The love of jalapeno Cheez-its

Kae has been nagging lovingly encouraging me to post for a few days. She didn't know Señor Marine just headed back to his side of the country yesterday afternoon and therefore I was ignoring not receiving her messages and hints. Apparently Kae promised you all (all three of you) an upbeat post, and was relying on me to deliver. Given that I spent my day doing manual labor in the 108 degree heat, Señor Marine is recently torn from me (again) and I am pretty sleep deprived, I can't make any promises.

I shall start off by letting you know the search terms from people that led to our blog this week. "Koreans compliment too much" was one search term on there. You're welcome, Kae, as that particular post about my Korean teachers telling my husband and me that our faces compliment each other has drawn quite the crowd. Still not as good as one last month, "Marine Corps glitter shoes." I really wonder if it was a friend trying to find our blog, but not remembering the name or anything about it, other than Señor Marine and that time I tried to glitter my own high heels. Impressive they found us, however, because I searched that term myself and didn't find our blog.

Señor Marine and I recently have started reading The Hunger Games together. By started, I mean he is finished with the trilogy and I'm about 100 pages behind him. The second and third books are pretty good, but the first book I found very disturbing for some reason. Without giving anything away and because we tend to draw a little bit of the sheltered, cut-off-from-the-world crowd (cough, cough, KAE), the basic premise of the book is about a post-apocalyptic-type United States where two teenagers from each section of the country are thrown into a fight to the death against each other, as a reminder that the Capitol is in total control of them. Read the book, the author explains it better.

Anyway, whilst reading this book, I had some crazy dreams. The most vivid one combined The Hunger Games with The Bachelor. My dream was twenty-some girls competing to the death for Señor Marine's love. Thankfully my dream wasn't too graphic. Whenever I beat up one of the other contestants, they didn't die. I would just mime hitting them and they would freeze. I fought wild dogs, I fought girls in leopard print fur minidresses, I fought rocks.

You try competing with this.

In the end, I knew what I had to do to win Señor Marine's love was buy him a motorcycle (which he has always wanted and I keep telling him no, as he will kill himself on one) and some jalapeno Cheez-its. Because I figured, Señor Marine must be tired and hungry and when he's tired and hungry, he really digs his Cheez-its. And jalapeno because, well, he's Mexican. Apparently dream Bee stereotypes a slight bit.

In my dream, I beat up these other girls to get him his presents. I set a date with him and he showed up to our date ... on a motorcycle. I was crushed. Someone else got him one, and it was better than what I had gotten him, so I couldn't give him my crappy one. I was left presenting him with the box of jalapeno Cheez-its. And just as he was about to tell me what he thought, my alarm went off and I woke up.

After this, I googled jalapeno Cheez-its. They don't exist. I called Señor Marine.

Me: "I had a dream about you."

Señor: "I love you. I love you a lot." (He always says this after I tell him I have a dream about him because frankly, Dream Señor is a bit of a tool. Actually, quite a tool. He knows this, and always precedes my recounts of dreams with a Real Life Señor reassurance.)

Me: "I tried to win your love with jalapeno Cheez-its. But I woke up before I found out if it worked."

Señor: "It would have."

Me: "I love you so much, I beat other girls to death to get you something that doesn't even exist."

Señor: "I love you so much, I'm going to pretend you aren't completely nuts."

My hair, slightly tamed for the night

Hopefully Kae deems this a worthy uplifting entry. If not, she can (um....I don't have an appropriate PG-13 insult here).

Minor surgery

Nope, no minor surgery for me. My brother deposited his wife, Emme, here earlier today after she had her wisdom teeth pulled. I'm not sure where she had them pulled, but I should ask. I'm thinking it was some guy named Snake that works out of his garage.

She was wheeled out in a wheelchair after having her teeth pulled because she was too out of it to walk. I'm glad Snake at least has a wheelchair and his garage is apparently handicapped accessible, but shouldn't he have let poor Emme at least regain consciousness before he tossed her out to make room for his next victim patient?

So, my brother Ricky Rescue (he's a firefighter/EMT/possible adrenaline junkie?) half carried Emme inside, got her settled on the couch, and gave me a rundown of the instructions Snake had given them.

If you are our lone reader who checks in regularly from Russia you a.) probably don't see anything wrong with dental surgery occurring in a back alley and b.) don't know that I'm a nurse. Not that I work as a nurse, but I have retained some knowledge. Which meant I thought these instructions were just as crappy as the post-op care. There were strict instructions in bold print to not take any pain medication for 6 hours after surgery. Because everyone knows it's a good idea not to take anything for pain after having permanent teeth extracted from your jaw.

