A Prized Possession

Before the hurdles of teenage mutiny and an overprotective father's instincts, there was a time when a father and daughter existed in a much simpler state. Before the shouting matches of "NO, you are NOT seeing that boy!" and "You are RUINING my life!!! It's MY life!!!", the distractions of conflicting wills weren't there to mask the beautiful relationship between a father and his daughter.

A polar opposite from my timid mother who expressed disappointment with silence, my father was the showman, expressing his will as law in his household, heavy with words and hand. Momentous battles took place, some leaving scars on both that would never truly fade away.

I used to view my father as the villain in my life, refusing to look past the layers of his mystifying actions. And as most stubborn young folk who don't get their way, I failed to see the parent's logic in forbidding and threatening and admonishing. It wasn't until I had one of my own did this strong-willed daughter realize the heartbreak I must have put him through.

As I rummaged through a shoebox of "junk" one day, I ran across a roll of loose-leaf lined paper held in place by a brittle rubber band. To my surpise, it held a treasure of letters, handwritten by my father ages ago while he was deployed at sea...and they were addressed to ME. He told of his heartache of being away from me and how he would give absolutely anything to be horsing around at home with me. ME. There were postcards and simple three-sentence notes, and then there were the two-pages long letters that spoke of his dreams and his love for me. It was a day of reckoning for a young mother when I read through those. To this day, they are tucked safely away, nestled in a keepsake box along with my children's medical bracelets and ultrasound pictures, a testament to how much I was and am truly loved.

Years passed and of course, there was always an occassional rift here and there to keep things interesting. But I'd like to believe I understand as much as a daughter can understand her father. He has always been one of my most vocal cheerleaders, seeing potential even when I failed to. He loves from afar, careful with his pride, still wounded from harsh words I said naively more than a decade ago. And no matter how many times I insist CASH would be my most preferred form of gift, he refuses...knowing I would spend it on the kids or the house or some other necessity. Instead, he bestows lavish trinkets (a laptop, a camera, a ridiculously expensive cellphone I would end up breaking in the long run) knowing full well his gift will be enjoyed only by me, as I am the intended recipient in the first place.

Happy Birthday, Dad. You once told me that everything you do will finally make sense once I am blessed (or was it cursed?) with children. It does. Thank you for never giving up on me, your stupid ungrateful first-born. I love you and I miss you.

Flashback

Taking a cue from fellow blogger, Pink Ink, I have decided to take a walk down memory lane and revisit the bedroom I occupied as a teenager. We were newly moved in to the Dragon Heights apartment complex in Sasebo Naval Base Japan after living for a time in a traditional Japanese home located on the local community. And since my father was deployed at the time in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, I conned my unsuspecting mother into letting me have first pick of the rooms. I ended up with the intended master bedroom with the fire escape exit to the hallway (freedom!). Here are the things I remember most:

1. Eggshell walls plastered with full page magazine ads. (I dunno, I guess I thought they looked cool, and I felt too cool to actually put up a pinup of a teenage hearthrob (although a couple years back in another base, my walls had NKOTB all over the place)).
2. That creepy radiator in the corner that banged and clanged all night during the winter. But, if you listened closely, you could hear the Dimayuga's conversations from upstairs. LOL.
3. My black Sony boombox piled high with stacks of loose CD's. Remember those things? It would blare out Pearl Jam and Soundgarden during the day, and soothe me to sleep with the Forrest Gump Soundtrack instrumental at night.
4. The expanse of cold vinyl floor between my full bed and the door...where my friends (who snuck in) and I (and sometimes my little sister) would sit in a circle and play rhythm drinking games with a bottle of Jose and a film roll canister as a shot glass. (Yep, folks. I was a BAD kid.)
5. The glass vanity I had in the corner by the radiator with various Maybelline products and a blow dryer I never used.
6. The tiny tiny window (jail cell-like) big enough to frame my face, overlooking the parking lot and the school.
7. I had a two boxes stacked on top of each other and draped with some blanket where I displayed my most precious possessions: a yak bone trinket my friend Ben (the one I had a monster crush on but turned out gay) brought back from China, a framed print of these two cherubs that my other friend Eric who is also gay (I'm a gay magnet!), and other miscellaneous stuff.
8. The door that adjoined to the full bath my bedroom and my parents' bedroom shared.
9. On the floor, the white touch-tone phone that had the mile-long coily cord that connected to the cradle that was always tangled up.
10. The blessed fire escape door that opened to an adjoining hallway. My passage to secret late-night parties down the street.


What was in your teenage bedroom?

