Caving to the Demands of the Dog

During the winter, I always keep a case of bottled water in the back of the car so as to satisfy our thirst at a moments notice. As the spring has progressed, the water has gotten warmer and warmer and then yesterday, after DC hit a record high, I noticed that the bottoms of the remaining bottles were starting to bulge, creating water-bottle-weebles. It was time to bring them in. When your water hits 100 degrees it's undrinkable no matter how parched you are.

So carry them in I did, and dropped them all just inside the back door while I went back for bags of groceries. While out at the car, I heard Dog going ape-shit. I wondered what the problem could be inside; he always follows me in and out, in and out, while I collect the bags, sniffing for the bag that holds the roast beef. But the barking and barking had me worried. I hurried back inside to see him perched right next to the half-full* case of water, looking from the bottles to me, back to the bottles then me, trying to get the message across, "Give me a damn bottle!"

*Yup, I'm an optimist.

Your dog may enjoy rawhides or bones or squeaky toys, but mine likes empty (or not-so-empty) water bottles...

In fact, he demands them:



And then he tears the paper off:



And then he chews them to pieces:



And then he demands more:

What Would Cheer Me Up?

I cannot write.

Swim team and Dive team season has started.

I have been rudely and unmercilessly thrust into the world of summer and pools and teenage girls in teeny-tiny bikinis with flat stomachs and abdominal muscles that you can actually see as they are not disguised by tummy-fat and stretch marks. Their thighs are not just thin, they also don't rub off a layer of skin every time they cross the pool deck. They have long hair that makes them look young and carefree (not lazy and witchy like some of us). They are laughing with their girlfriends and flirting with the lifeguards. They aren't yanking at their "tummy-taming-tankini", assuring adequate coverage and reading National Geographic with one eye on focused on a child.

I have been harshly reminded that I'm turning 39 in a few weeks. Until I look in a mirror, I believe that I'm 18. When I actually stop and observe, I am surprised to see a middle-aged woman staring back at me, slightly out of shape, hair a tad too long, sparkly pink nail polish a tad too young.

I am wholly and fatally depressed.

I think I'll go hang out at Curves for a while.

The Last Leg Home

Looking out the car window, I am surrounded by miles and miles of farmland. Big squares of corn, huge rectangles of soybeans, all lined up, stretching to the horizon. There are no hills, forcing the crops into a crescent shape, or mountains, requiring terraced plantings. It's a quilt of green, the seams made up of county roads and mile-long driveways, the image broken by ancient brick farmhouses and solitary Oaks standing sentry, guarding my passage Home.

The drive from Indianapolis International Airport is less than 60 miles, but each and every time I have made that trip, I've felt like a princess, my carpet of green unrolling before me, I-65 my private path to refuge. The trees in the distance mark the winding of the Wabash, following me almost to my parent's doorstep, the landmarks never changing: "Cowboy Bob's" house, Lebanon, the Lincoln Lodge, the Lindy Freeze in Linden, the "Castle House" in Romney, and once there, I know I'm within 7 minutes of Home.

I've lived in stately Virginia, with rolling hills and green forests separating neighborhoods, in grand California, the Pacific stretching as far as the eye can see on one side, a deadly desert on the other, I've lived in ancient Japan, with forests of bamboo and hillsides covered in tea, but none make me feel so welcome as my patchwork of corn and soy, a lone Oak my beacon Home.

Hugh Jackman. Mmmmmm.

In the time-honored tradition of our Alternative Parenting Style, Tater and I took Mac out of school today, right after lunch, to go to the movies. X-Men: The Last Stand opened today and we needed to see it Now.

Dillon was pretty sassy last night when he told us that he was going to go see it tonight. Until we told him that we were seeing the matinee first. We would have taken him, but he had 2 SOL tests this afternoon and couldn't miss school. Sucks to be him.

I suppose I should see X2 now...