Anyway, the high point of the morning was poor Emme on the couch after being here for about 10 or 15 minutes tearing up and asking for her youngest child. I thought she was just missing the little runt until Ricky Rescue reassured Emme that their baby was fine. She was sleeping soundly in the car. !? Emme, still more than a little gorked, just cried some more. I freaked out suggested maybe a one year old shouldn't be left in the car indefinitely and Ricky went to get her. It was my big leadership move of the day.

Ricky and baby went home to the rest of their kids, leaving Emme to recuperate in peace. (My kids were quietly occupied by children's television). The rest of the morning involved saliva, blood, gagging, etc. (not necessarily all from Emme), and culminated in watching What Not to Wear and having a deep discussion involving curly hair and mullets. Which I'm pretty sure Emme won't remember since she was under the influence of lingering anesthesia and against-sketchy-medical advice Vicodin.

*I'm sorry that this is the most boring post ever, but unless you want to hear in excrutiating detail how I've been on the couch watching the Olympics nonstop ("13 minutes into the water polo match between China and Spain, I decided I needed a glass of iced tea...") this is what you get. Also sorry to Emme, our most faithful reader, for featuring her entrance to the project in this inane, blathering post.

--Kae--

Knowledge is power...but only if the other guy realizes you're knowledgeable

I'm pretty sure I made some sort of half-hearted promise earlier in the week about an uplifting post coming. It will just have to wait until Bee returns to blogging after spending some quality time in a romantic locale (which may or may not be your friendly neighborhood Air Force base) with Señor Marine. Because I'm fairly certain she's not wasting one second of together time in front of the computer.

Today I had the pleasure of meeting a woman who firmly disproves any of Darwin's theories about evolution or survival of the fittest. Seriously, people, a person this dense should have theoretically been weeded out centuries ago. And yet she's here, she's nearing retirement age, and I can only assume has procreated. So explain that to me, Charles Darwin.

Our conversation started when I told her I had two sets of twins. And she was justifiably impressed with me. Then it came up that they were adopted. To which she replied, "So do you have any of your own?"

Let me interject here... I can guarantee any of my many adoptive mom friends (3 or 4 of whom read this blog) have had to answer this question. And, like me, have felt obligated to answer using the correct terminology. I've never been angry about someone asking this question, just glad to have the chance to educate Joe Public about adoption.

So, I answered with a smile, "Well, they're all our own. But, yes, all five of our kids are adopted."

Usually this is where the lightbulb goes on, the other party understands and the conversation moves on.

She nodded seriously. "So do you have any real kids?"

At this point, I'm pretty sure I just looked bewildered and she looked like the one who knew what was going on. (Can I point out that Aquaman was listening to all this right next to me and never once looked up from his magazine? Thanks for the help, hon.)

Kind of baffled, I kept smiling and said, "Our kids are all real. Their tantrums are very, very real."

And thus ended our session of Politically Correct Adoption Speak 101. I think we all got failing grades.

--Kae--

Monday, monday

Perhaps I'll do a nice uplifting post tomorrow (or next week, we're not known for our prompt and punctual posting here at the project). Right now I'm laying on the couch, ready to watch yet another episode of Burn Notice and recuperate from the day. Yes, the difficult day of the stay-at-home-mom. (I also have disc 2 of season 2 of Downton Abbey waiting, but I think the world of burned spies and counter intelligence is more in order after a day like today).

I spent the morning thinking about how much Mondays totally suck for stay at home moms, just as they do for the people who have to leave their home for work. Then one of my favorite bloggers dedicated a whole post to that thought and I felt (mildly) vindicated.

Tantrums. Just tantrum after tantrum after tantrum from child after child after child. And the tantrums don't stop. Ever. Except for Pipsqueak. Who after losing the tantrum battle with Mama and deciding it may be in his best interest, after all, to stop screaming, ran to his room and started singing a sweet little song that goes a little something like this: "Mama's a baby kaka. Mama's yucky. Ooohh ooohh, yucky Mama." So then I had to heave a huuuuuuuge sigh and trudge down the hallway to address that little gem of disrespect. Which led to another tantrum.



If he wasn't so absolutely squish-a-licious...



To end the day on a brighter note, Aquaman just asked Pipsqueak if he had a diaper ready to put on for bedtime. Pipsqueak immediately ran to his dresser and streeeeeeeeetched his arm behind it to pull out a diaper...soaked and obviously previously used. I have no idea why he has a stash of used diapers, but if we ever do have need of urine-soaked diapers, we won't be caught short.