Wash Before Wear!

After tearing holes in ALL of Soph's pants whilst exploring the potential of the slippery laminate floor, we trekked to the local Old Navy to pick out a couple pairs of jeans. With the number of deals available (or perhaps I convinced myself they were deals), I also picked out a couple of tops for the girls along with the pair of jeans we came for.

Anyway, when we came home, Soph was crazy excited to try on the new duds. Once determined they fit, she would not take them off; the new top and new jeans stayed on.

Fast forward a couple hours, I picked my "chingga" up from MyGym and noticed she kept slipping her hand down into her pants. "Soph," I lectured,"it's not polite to scratch your privates in public."

My admonishments continued until I noticed not only was she clawing at her nether regions, but practically everywhere else. I called her over and lifted her shirt and was astonished at the angry hives covering every inch of her torso. By the time we cut off Dylan's MyGym session short and arrived home, the rash had creeped up to all around her neck up to her hairline and ears. As I had feared, after removing all of her clothes, the rash was also around her upper thighs and buttocks.

I guess because we've never had a problem with it before, we have a habit of wearing new clothes before running it through the laundry. After this episode, I am fairly certain the clothes were the culprit. To further cement my suspicions, I googled allergic reactions to new clothing and found that FORMALDEHYDE is present inWell, new fabrics, especially those originating from China and other parts of Asia. NO WONDER!

Chalk it up once again to the bad mother in me. My poor baby. She's drugged up with Benadryl and fresh from a soothing bath. I'm just hoping her skin calms down.

So, yeah, WASH BEFORE WEAR! Skin does not react well to formaldehyde! Yuck!

**UPDATE**
Li'l girl has recovered perfectly. We are currently spending the day doing laundry.

Adding M&M's

L's deployment orders state a trip that would keep him away from the fam for 120 days. As a countdown to help the kiddies, we filled three separate jars with 120 M&M's, that they could eat one at a time for each day that passes. Even before he left, there was some rumbling about the trip being extended, but nothing too definite to count as concrete.

But recently, L's CC ordered him to change their tentative return date on their forms to sometime in June (can't really post the actual date...OPSEC and all). I've known of this news for a bit...but I think I've finally accepted it and have added the corresponding number of M&M's to the kids' jars.

Soph, ever observant, looked at the jar the morning after and said, "Hey! How come there's more than yesterday?"

I didn't know quite how to explain to her and initially tried to play it off like she was wrong...as if that would ever pass...and it didn't. Eventually, I gave in and explained her daddy has to stay a little bit longer because the people in Iraq need more of his help. Once she knew the truth, she took it fairly well, staring at her jar, and she just sighed, "Ok."

At that moment, I could feel my heart break at the sacrifice my little one, along with her siblings, has to make. Her precious time with her favorite person in the world is being taken from her...and she, with the impossible wisdom the military bestows on children as young as she, calmly accepts her burden. It is simply heartbreaking...but it also makes me so proud of this tiny little gem who has enough generosity in her heart to share her dad with those in a faraway land who need his help more than we need him here.

There is no other situation I can think of that can truly reflect the concept of "Team Och" than right now. Our star player is over there, doing what he does best (second to being the best dad and husband ever), and the rest of the fam is here, cheering him on, rallying to keep his and our spirits up, and just praying all will turn out well. These are the times we shine as a family, and as difficult as this time may be, it's validating to observe how well we cope with the challenge.

Roots and Wings

They say it is the wise mother who gives her child roots and wings. I never paid much attention to this adage until I was enmeshed in a gargantuan tribute photobook project for my mother. There's something about leafing through yellowing photographs of my own parents, a reflection of a life before they became 'mom and dad'. I marvelled at their youth, especially of the free fun-loving spirit my mother was back then. I admit my own narrow vision limited them to the disciplinarians and parental figures of my own youth. It was an enlightening experience, heart-warming, and priceless.

During a somewhat touchy conversation with a dear relative of mine, I had compared her stubborness and pride to that of our family, mostly in jest, yet still containing a ring of truth. To my surprise, much offense was taken. It seems any similarity shared between them was too great of an insult to tolerate. The situation was quickly patched up (although after this post, it may not be), but it remained in the back of my mind. It bothered me.

Given, my relatives on that side of the family are a set of characters in themselves. A bunch of nuts with a sprinkling of normalcy here and there (my cousin one of the few normal ones). Dysfunction reigns on that side of the world, and each of my clan has at least one fatal flaw in their person. But who doesn't?