What Happens When HRH Hogs the Computer

News for today:

Got my powercord back! (Thank you Hotel Del.)

Worked, windexed, mopped, vacuumed, 409'ed, then sat down to hang with Mac. She missed me so much she boggarted the computer AND made me watch So You Think You Can Dance.

On the plus side, I perused a Land's End and in a moment just before I slipped into a boredom coma realized that today is Taiko's Birthday. Happy 6th Birthday, my furry little buddy!

Friends

At 9:30am last Wednesday morning she opened the door. We were just standing there. She couldn't comprehend that Dianne and I were on her front porch at that moment and she simply started at us, looking from me to Dianne and back again. Finally, after about 10 seconds, when her brain caught up to her optic nerve, she covered her mouth and squealed, our cue to start laughing and shrieking ourselves. She fell back on the stairs, in a moment of pure, Victorian drama, and began to tear. She pointed at me, "YOU emailed me last night!" (Expressing, again, my remorse at how I was going to miss her big day because of my Stupid, Stupid Job.)

"Yup... from the airplane."

Group hug and crying.

Her mother-in-law, Janine, and nanny, Esperanza, came to see what all the commotion was about. She grabbed them, "These are My Girls! Paige and Dianne, who said they couldn't come!"

"SURPRISE!"

Group hug and crying.

There were tears and laughter, hugs and squeals.

And then we woke the baby up. And got reprimanded by Esperanza.

Bronwyn put on a fresh pot of coffee, while telling us how, regrettably, she had to be somewhere at 11am, but that we could catch up until she had to shower.

At 12:30, Angie, Dianne and I left her house so she could get on with her day.

But in the course of those 3 hours, we had caught up on the past 2 years worth of chatter. We hadn't all been in the same room since our trip to Hawaii in May of 2004. There was a lot to say.

For the rest of the week, Dianne and I moseyed around Coronado, eating breakfast out, shopping, taking walks, and sitting by the pool, where we had our own slave waitress to bring us Pina Coladas and Mudslides whenever we so desired.

Except on Thursday. Thursday was the reason for our trip. At 10am, Dano had his Change of Command during a ceremony that always has me in tears from the moment the colorguard marches the flag to center stage for the National Anthem. But I can be like that.





At 2, Tiaras properly donned, we headed to the Hospital for Bronwyn's Retirement ceremony. It was a beautiful ceremony, ripe with Tradition, Honor, Laughter and tears. Twenty years is a long time to dedicate to any one task, and Bronwyn accomplished it with Grace and Finesse; Style and Strength while at the same time being Navy Wife and sometimes even a Commanding Officer's Wife. Both big jobs, in their own right. While any ending is bittersweet, this one is more sweet than bitter. Bronwyn became Mother to a beautiful, beautiful baby girl last fall and so begins her True Calling.

But before she could start that, we needed Esperanza for one more night. The night of the Retirement Party! Behold:



Dano on air guitar. Air guitar? Inflatable guitar.












Ohana Annie








Paige, Dianne, Annie, Angie







Cara & Bronwyn







Hula Paige & Bronwyn







Matt & Dianne








Laura & Paige

Emily

Guess what I did last Tuesday night!

Angie and I had dinner with Emily. And we had a great time. She was adorable and taller-than-I-thought and funny and so nervous she was almost shaking. I didn't think I was that scary, but I also don't think I'm high-maintenance. I have heard otherwise.

Anyway, I believe she enjoyed herself, despite all the freaking out, and it was fun to get to know her, see photos of Lissa, and hear, first hand, their plans for the future. We tried to introduce her to Greek food. She had pasta. In less than 2 hours, she busted me for being Easily Distracted. (I am hoping she thinks it part of my Charm, as Annie does.) I also got to tele-meet Lissa, who called just at the end of our dinner and sounds super-sweet. It would be great to meet her one day as well.

Please Standby. We Are Experiencing Technical Difficulties.