Happy Monday, all.

--Kae--

Patience is not my virtue

Thanks, Kae, for taking care of our sucking up and award accepting duties. Like she mentioned, I have been very busy lately. Of course, it's mostly being very busy waiting. That's just what the military does. We had an early formation, and then waited an hour to go answer a survey about whether we had had unprofessional relationships with our TIs (Training Instructors) during boot camp, or whether we had ever been discriminated against because of our gender. To which, I answered, I'm a female in the military. Of course I have. It doesn't make it right, but it doesn't make it a surprise.

Also, as mentioned in an earlier post, I had some of the things from me and Señor Marine's home packed up and sent either to storage or to meet me at my new base. This was my first time doing the whole shipping thing, as up till now I've been able to stuff what I own in a couple duffel bags and drag them along with me.

This happened near a month ago, so I called the TMO office (TMO is the guys in charge making sure you and your things all get safely to your new base) to ask where my things were. They responded with an unhelpful, "We can't release that information to you." I'm sorry, are my things top secret or something now? I'm imagining what they could possibly be holding my things for. The things I shipped, keep in mind, are textbooks, cold weather clothing I won't be needing until, oh, never again, and shoes. Lots and lots and LOTS of shoes. Did some spec ops group stumble across my blue suede boots and decide they had to have them for a mission? 

Like this, but with blue boots.

Of course I asked for clarification, and they said, "You can look online for it." Again...WHAT? Like on Craigslist? Do I need to buy my own stuff back? Look for pictures of these spec ops guys in my clothing? The office didn't have any more information to give me than that.

Thankfully, yesterday, I got a phone call from the TMO guys at Lackland. Lackland is the Air Force's basic training base. They had my things there, but didn't believe that I wasn't there, and would not be releasing it until I proved to them I wasn't in basic training. Once again...WHAT? How does it make sense that I would be shipping things to myself if I were at basic training? I think they would know that isn't allowed. Thus starts my adventure of faxing copies of my orders, and waiting. I guarantee my orders will be lost at least three times and my things won't show up until late August. Anyone wanna start a betting pool?

Definitely wish I had had stilettos and my own clothes at this point. Or anything but MOPP gear. Funny thing is, this is actually my flight at basic. No, I don't know where I am. Just look for the one with the left-handed gas mask. That one is me.

Along the lines of "hurry up and wait", Señor Marine and I were going to wait until the Labor Day weekend to set up a visit. Of course that looked like it wasn't going to work out, so we decided to just go ahead and buy plane tickets now. So he'll be here in a week! One week from now, we will be disgustingly sickeningly cuddling on the same side of a booth at some romantic catfish diner. Just thinking about it makes me nauseated with how cute it'll be. But the bad part is, I have no patience. Literally none whatsoever. Ask Señor Marine. Thus starts the longest week EVER.

How could you not be looking forward to seeing this little nerd.

I have promised Señor Marine I would keep my crazy under wraps for this week. I'll try to make that same promise to the rest of you.

Bee out.

I'd like to thank the Academy...

Why, yes, it is high time Bee and I won an award for our sporadic stellar blogging. And thanks to Mrs. Grey of With Wit, Not Leisure, we finally have our award. I think it's called a Lovely Award or something like that. I'm not too picky about details when people want to award me with things.

I'm accepting this award solo, however, since Bee is currently busy in her undisclosed location answering questions relating back to some scandals-leading-to-trials relating back to the drill sargeants from her basic training days. Since Bee commented that she doesn't even really remember the names of her Training Instructors, I think we can all assume she wasn't one of the victims. (But since she's being given the forum, I think she should try to remember the names of any-and-all who denied her cell phone use when her sister wanted to talk to her, and made it impossible for her to receive baked goods without having to share).

Anyway, back to our awesome loveliness and our award.

THE RULES

Thank the person/people who nominated you and link back to them in your post.
Share seven possibly unknown things about yourself.
Nominate fifteen or so bloggers you admire.
Contact the chosen bloggers to let them know and link back to them.

Not to be picky, but since I've won an award, I don't really think rules apply to me anymore. But whatever. I'll follow the ones that I want to.

Seven unknown things about myself...don't exist. It's part of the problem of being a chronic

over-sharer. So I'll just share seven lesser-known things.