Perhaps because I am so detached from the whole situation, I am willing to overlook such shortcomings. I have never really lived up close and personal with them, and haven't been continuously exposed to that lifestyle. Maybe that makes me more "tolerant"?

But I think it bothered me to that extent because in my view, disowning what is passed down to you in terms of heritage and culture, both good and bad, and simply identifying yourself as an individual in and of itself seems disrespectful somehow. We are who we are not just by what we make of ourselves, but also by our origin. Severing ties from one's roots is the ultimate denial in self. And only the humble can appreciate the true gift in one's heredity. More importantly, one can never truly fly without it.

Liv's Shenanigans

In bed, Liv called out to Soph.

Liv (devilish grin): Soph! Soph! Look! Look!
Soph: What?
Liv (still grinning, eyes darting from side to side): Look!

**I, of course, plagued by curiosity, began looking around for the object of discussion.**

Liv: Look!

Soph (getting impatient): Look at what?

Suddenly, under the cover of her pink duvet, a resounding *TOOT!* echoes in the room.

Liv immediately starts laughing and Soph quickly catches on and joins in.

I am amazed that this tiny runt can grasp toilet humor.

Godsend

Very recently, Soph had a nightmare in which "bad guys" put her face in the water and tried to drown her. The fear then developed and found itself the elephant in the tiny tiny room during bathtime. Once shampoo time came, Soph would sob uncontrollably and scream in shear fright. She was afraid water would roll down her face.
I've tried several methods to alleviate this fear...L "sending" her a dreamcatcher to hang by her bed did wonders, but this wonder product eliminated the need for me to climb into the bath and cradle her head backwards into the water to rinse out the shampoo.
I picked it up at the local Babies R'Us, but I imagine it is also available at Target since it offers this line of bath products. You need only clip it onto the faucet and turn on the water. It has a little receptacle for bubble bath solution, and also keeps the kids from bumping their heads on the faucet. Check it out!

Late Update

The hub called. Actually, he called fairly soon after I published the previous post. Conversation was as follows:

Me: Thank goodness you're ok! I've been going crazy here!
L: You were? I told you I was going to Cross Fit today.
Me: Yes, you mentioned that, but you didn't say what time or that you would be late calling me!
L: I'm sorry...

Okay, buddy, I can't read your mind when you stand right in front of me, what makes you think we have some sort of psychic connection half a world apart? Needless to say, my L got an earful during that phone call.

I was still upset after I heard from him, and still required aforementioned retail distraction, so I decided to shove the laptop away for a bit and let myself calm down.

It has only been a month, and I fear my guy is already getting too comfortable with the idea of being in a war zone. Given, he's not an EOD guy who has to leave the confines of the base to clear bombs from the road, but a war zone is a war zone whether or not you are inside or outside the wire. You would think helping out at the clinic with those injured soldiers should keep his head on straight. Yeeesh.

Thank you for your thoughts and prayers. I do apologize for leaving you all hanging. I needed some time to gather my thoughts.

AAAAGGGGHHHHHH!

It is 1040 in the morning. L always calls me in the morning. Usually between 0830 and 0930. He NEVER misses a call. NEVER.

Although I am fully aware of the many many harmless things that can prevent this routine call, my heart has been pounding a thousand beats a minute as the worst case scenario repeatedly surfaces in this paranoid mind of mine.

I am furious I am in this predicament...I am furious at him, at me, at the miitary...everyone and everything I can blame, I think I've done it twice already. 99.9% chance he'll be calling later with a sincere apology and a very valid excuse. But DAMN that .1%!!! Why does that probability seem so huge?!?!?

I need to get away from the house and immerse myself in retail distraction. Screw the budget, I need to calm my nerves!

Hate It

Normally a loyal fan of winter weather...after this season's crazy storms, I have deduced that I hate hate hate slush.

Mother Dear

The relationship between a mother and her grown daughter is a delicate one. I imagine it will also ring true when it comes time for my own to grow up and decide they don't need me. But just the same, as much as I have enjoyed catching up on the family gossip in the Philippines, and simply being with my momma around, I can't help but yearn for the routine I had so carefully and painstakingly established upon L's departure.

Sounds like the words of an ungrateful lout, you say? There are times I fear I am. Guilty as charged. It's just I have worked SO hard to create a schedule and way of doing things that both the children and I operate well under. And an extra person thrown into the mix, especially an exceptionally doting grandmother who throws rules and limitations out the window, sends everything into a jumble. Goals I have set such as bottle weaning and potty training have been put on pause, and in certain ways progress in such areas have been erased. (She sneaks the baby bottles, for Pete's sake! Where she finds these bottles, as I have thrown them out, who knows? Grandma-magic-land?)