Laptop battery almost dead.

Power cord at The Del. Expect in the mail Friday.

Sending photos to big computer so I can post properly from there tomorrow.

Until then...

Surprise!

I'M IN SAN DIEGO!!!!

Dianne and I surprised Bronwyn this morning at her house! Her retirement ceremony is tomorrow and she didn't think we were able to make it.

Surprise!

Ang picked me up at the airport yesterday and we met Emily for dinner before having to go back and pick Dianne up at the airport. We're staying at The Del and I have to go now because we're going to get a cocktail.

Hasta la Vista, Baby!

How to Make Me Cry

"Your Love~Mother's Day"
by Mackenzie

Your love is like the sun,
which brightens every day.
Your love is like the peacefulness
of sitting by the bay.
Your love warms my heart
like a hot summer day in June.
Your love is like a rocket
which sends me to the moon.
Your love is like an ocean wave
that beats against the sand.
Your love is reassuring to me
like a guiding hand.
Your love is a power
that can never ever fail.
Your love is in the flowers
on Mother's Day you mail.
Your love is in the care
in every day I seek.
Your love in the support
you give me when I'm weak.
Your love is the glue
that binds me together.
Your love helps me go on
forever and ever.
Your love is like the gentle rain
pitter-patter on the roof.
Your love is in my soul
I feel it, there is no needed proof.
Your love will guide me home
whenever I am lost.
Your love will always shield me
no matter what the cost.
Your love is like a flower
which opens up to shine.
Your love makes me happy
and thankful you are mine.
Your love is what drives me
no way it can be beat.
Your love is my oxygen
without you my death I'll meet.
Your love is my energy
that gets me through the day.
Your love is the path
to help me find my way.
Your love is a blank book
while flipping through the pages.
Your love fills the book
by helping me through my stages.
Your love is a river
which never ever ends.
Your love is that same river
with twists and turns and bends.
Your love is like a mother bear
your protection will never break.
Your love is like a barrier
when it's my innocence at stake.
Your love is my life.
Without you I am dead.
Your love is indestructible.
I love you, I love you, I love you,
that's all I've ever said!

Love, Mackenzie

PS - Your love is to it's fullest
during Mother's Day each year.
I think that just sums it up,
why yes, it does, my dear.

Happy Mother's Day!

How to Torture Your Child (For Fun)

While you are sitting on the sofa reading with her, gently tickle the backs of her knees. And then when she says, "Reading Mimi Smartypants makes you ornery", reach over and grab her book by the binding snapping it shut, and hold it just out of her reach and when her eyes get all buggy and she screeches, "I can't believe you did that!", laugh.

And then, when you leave your book unattended because you're basking in the tortutous glow of being a hateful dictator, spewing evil, cackling, laughter, and she reaches over and grabs your book, snapping it shut, and hurls it under the sofa, you should rescue and then start reading the back of your favorite bookmark (What? You don't have a favorite bookmark? Weirdo.) in a monotone, droning, voice while she tries to read the final 5 pages of her book:

"Buck Creek Books*. Fine Used Books. 838 Main Street Lafayette Indiana 47901-1460 555.123.4567 800.123.4567 Email: xyz@abc.defg.com Website: www.abcdef.com Monday-Saturday 10-6 Hardcover and paperback books in all categories of fictionand nonfiction. Special strengths in science fiction, cookbooks, biography/autobiography. Out-of-print search service. Over 70,000 QUALITY USED BOOKS"

* They went out of business, which can only cause me to wonder what kind of a town lets a store with QUALITY USED BOOKS go out of business. As far as I know, it was the only bookstore downtown. What? People downtown don't read? I'm embarrassed for them.

and then turn it over and start reading the front:

"Reading made Don Quixote a gentleman. Believing what he read made him mad. George Bernard Shaw. Decide for yourself at Buck Creek Books. Don Quixote in his library."

and then do it 2 more times.

