On a Learning Curve

Life may not be easy, but it's always an adventure.


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Writing is hard, but parenting is harder

I haven’t written anything for almost a year. On this blog, that is.

I’ve started countless pieces but never finished anything, much less published a piece. I skipped our annual Christmas letter, too. I just couldn’t find the words to express what’s going on in my head, in my heart, and in our family.  I make it a practice not to sugarcoat my life, and I just can’t decide if sharing the messiness of my life would add value to someone else’s or just be TMI.

In short, I’ve been busy trying to parent our three girls. And it’s been an exceptionally hard season of parenting.

Last August, H developed an anxiety disorder in the aftermath of last summer’s C-130 crash. Her daddy is a pilot, and those crew members were his friends and colleagues.

Last October, G made a bad decision; the administration made a bad decision; and then we scrambled to place her in a new school. Three grading periods later, she still doesn’t know where she fits in, and she still doesn’t know who she wants to be.

S is hanging in there. She is the proverbial middle child who knows how to slip under the radar while her sisters draw fire.

Somewhere in the midst of counseling appointments, teacher conferences, and doctors’ visits, I reached my breaking point. I made the decision to stop teaching S and H after we finish this school year. I need to be my girls’ mother first and foremost; they desperately need other people to teach them.

While that decision was monumentally freeing, it hasn’t made anything easier for now; however, we have almost finished jumping through the required hoops of registering for public middle school.

Last Monday I submitted the girls’ standardized test scores and requested that our homeschooling file be closed. Yay, me!

Ten days ago I took the girls for MAP testing at the middle school after the counselors did not want to accept their Stanford Achievement scores. I goofed and scheduled the MAP and Stanford the same week. They completely embraced 3 full days of testing. (In my dreams, that is.) Coincidentally, the girls’ MAP test results aligned perfectly with their Stanford results. I rolled my eyes, but not in front of the guidance counselors.

Both girls chose their classes last Wednesday; S is pinning all of her hopes on advanced art and French I despite my guidance. H spoke a total of 10 words to her guidance counselor. He’s a man though, and she makes it a point not to talk to strange men.

Today I am writing on Memorial Day. We are home and unpacked from a very hot, humid soccer tournament. This morning Ryan switched out the front porch flag to fly the USMC colors. I can’t help but remember family and friends who selflessly sacrificed themselves for this nation. Today in particular, I am thinking of the 16 men who gave their lives aboard Yanky 72 last July.

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There’s more to write–much, much more–and I promise to return. After all, I’ve left you, my readers, hanging in the middle of what seems to be my belated Christmas letter.

 

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20 Years of Fireworks

Twenty years ago today I was sitting on uncomfortable bleachers in uncomfortable temperatures watching the evening parade at the Marine Corps Barracks. It was my second date with a young second lieutenant, and we were both out of our element.

He had already finished OCS at Quantico and was ranked high enough at The Basic School that he had been invited to the aforementioned evening parade by the Commandant of the Marine Corps. I was not interested in dating a Marine; however, I was intrigued by the logistics of this particular date.

He picked me up in his dress blues, and I wore a tea length Laura Ashley dress; it was, after all, 1997. On our way to the reception, I was escorted by the Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps, who confided that he wasn’t a fan of these parties.

 

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Two weeks later I wore the same Laura Ashley dress to a friend’s wedding

Since a girlfriend–the same one who convinced me I needed to go on this date–had loaned me a book on Marine Corps etiquette, we safely made it through the receiving line without any missteps. We met General and Mrs. Krulak as well as the Secretary of Defense, William Cohen, and his gorgeous wife. We made small talk with other guests, and I took a quick tour of the residence with Mrs. Krulak and a few others.

The parade ended with fireworks since it was the 4th of July, and we navigated our way through D.C. holiday traffic back to Fredericksburg. It was an amazing, surreal sort of night. He was 26, and I was 23. Neither of us had any experience with the D.C. political scene, and both of us were starving. We ended up at a Waffle House at midnight.

A few days later we visited my grandmother in Alexandria. I decided to introduce my second lieutenant to the lady who had made a career of being an admiral’s wife. She was thrilled by our outing and asked the name of the current Commandant.

“Chuck Krulak? I knew him.” And then she described how she knew his parents. I can’t recall the details, but my guess is that both families were stationed in Hawaii in the 1950s and that they traveled in the same social circles.

My grandmother never failed to amaze me with her wealth of life experiences. Three months later, that same lieutenant found his flight school training on hold and he requested temporary duty somewhere near Fredericksburg. By then he and Grandma were well acquainted. She gave him a bedroom so that he could commute to Andrews Air Force Base during the week and visit me on the weekends; in return, he drank her terrible coffee and joined her for dinner.

Grandma was the daughter of an Army doctor and had married a Navy pilot before she married a submariner. She had a soft spot for Marines though, and I took after her: I married my Marine sweetheart the following September.

 


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Complete

After 9 hours on the road yesterday, our family is complete again. The girls and I missed the plane’s arrival by almost 20 minutes, but that’s what happens when Mom makes one wrong turn and the girls can’t coordinate their bathroom breaks.

DSCN0800We still managed to sneak onto the flight line and all the way up to the plane with Ryan unaware.

DSCN0801That’s H in the purple shirt, and G behind her. Ryan is the Marine on the right.

DSCN0803Here’s a group shot of the girls with their daddy. It’s a candid, and I have no idea what’s going on here. S looks like she is being (happily) choked, another Marine is in the shot, and there’s a very large bag of something. I just love the look on S’s face. And yes, this is how she gives hugs.

DSCN0804This is the most polished shot from yesterday’s homecoming. We’re not a very polished family, and homecomings are never perfect. Sometimes Mom misses the plane; sometimes Mom says a bad word when she makes a wrong turn; sometimes children fight over Rainbow looms, pinch each other, and kick the backs of the car seats. But we love each other. Nothing fills me with more joy than this final picture. My girls adore their daddy (and so do I), and that’s exactly the way it should be.

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