I, the ungrateful daughter, feel sabotaged on some level.

The funny thing is, I realize it is some vicious cycle we dance around. She leaves and I crave her company. She visits and I'm pulling my hair out. I can't win either way. Maybe that is how these things must be? I sure don't know.

How are things with you and yours?

Ooooh! Flowers For Me!

I come home from an optometrist appt on V-day, D is standing there with a pleased expression as he clutched at a long narrow box with a giant purple "FTD" printed on its side.

"Mom, you got something from Dad!"

He hands it over to me and I snatch it up.

Hurriedly laying it across the counter and pulling the lid off while simultaneously gabbing on the phone with Missus Hep, exhilirated I get to share (and brag) that my hubby remembered the love of his life despite being so far away...

My train of thought: "He SAID he had something on the way, but it wouldn't make it by today. Was he lying to surprise me? Oh, there's a vase...and red roses...looks like a dozen...oh, and a teddy bear! Wow! That's really not his style...but ok, it's cute! Where's the card? There it is! "Miss na miss na kita..." What? Did L suddenly learn to speak in Tagalog? WTF! These aren't for me!" Go figure, the label was addressed to a Corazon.

It turns out my own mother suspected the package was for her upon its arrival and even voiced her concern to her grandson. But, he was so excited and convinced it was for me that he locked it in his room until I came home!

The hilarity!

Today, a Jimmy's Flowers van rang the bell and handed me a rectangular vase with red carnations arranged into the shape of a heart. L's style through and through. Although I DID double check the adressee label just to make sure.

Thanks, darling. I love them.

I'm BAAAACK!

My sincerest apologies to my ever-so-loyal readers. I've relished my role as a SAHM way too much to temporarily put it aside to make up for all of the National Guard drill weekends I missed. I worked from Sunday through Thursday last week, waking at 0400 every morning to make the daily commute over. Back in my active duty days, this was never an issue...I was used to it; it was a way of life. But waking at 0800 and finally snoozing at 0200 the next morning doesn't exactly pave the way for a successful transition into the workforce. I was the walking dead. And as I have shunned caffeinated products with the exception of one soda on Saturdays, I had no assistance from the bright red can during my struggles.
Soooo, update...here goes:
--First off, how's the layout looking? Is it too busy? I get way too fickle with my page; I needed a new look. Opinions, please.
--My bachelor's program in English starts today. Woohoo!
--My mother is still here visiting (that deserves a whole separate post). Coming soon.

--L is doing great. He is keeping himself busy, and he's impressed quite a few shiny shoulders over yonder.

That's about it. I have lots more to post...but it would be an injustice to mush it all up into one.

BIG BIG Thank you

I will never tire of writing of my wondermous neighbors. After a freak blizzard that blanketed the town in white-out conditions for the majority of the day, I wondered bleakly how I could get my battered muscles ( I had to endure a physical fitness run yesterday) to move that wet snow from my driveway. I was hoping for a miracle of high temps to melt it all off. It turned out as I drove home from running errands, I came home to my neighbors Sean and Rhead clearing the front of my house for me.
It is clearly an understatement when L says that he feels so much better about being away from the fam knowing we live in the neighborhood we do. We surely are blessed.

Thank you, guys!

Taunting

My oldest has found a hobby of taunting Soph relentlessly. Last night, during another of their battles, Sophie, exasperated, turned to her brother and said this:

"You make me SOOOOO mad! You are the best MAD MAKER eveeerrr!"

Of course, in D's world of big-brotherhood, it surely was the best compliment he's ever received.

Bug Tag

Thank you, Jill, for tagging me, as I have been wracking my brain of something to post about.

I am to name ten things which bug me.

1. Utah National Guard drill weekends
2. Every form of (cue whiny voice) "but, mom-"...don't they know I lay down the law?
3. Parents who are so obliviously neglectful of their kids, they actually think they're good ones.
4. Dirty floors
5. Flakes...of the RSVP sort.
6. Not being able to enjoy my meal without a pint-sized chickie climbing onto my lap.
7. Companies that don't accept Bill Pay and still require checks/money orders (get with the times, people!)
8. My leaking kitchen faucet
9. Shoppers who block the whole aisle (you're supposed to stand behind the cart, not next to it!)
10. JILL....hahahahaha. Just kidding! You know I love you.
10. The real one. My backyard!!!

I tag Brandie, Sarah J., Cammie, Kristin, Mel, and Jewel. Have fun!