Or until she returns your book.

And then find your page (144), settle down to start reading again (arrange your blanket, take a drink), and decide, "I'm tired of reading." And slap it shut.

She will scream. I promise.

Hello Again, Swimsuit Season. I Hate You.

When I watch friends diet, I am amazed at the willpower they possess. My entire life (before The Unfortunate Weight-Gain-Bonanza of Japan), I NEVER, EVER dieted. I literally ate whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Pizza, cookies, cheese, potato chips*... all things fat and wonderful and never had to blink an eye. People would see me eat and say, "OMG. How can you eat like that and stay so thin?" Not surprisingly, at 38, those days are gone.

*Potato Chips = God's Food. And, if you think about it, so like the Jesus-wafer they pass out at Mass. A little salt and a Diet Coke and we've got a great snack to recover from the Homily-Coma...

Where was I? Oh, yes, my Apathy.

Surprisingly, though, I can't seem to get it through my head that I simply can't eat everything I want and still be a size 4. My body can't handle it. Nor can my wardrobe, for that matter. I will be so good for a couple of days and then, hell, we stop at McDonald's or it's Friday night and I want a Capihirina or Easter comes along and, really, who can resist Reese's Mini Peanut Butter Cups? Then before I know it, it's May and I have to take my damn sweaters off and put on some shorts and I'm disgusted with myself. We're going on the 4th year of this. The year I was running my 500 miles, before I even knew it, and without really trying, I looked down and the scale was at 120. It was beautiful. I had arrived in Japan at 118 (I had felt chubby then. What an idiot.) and was almost back to that point. Then I quit running and within months was back up to 128 where I held steady for a year or so then slooooowly crept up to 133-135.

And here I am.

My name is Paige and I'm a Snarfaholic.

No Lilies?

At 2:30 this afternoon my cellphone rang. I smirked a little as I answered it. I knew who it would be. Mom must have gotten her flowers. I always have her flowers delivered to her at work on Thursday because she doesn't work on Fridays and it's way better to get a giant bouquet of flowers in front of 10 other women than to get one at home alone*.

"The UPS man walked through the door today saying, 'Someone loves Helen!'"

"You got your flowers!"

"Yes, and they're beautiful. Freesia and irises and tulips and strawflowers and eucalyptus..."

"And Stargazer Lilies?"

"Nope, no Stargazers."

"Any fragrant Oriental Lilies?"

"Ummmm, no."

"What the FUCK! That's the whole POINT of the bouquet! It's the center attraction! It's the reason I chose that bouquet - so when you walked into the room, you could smell them! What the HELL? How can there be no lilies?"**

"Well, it's really pretty, but there aren't any lilies."

"GodDAMN! They are SO getting a phonecall."

**Yes, I kiss my Mother with this mouth. It hurts her ears but she loves me anyway.

So we talked for a minute, "What are you doing this weekend?" (Babysitting the grandbabies, breakfast with Alison) "What are you doing this weekend?" (Shopping at Tyson's, dinner with T & kids, concert with Beth)

"Ok, well, I gotta go. Love you!"

"Ok. Love you!"

And I was on the phone to Proflowers faster than you can say, "What the FUCK? No Lilies?"

"Blah, blah, blah, No Lilies, blah, blah, blah... Oh, ok. Thank you."

And now I think someone should check her front porch tomorrow if she's gone when FedEx knocks on her door.


*MEN - May I repeat... "it's way better to get a giant bouquet of flowers in front of 10 other women than to get one at home alone". I'm just sayin'.

Why Social Services Comes-a-Callin'

9:50pm. Phone rings.

Dillon, after attending school from 7:30am-2:10pm and working from 3:00pm-9:50pm: "Hey, I got off early. Can you come pick me up?"

Tater, from Downstairs, Land of the Ginormous TV : "Hon! Can you go get Dillon?"

Paige, from upstairs, Land of the Clean Living Room: "House is almost over! Can you go get him?"

"I've been drinking!"

"Ok! Tell him to wait 10 minutes! Tell him to walk to Giant!"

So I finished watching my show then stopped off to pick up my Mother-of-the Year Award while Dillon waited for me to get there.

Thank you. Thank you, Everyone.

The One With the Shitty Attitude

It's occurring to me...

That the reason I am loathe to shop at the Commissary is that every time I'm there lately, it's immediately after someone has stuck something uninvited up my Hoo-Ha. Fingers... speculum... sonogram probe...

(American Idol... Elvis? Really? Does this seem like a good idea to anyone? In what world can you take a bunch of kids and have them sing Elvis without America wanting to slit her wrists?)

So. There I am, choosing between Dawn Green Apple and Palmolive Anti-Bacterial and selecting the Very Best red pepper, and I've got ultrasound jelly oozing from the Nether Region, and there are moms pushing those Giant Car-Shaped Carts overflowing with pre-schoolers around the store, which I despise (sorry, Mom-Friends who love the giant clunky cart in which to drag your screaming brood from Dairy to Bakery) and my poked-around-in uterus is cramping and I'm starving to death and I forgot tomatoes but God-Damnit, I am NOT going back for them and...

(God! Elliot. Are you still here? Please go now. Just go. Go on. I don't like you.)

...and it must be geriatric day because 78% of this afternoon's patrons were, in fact, over 78 years old, and standing smack-dab in the center of the aisle while pondering Chunky vs. Progresso, when all of a sudden I noticed what a shitty attitude I had.

(Mac! Please blow your nose. Gurgling that snot back up into your sinuses is grossing me out. Badly. Thank you.)

So I bought myself a Cream Horn and some Turtles and a Diet Coke and went home.

And told my family to make a sandwich because I had a rough day and I'm not cooking.

The end.

NOW I Can Tell You...

It's official.

We're goin' to 49. :)

Cheers, Annie-Girlfriend! See you there!!! xoxoxo

The Girls Seem To Approve

So. The Accutane thing is over.

And Dillon looks great and he didn't get depressed and he didn't commit suicide.

Seems to be a success story to me. Behold...

Before:



After:




But the true measure of success is the hickey in this photo.

Seis de Mayo

Who doesn't love a Seis do Mayo Party?

This morning, Me.

We went over to Jeff and Singing-Lisa's house last night for chili and margaritas and woke up with a hangover. It's been a very long time since I woke up with a hangover* and blame Singing-Lisa and her overachieving hostessey-ness. My glass was never empty. First with the Key-Lime Margaritas and then with the Frozen-Strawberrry Margaritas. At the end of the night, as we were handing the keys over to Dillon (pay-back, Baby), I caught a glimpse of the newly opened tequila bottle... Half-empty. Except for one margarita each, the boys drank beer all night long. Do the math, and this means that Singing Lisa and I each drank about a pitcher and a half of margaritas.

Duh, I feel like shit.

*The Sulfite Hangover doesn't count.

OCDog

When you're a Grandma, and your kids move to the Upper Peninula of Michigan or Timbuktu, you like to keep them informed on the goings-on at home. So you cut stuff out of the local paper and send it to them in a card that says, "We miss you so much. Thought you might be interested in this. Love, Mom*."

*Except when you're my mom, you sign your letters Omm. 'Cause she's funny like that.

When you're a far-away daughter, you look forward to these funny little notes and the tid-bits of information your mom deems stamp-worthy. Sometimes, it's an article about the high school being renovated, sometimes a friend gets married or a favored teacher dies, sometimes a history lesson about my hometown. Other times it makes your tea shoot out your nose...

Mackenzie and I got home today and started our evening routine. She went and picked up the mail from where it drops to the floor through the mail slot. I put my junk down in the kitchen and prepared to open the least-expensive looking piece of mail first. Mom won. She had sent a thank-you note for "the wonderful visit that [she] and Dad had with us" and included a few articles for me to check out. One on CD-R's, one on a local neighborhood and the "Animal Smarts" page from USA Weekend. Sometimes it's like a treasure hunt finding the intended article. Did she want me to know "if my macaw will remember me when I get out of jail"? Do I care "why my hedgehog spits on his quills"? Ohhhhhh... Here... "Why do dogs dig at their beds before they lie down?"

So I read it. Ancestral instinct. Got it. Thanks, Mom.

But before I abandoned the torn out magazine page, there was one more question at the bottom of the page, "Why do some dogs chase their tails or snap at imaginary flies?" As I rolled my eyes and shook my head at myself, "Silly girl. Taiko does this all the time. This is what Mom wanted me to read," I took a drink of tea and began to peruse:

"That's what dogs with compulsive disorders sometimes do..." And out came the tea.

Through my nose.

"...they can't help themselves..."

Doubled over in laughter. She thinks my dog is crazy!

"...Lots of factors contribute to compulsive disorders, including anxiety and lack of an outlet for what the dog was bred to do. It seems some dogs are genetically predisposed. For example, English bull terriers are prone to spinning in tight circles, and Cavalier King Charles Spaniels are prone to snapping at 'flies...'"

Screaming, hysterical laughter. Holy SHIT! My dog is crazy! This explains so much!

"...Dogs with true compulsive disorders do best with anti-anxiety medication, positive obedience, a consistent schedule and an outlet for what they were born to do."

My stomach hurts so bad. Please make the laughter stop! Sloooooooowly, slooooooowly, we stopped the giggling. And that's when I realized: My dog was bred to sit on ladies laps and keep them warm! How will doing more of that make him less wacko? I am definitely asking for the doggy downers next time I see the vet.

Would You Like a Bitch With That Coffee?

I made Beth promise me that after I move, when Homeowners ask why I left she will say, "You people drove her out. She just couldn't tolerate your crazy shit one more day and she quit."

I hung up on someone else today.

And before I go any further, I just have to say:

If I get fired for blogging about my job it will absolutely be worth it just so the rest of the world understands the extent of Crazy I deal with here.

My phone rang at 9:02 this morning. It was Old Mrs. Randolph.

This was not the first time I talked with Mrs. Randolph. About 2 weeks ago I had a lovely/deranged conversation with her. She called to complain that the landscapers had blown a "big pile" of pinecones out of the gutter and onto her lawn the common ground in front of her unit. "Ok, I'll ask them to remove it." Then drove by a couple days later and didn't see anything on her lawn the common ground in front of her unit. Good. Finished.

But this morning, it wasn't about the pinecones. Apparently children have been playing near her townhouse. She had already called the police but they didn't do anything so she was calling me. On weekends and evenings children are climbing trees and playing behind the brick wall (surrounding her back patio) and being noisy and she can't go out in her yard.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Randolph, but our By-Laws don't state that parents must keep their children inside."

"I don't want them to stay inside, I just want them to stay away from my house."

"Well, I'm sorry Mrs. Randolph, but as the By-Laws don't restrict where the children play, there is nothing I can really do about it."

"WELL, I'M NOT SURPRISED. YOU NEVER DO ANYTHING. I CALLED 3 WEEKS AGO ABOUT THE PINECONES IN MY YARD AND THEY ARE STILL THERE!"

"Mrs. Randolph, I'm sorry about that. I'm sure what happened is that the landscaper just couldn't find the pinecones..."

"THEY WERE RIGHT THERE UNDER THE PINE TREE!"

"May I please finish my sentence? I'm sure he didn't see what pinecones you were talking about. I even checked after him and when I drove by I didn't see a pile of pinecones. There were only about 4 pinecones..."

"YOU HAVE TO GET OUT OF YOUR CAR!"

"Mrs. Randolph, please don't yell at me first thing in the morning."