1. I really wish I could wear high heels (as in sky high heels) everywhere. But I'm concerned that it will cause foot/knee/hip/back problems. And the one time I've worn heels for a wedding, I was crippled for an hour or two after the ceremony. So, I guess you won this round American Podiatric Medical Association.
2. I also don't wear heels because I feel like I may have to be able to run at any moment. Not just after a loose toddler in the parking lot (because I have a couple of those), but from a Bad Guy. Not necessarily a rapist or a mugger. It could be black ops special forces type person who is after me because I've unknowingly stumbled into uncovering a spy ring. And heels would impair my get-away.
3. I still like The Spice Girls music. And early Brittany Spears.
4. I still feel like the nerdy girl from high school (see Numbers One, Two, and Three , above), but I have come to the happy place where I'm good with that. Thanks to a little help from The New Girl who has made nerdy and naive its own kind of cool.
5. When I'm in Ethiopia, I feel like I'm home. And it's hard to get on a plane and go back to the place my passport says is home.
6. Follow-up to number Five: I really want to move out of country. Aquaman and I have talked about the Caribbean as an option (this discussion usually occurs most seriously during the months of November through March). But I would also take a warm African country as an option. Probably not Europe, though. Definitely would consider Australia.
7. I have a wildly over-active imagination. This is probably not news to, um, anyone, but paired with pessimistic tendencies, it affects my quality of life. In our moments of online house-hunting, I look at every house listed in Texas that has a picture of a porch or crawlspace and am 99% sure I can see a poisonous snake curled in the grainy-photographic shadows. And then envision myself living in that house and calling animal control while the kids and I huddle together on the roof, screaming bloody murder. All the houses in Florida that have their own private pond, I have visions of alligators lunging out of the water and grabbing a small child. While my kids and I huddle together on the roof, screaming bloody murder. The imagination/pessimism combo is exhausting.

Now I'm meandering into a shady area with these award "rules". Because I'm supposed to nominate 15 or so bloggers I admire, and then comment on their blogs that I've nominated them. I can nominate with the best of them, but the commenting part...I'm a professional lurker, people. I don't comment, I just creepily stand on the sidelines and read every part of these people's lives. So, I may or may not actually creep these people out by commenting that "I love you so much, and I'm a huge fan, and here's an award that's eerily similar to a chain letter." We'll see how much chutzpah I have.

1. Nelson Family of 7 My real-life friend's blog. (So, yes, I do comment on her blog without shame). We met in Target on a cold winter's day. I pushed my cart past her telling myself to be socially appropriate and not ask the white stranger with black kids where her kids were from. Thankfully Jess throws caution and social norms to the wind and asked me. She also went from 2 kids to 5 overnight.
2. Suri's Burn Book Do actual people have to write these blogs that I nominate?
3. Biblical Homemaking The name of this blog sounds kind of...dry? boring? But it's so pretty. And if you are obsessed interested in before and after room makeovers of the best kind, as well as DIY home decorating...well, just be prepared to spend hours online here.
4. The Pleated Poppy More DIY decorating. After reading this one, I find I have to wipe the drool off of my laptop.
5. Camp Patton I've linked to Grace over at Camp Patton before. So I figured I should do it again, just to be sure I come across as a real creeper.
6. House Unseen This family bought a house unseen off the internet for something like $27,000 so they could live debt free. And the house was in Michigan while they were in California (maybe? somewhere besides Michigan at any rate), so they moved with their four kids. More before and after pic fun. And right now, Dwija's in the middle of sharing her homebirth story. So that's a whole new set of fun. And squeamishness.
7. The Common Room Just so people know I do sometimes use the internet to better my mind (not just stare at decorating pictures). Lots of interesting news links/opinion pieces. Even if you don't agree with everything she says, there's usually some really interesting political history included.
8. This Mama Needs Coffee More opinion pieces/news links. With unabashed opinions to go with them.
9. Bean In Love Right now, this is the place to go for absolute cuteness. She just had twin girls and their smooshy little cheeks will have you checking back 2 or 19 times a day to see if she's posted any new pictures of them. And of course, more DIY home decorating and before and after pictures.
10. Rage Against the Minivan So, I confess, this blog has very little to do with my life, aside from transracial adoption. Kristen works outside the home. And travels. And has a nanny. And there are no before or after decorating pictures. But I keep coming back because she freely acknowledges how very first-world her problems are when she does have them. And she has darn good posts. And the most unique guest posts, possibly ever.
11. Large Family Mothering Homeschooling/homemaking advice, but of the gracious kind. And yet more opinion pieces/news links. But, like The Common Room, usually with some interesting social history tied in.
12. Emily Lane Style Oh look, someone else I know in real life. Perhaps I could leave a comment on her blog without embarrassment. This is the blog of The Fashionista, who has been mentioned before on this blog because she's dating my brother. Even if I didn't have that connection, I would be on her blog daily to see what she wore. While sitting in my pajamas at noon.
13. Simplee Photography Good, I can round out the list with one last blogger I know personally. Kelsea's photography is stunning....STUNNING. Looking at this blog may make you feel like your little family snapshots are slightly inadequate. Unless you happen to be friends with Kelsea and she patiently spends half an hour explaining to you how to use your camera so your little darker-skinned children can actually show up in photographs with actual facial features. (This blog may also make you want to find a newborn and squish it into various household items-large boots, buckets, etc-and take a picture. I don't recommend that, unless you are also a trained professional).

OK, I think that brings us up to "15 or so" blogs. Off the top of my head, I see...3 bloggers I feel comfortable contacting and letting them know they've won a Lovely Award. I'll let you know how I do on that. I'm pretty sure the blogs linked here won't even notice the whole two readers Bee and I send their way.

--Kae--

Highlighting the ordinary

Here's a little update on what we've been doing in our little neck of the holler this summer. (But not a complete update, there may be a little something that will be mentioned in a few weeks...Does anyone else hate cryptic Facebook and blog posts? You're welcome).

Aside from our daily adventures with a laundry list of food allergies, aaaaaaaalllll belonging to our sassiest, pickiest little eater,

we've been looking for Bigfoot. The kids and I may or may not have watched an entire season some episodes of Finding Bigfoot...and then counted it as "science learning". Because they call themselves field researchers, after all.

This culminated in The Great Bigfoot Expedition of 2012.

The plan was for the intrepid explorers to hike out across the neighbor's field and down to the creek. Because the creek was probably prime 'squatch land, obvs. They made it to the edge of the yard before the explorers lost their intrepid and realized it was dark. And scary. So they just hunted around the pine trees at the edge of the house.

(Do you notice it's Aquaman taking the trio out on their hunt? That's because it was decided that the parental that's unafraid of the dark and doesn't actually believe in Bigfoot would be a better guide. And less likely to scar any children for life).

And then, Summer 2012 continued with a little claustrophobia about the boys' room. Due to the heavy '70's furniture.

(From the official craigslist posting. Adios.)

So Aquaman decided to prove his love (and desire for a wife who's less of a shrew happy spouse), and he whipped up this little beauty:



It's built in to fit over the bizarro built-in ledge of our basement abode. And has drawers underneath Pipsqueak's bed. Happiness.

Is everyone on the edge of their seat? Are you holding your breath on this whirwind recap of the first half of our summer. Me neither.

Intersperse a whole lotta bike riding, and that's the high points thus far.

I'm not really sure if blogging rules allow for a four-posts-in-one highlight reel, but whatever.

We look so good, the rules don't apply.

--Kae--

Scandalous and more scandalouser

I'm deeply disturbed by the women in our country. 50 Shades of Nastiness and Magic Mike. Enough said. Off my soapbox now.

--Kae-- (Don't worry, Bee, I'm taking all the credit for looking down at society from my high horse.)

Marrying the help

(In a conversation with one of my new superiors)

Superior: "It says here you are married. Where's your husband?"

Me: "At home" (meaning the place I just had to move from this past week).

Superior: "He got the same job as you?"

Me: "No, sir."

Superior: "Didn't anyone tell you to marry your own kind? He at least Air Force?"

Me: "No, he's a Marine."

Superior: "Didn't your mama ever tell you not to sleep with the help?"

Me: (quite caught off guard because, while generally the Air Force thinks of the Marines as just grunts, I have never heard this before in relationship to Marines and Air Force. I mean, I have heard him referred to as a bullet catcher and the guy who I'm waiting for to die so I can collect his life insurance, but not the help. I don't think Señor Marine will be too offended when he hears this, as I have heard Marines refer to me with some pretty derogatory terms): "Sir, my mama tells me Jewish proverbs. Like make sure you cook your brisket thoroughly and always call home." (That's a lie, but whatever. Close enough to what she says.)

Superior: (also suddenly quite caught off guard) "Well. Alright then."

Ahhh, Señõr Marine, my help. It makes me think of him dressed as a butler serving me sweet tea and fanning me with a palm leaf. If that's what I married into, I think I win in this situation.