Wednesday, May 13, 2009

The Better Booger

My two year old son has an addiction. He likes to pick his nose and then "play" with the booger. I have tried to make him stop, really I have. At first I thought it was a harmless fascination as he gets to know his body. But very soon after it started he would become upset if I asked him to wipe it off and not long after that he would cry if I would take his booger away. Well knowing that this is not a socially accepted habit, I put even more effort into controlling it when we are in public. So there we were (a classic AF expression) sitting in church, AJ on his dad's lap and I was sitting next to them trying to wrangle the other two when I noticed that he had just pulled a fresh one out of his nose and starting to rub it in between his thumb and fore finger. I, knowing that there might be witnesses to his behavior, quickly snatched it out of his hand. Little did I know the response that this would bring on the cry heard round the church..."NO, I WANT MY BOOGER!" Seriously, I have to stop wondering why these things happen to me and just start accepting them.


I am an Air Force wife - a member of that sisterhood of women who have had the courage to watch their men fly into battle, and the strength to survive until their return. Our sorority knows no rank, for we earn our membership with a marriage license, traveling over miles, or over nations to begin a new life with our husbands.
Within days, we turn a barren, echoing building into a home, and though our quarters are inevitably white-walled and unpapered, we decorate with the treasures of our travels, for we shop the markets of the globe.
Using hammer and nail, we tack our pictures to the wall, and our roots to the floor as firmly as if we had lived there for a lifetime. We hold a family together by the bootstraps, and raise the best of "brats," instilling in them the motto, "Home is togetherness", whether motel, or guest house, apartment or duplex.
As Air Force wives we soon realize that the only good in "Good-bye" is the "Hello again." For as salesmen for freedom, our husbands travel far from home, leaving us behind for a week, a month, an assignment. During separations we guard the home front, existing until the homecoming.
Unlike our civilian counterparts, we measure time, not by years, but by tours - married at Lackland, a baby born at Travis, a promotion in England. We plant trees, and never see them grow tall, work on projects completed long after our departure, and enhance our community for the betterment of those who come after us. We leave a part of ourselves at every stop.
Through experience, we have learned to pack a suitcase, a car or hold baggage, and live indefinitely from the contents within: and though our fingers are sore from the patches we have sewn, and the silver we have shined, our hands are always ready to help those around us.
Women of peace, we pray for a world in harmony, for the flag that leads our men into battle, will also blanket them in death. Yet we are an optimistic group, thinking of the good, and forgetting the bad, cherishing yesterday, while anticipating tomorrow.
Never rich by monetary standards, our hearts are overflowing with a wealth of experiences common only to those united by the special tradition of military life. We pass on this legacy to every Air Force bride, welcoming her with outstretched arms, with love and friendship, from one sister to another, sharing in the bounty of our unique, fulfilling Air Force way of life.
Paraphrased from Debby Guisti ©

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Stranger Danger

Anxious is not a word that I often use to describe my feelings. But yesterday as I watched from down the street as the first set of strangers walked into my house to basically judge it, I pretty much thought I was going to die.
I have been working for the past several weeks and then at an even more feverish pace this last week to get our house in a condition where it was suitable to show to potential buyers. I have been okay with that, I don't mind the work. But the waiting as I saw the lady walk in with her real estate agent just about killed me.
They had a whole hour blocked out to view the house but I knew that there was the potential for them to turn around and walk right back out. Well they spent the whole hour in here, I know, I was watching. Which I am guessing means they loved it. And really who wouldn't. It is an awesome house. It pretty much sells itself.
Well that wasn't the only showing yesterday, we had four. And it was the first day it was on the market.
I realized last night after everyone had come and gone that I would much rather sell the house to someone I know who is going to take care of it. And then maybe they will let me come back and visit it.
I know that once I am in my next house that will be my home and all of this anxiety will seem silly, but right now I just wish it didn't have to happen and I wish is was over all at the same time.