"I AM NOT YELLING..."

click.

And then she called back later and when I didn't answer the phone because someone was in my office she left a message:

"I know you're in there and don't you ever hang up on me again or I'll be right there in your office."

Oooooh. A Challenge.

In Which We Bounce Around the World

I was born in Indiana where I grew up safe and happy and went to college 3 miles away from my Kindergarten. I loved growing up there. In a graduating class of 140 students, I knew every one of them. My mom and sister and I attended the Folk Mass at the Catholic church on campus, where they had a guitar and tambourines and the old-timers viewed such oddities as very impertinent, I'm sure. During our summers, we netted butterflies then let them go, we trapped fireflies in jars, and went fishing with Dad at the gravel pit when we weren't turning brown as Indians at the neighborhood pool. July found us at the County 4-H Fair, eating elephant ears and riding the Octopus; visiting the bunnies and wrinkling our noses in the pig barn. Each winter we dug snow-forts out of drifts, cut our own Christmas tree at the local farm, and played gin-rummy in front of the fire with Mom. It was an idyllic childhood, the kind that my children, when they are feeling particularly dissatisfied with their lives, remind me that they never had the chance to experience.

And then at twenty I moved away to Alabama where life is completely different in almost every aspect. Southerners move at a slower pace. Speed in the drive-through at McDonald's is not something they aspire to. Iced tea is sweetened with a mountain of sugar, grits are considered breakfast and rain every afternoon is regular. Sometimes their accent was so thick that I couldn't make my ears hear what they were saying. And I talked so fast that I was constantly having to repeat myself to be understood. I spent just over 2 years in Alabama, and while I didn't hate it there, neither was I completely comfortable. I packed up my things and cried with relief when I passed back over the Indiana State Line from Kentucky.

Two years later, I sat in shock as my car, packed full of boxes and suitcases, sped back down I-65 towards the South, this time to be plunked down about 4 hours farther south in Pensacola where I discovered much of the same "Southern Charm", all tempered by the Gulf of Mexico. Any time you find yourself uncomfortable, I highly recommend throwing in some white sand beaches and warm sea water and watch your level of tolerance shoot right up.

1994 found us packed up again, this time headed west. To Utopia. Otherwise known as San Diego. We spent the next six years there. With the Pacific Ocean and palm trees and a beautiful blue sky. We went to The Zoo and Sea World and took walks and went to the beach. We went antiquing in La Jolla and to Old Town for Mexican food. But, as they say, "All good things must end." (I think "They" suck, by the way.)

And we moved to Japan. Four and a half of my very favorite years yet. Definitely the best (and the some of the worst) of our 15 years in the Navy. Dinners in Tokyo, a standing date every Friday night, the discovery of new best friends, dancing at The Club and Japanese Grandmas. Life in Japan was amazing.

And Now. The past 18 months have been spent in the Suburbs of DC. It's been a great experience for the kids. How can you argue with The Smithsonian? Fairfax County Schools? Mt. Vernon, Williamsburg, reconnecting with long lost friends? A day's drive from home in Indiana. The East Coast isn't really my thing, but it doesn't suck here. That's the bottom line.

And if I had to choose ANYWHERE to go next, where would I go? The possibilities are endless. Well, if "endless possibilities" means "four choices"... San Diego, Hawaii, Jacksonville, and Japan. (But not so much Japan since we already were there twice. It was all smooshed together as once, but really, it counted as twice.) So, in this case "endless" means "three". Three choices, none of which are unbearable.

And today was the day we found out where we next pitch our tent.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Drum roll, please...
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
SAN DIEGO, it is!!!!!!!!!!!!

And we've been grinning from ear to ear all afternoon. Tater will leave here next January, headed to this school and that, Mac and I will remain here with Dillon until his graduation and then either join Tater in or beat him to San Diego. With a big smile on my face and my Birkenstocks in my backpack.