who have babies. It's just not the world I live in.

Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is this - hold on to those days as long as possible. I know, it's not the most fun, but before you know it, your child will too be a 'tween, and won't give you a kiss in front of his friends. He will know Linkin Park and Jimmy Buffett songs by heart (only if you're cool like me though-just kidding). He will be playing tackle football, and talking back like a 16-year-old.

I missed a lot of time wishing Addison was older. I didn't seize the days when he was innocent, and didn't know dirty words. I don't miss wiping his butt, but I do miss a lot.

Nine years old isn't that old, I know, but fourth grade seems so old to me. I remember fourth grade, and my friends, and my Cabbage Patch Kids. I remember my teacher, Mrs. Charbonneau, who told me I sneezed like her hamsters, Chip and Dale. I remember my weirdo friend Christa, who told me she ate crayons. I remember my friend Nova, and how sad I was for her when her dad died.

I constantly marvel at the young man Addison is becoming. I'm so proud of him, all the time. I'm also jealous, because he's the best at math in his class, he was the ace pitcher on his baseball team, and now he stepped up and said he wants to be quarterback of his football team. And he's good at everything. He can drive a golf ball almost 150 yards. He's a natural athlete, which he most obviously doesn't get from me (see: Adam wins Best Ranger Competition 2004).

I worry needlessly about him, all the time, and Adam thinks I'm crazy. But hey, he's my only child, and he's getting bigger every day. If I could only put time in a bottle...

Too lucky? Knock on wood...

While I was trying to turn my mind off before sleep last night, I started thinking about drama. Not the club in high school, but real-life drama. It seems like I am one of the few without a drama-filled life. I don't have a middle-schooler or high-schooler in an intense boyfriend/girlfriend relationship, I don't fight with my husband and I'm not typically stressed out.

What does happen to me, though, is I tend to empathize with my friends. When one friend gets stressed, I get stressed right along with her. I talked to my best friend in the whole world last night and she sounded depressed. After I got off the phone, I was immediately depressed. When a friend fights with her husband, I feel her pain. Why this happens, I don't know.

I do know that I am blessed. I have an awesome husband, an awesome kid and two dogs who enrich my life. It sucks not working, and I miss that extra money, but at this point we are supposed to move in a few short months so it doesn't make sense to try to find a job now. I am able to freelance and have a regular weekly column in the newspaper I used to work for, so that keeps me busy for a whole hour once a week.

All in all, I am happy. I wish my friends could get these vibes from me. It would make my life so much easier!

Phelps-Greatest Athlete Ever?

Michael Phelps, Olympic swimmer, is awesome. He's an great athlete, I'll give you that. I feel a whole lotta pride when he wins a gold for the USA.

But the greatest athlete ever? Maybe, if you're talking about gold medals, or even medals in particular. I made this point to Adam last night-most athletes in the Olympics don't have the opportunity to try to win eight gold medals. Misti May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh, who play beach volleyball, are totally BA. But they will never have 11 gold medals to their name, because they can only win ONE every four years.

Swimmers like Phelps have the opportunity to rack up the medals. I'm not trying to take away anything from his performance, because it's quite obvious he deserves those golds, but come on, he has a lot more opportunity to rack them up because of the various events he does. And, it hasn't been just him who won two of his golds this year, he was part of a relay team, so those other men get credit also.

When I think of the greatest athletes of all time, I think Tiger Woods, Babe Ruth, Roger Federer, Annika Sorenstam, etc. I couldn't begin to name just one person greatest athlete of all time.

Emotional

I'm right in the middle of Aunt Flo visiting, so I don't know why I'm so emotional today. Maybe it's because I realize Addison is growing up too fast. He's nine now and playing tackle football. I can never recapture those days when he was tiny and shoving t.p. down the toilet, creating his own Lake Nash in the bathroom.

Maybe it's because Adam told me there's a chance we will move earlier than expected, before the end of the year, and as much as I want to move to Savannah, there's a part of me that will always have Fort Benning near and dear to my heart, since I have two best friends that live here and we've been here what seems like forever (12 and a half years for me, 13 for him).

But I think what affected me most today was going to the commissary. That's the grocery store to you civilians. A lot of retirees live in the area, and on any given day, the commissary is overrun with cute little old people who get to my orange juice before I can.

Since my grandfather died in March, every time I go to the commissary by myself, there is always, ALWAYS, an older gentleman sitting on the bench, in the exact same spot, and they always have white hair, like my grandfather did. What gets to me the most, is that these men stare at me like they know me. I'm nothing special to look at, so it's not like they're ogling me or anything.

I swear, their eyes bore into my soul. It's like they look right into me and know how much I miss my grandfather. Or maybe my grandfather is communicating to me through them, as wonky as that sounds, but I truly believe it.

When I was going to the register, I had to walk by this gentleman again. I got a really weird vibe when I walked by him, a sort of electrical charge. I can't explain it. I wish I could.

I realized that I didn't have sandwich bags, so I had to run back out to the PX. That's the Post Exchange for you civilians, like a department store. In the less than mile drive, I saw an old man take a left onto the off ramp of the highway. I started freaking out, wondering if I should call the MPs. That's the military police for you civilians. I was so disturbed I took a lot less time at the PX, trying to get back to the off ramp and make sure he was okay. I didn't see him or any MPs or ambulances, so I am saying my prayers that he figured out his error and was able to make it out of there okay.

Yeah, I'm emotional. I'm weepy. But I'm not going to fight it, because I very rarely cry anymore. Twelve years of being an Army wife and six overseas deployments can harden even the softest person. I'm not going to keep it in anymore.

Nasty as they wanna be

One of my best friends had surgery on a nerve in her arm a few weeks ago, and has been receiving physical therapy at a local hospital since then. This morning, she texted me with this: "Nasty question of the day: why don't women wash their hands after they go to the bathroom?"

One word: EWWWWWW.

Granted, I am an admitted germophobe. I can be a little lax at home, but in public, I always, always wash my hands, unless it looks like maybe I'll get some incurable disease just from touching the faucet, but that's rare.

But in a hospital? You know how many disgusting germs are floating around there, and are on every imaginable surface? I shudder to think about it, and wonder if this ever crossed the mind of these nasty women.

I can't even write anymore, I'm going to Lysol every hard surface in my house and maybe my body too.

They call me The Streak

I found this link to a Website http://www.joshhosler.biz/NumberOneInHistory/SelectMonth.htm via Twitter, and almost fell out of my chair. If you click on the month in which you were born, then the day, and scroll down to the year, it will tell you what the number one song was on that date.

Fittingly, the No. 1 song on May 29, 1974 was The Streak by Ray Stevens. It took me a second to place it, then heard it in my head: "Well they call him The Streak." It's about a dude who streaks.

It immediately brought me back to high school, when I was really dumb. The group of knuckleheads I hung out with decided that streaking while we were drunk would be really fun. The only rules were that you had to have your shorts or pants down around your ankles (undies too) and run down the street yelling, "Woohoo woohoo woohoo!" And of course I did it. I was even co-captain of our "streaking team" and the girls' captain. Sorry, mom and dad.

The saddest thing is that I'm not even ashamed of it. Oh well, guess I'll never grow up.

Wisconsin

The Nash family traveled up to Wisconsin last Thursday to see my BFF Ely and her husband and 5-month-old son, Thomas. We are Tommy's godparents so we went up for his baptism. We had an awesome time, and I miss them terribly. We got home safely yesterday. We split up the 15-hour drive through Sunday and Monday, which turned out to be a good idea because our GPS, named Rose by Adam, ass raped us Sunday and sent us through Chicago.

Here are some pics from our trip: