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By Alyssa, October 30, 2009 3:51 pm

I’ve been cooped up at home for three days now.  The first day was fabulous.  I watched the snow pour down and cancelled all of our appointments outside of the house.  The second day, still a treat, we played forts and super heroes as our back door became barracaded by a drift.  Now it’s day three.  The house is clean, I’ve made enough food for ten families, and the boys are sick with cabin fever.

I remember a day when I would have given anything for three days practically by myself in the house. Deployed in the Army, I was never alone.  EVER.  My first deployment going to shower meant walking over to the homemade crate and 5 gallon water jug.  This “bathroom” was convienently located in the center of our desert camp, a high traffic area. I waited days for that precious hour when the wind would die down as the shower curtain (a leftover canvas tent flap) seemed to have a mind of its own.

Our Shower Stalls

My second deployment was a little better.  The showers were in a row of ten inside of a trailer.  My only complaint?  Every time I showered someone would come in behind me with their mini-speakers, ipod, and ridiculous techno music.  Still can’t look at Biolage shampoo without hearing a umph, umph, umph, in the background.

Eating breakfast, sleeping, doing laundry, peeing, can’t think of a single thing I did while deployed that kept me by myself.  There was always someone in the room or in the next stall.  I remember coming home the first time so excited to see Hubby.  I dropped my bags in the living room, and surveyed our little pad.  He asked me later if I wanted to go to the store with him to grab some stuff for dinner.  ”No, thanks,” I sighed and hugged him.  As soon as he pulled out of the driveway, I sat down, loosened my boots, and listened. Silence.  I rested there for almost an hour and realized it was the first time in months that I had really been alone.  It was glorious.

Now I’m alone, sort of, as the boys are slumbering up in their rooms.  I think instead of rushing around trying to find things to do, I’ll soak up these few minutes to myself.  Before long the toddlers will swarm and sledding is on the agenda.  Maybe tomorrow, just for old times, I’ll pump some techno as I shower and ask the neighbors if they’d mind if we started using a communal port-a-john.  Well, maybe not.  I guess I just need to remember those old times in order to realize my current luxuries, including three-day snow days.

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By Alyssa, October 29, 2009 1:58 pm

Our Back Door

Every morning when I ask Bubba what he wants for breakfast, I get the same response, CINNAMON ROLLS!  The kid is addicted to them (his mom kind of likes them too) so we try to make some every couple of weeks.  I’ve tried store bought and occasionally even had the patience for the yeast recipes (they take FOR-EV-ER when you live at 6,000 feet).  I had almost given up, and then found this recipe.

Warning… once you make these, you too will be addicted and make them ALL the time. These rolls were especially key today when our back deck looked like this…  I tweaked the recipe from the Our Best Bites website , my latest Internet fetish.  What I love about these rolls is the simple ingredients.  No eggs!  I’m ALWAYS out of eggs these days as my two growing boys gobble them up each morning.  I also like the cottage cheese as it adds protein.  Don’t be scared… you don’t even taste it I promise!  Anyhoo, enough blah, blah, blah, here’s the recipe:

No Yeast Sweet Rolls
adapted from Our Best Bites

For the dough:
3/4 cup cottage cheese 
1/3 cup buttermilk (I substitute milk with a little lemon juice)
1/4 cup granulated sugar
4 Tbs real butter, melted
1 tsp. pure vanilla extract
9 oz. (2 cups) flour; more for rolling
1 Tbs. baking powder
1/2 tsp. table salt
1/4 tsp. baking soda

Roll Filling:
4T butter, softened
2/3 C brown sugar 
Cinnamon and Cloves to taste

Roll Glaze:
1 C powdered sugar
1 T melted butter
2 T Milk

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.  In a food processor (I use an immersion blender), combine the cottage cheese, buttermilk, sugar, melted butter, and vanilla.

Now put your filling on.  Roll up and pinch the dough together to seal the seam and ends.  After the rolls are filled and cut, place them in a pan that has been sprayed with cooking spray.  I use a glass pan and place a sheet of tin foil over the top so that the tops don’t burn.  Punch a small hole in the top of the tin foil to let the steam out while they cook.  

Bake for 20-25 minutes. When the rolls have a few minutes left in the oven, take off the tin foil and begin whisking your glaze ingredients together. When the rolls are done cooking, the tops should be a nice golden brown. Take them out and let them cool for five minutes before spreading on the glaze.

Final Product... Yum.

Seriously, these puppies are amazing.  I’m far too lazy for yeast and these are sooo easy I don’t think I’ll make cinnamon rolls that rise again.  I’ve also substituted parmesan and garlic powder instead of sugar and cinnamon to make a fast roll for our Italian dinner nights. This is my first and last recipe entry, so I hope you enjoy!

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By Alyssa, October 22, 2009 5:50 pm

I’m not sure when it all started.  Was it the first time I wore Army boots?  I was nine, I think, slipping my pink and white striped socks into my dad’s spit-shined pair of black boots.  We stood next to the ironing board as he pressed his uniform for weekend drill and showed me how to salute.  ”Elbow up and tuck that thumb. Good.  Now tilt your hand towards the ground.”  I held my arm stiff as he inspected.

Almost ten years later, I grabbed a ROTC (Reserve Officer Training Corps) brochure by chance on my way out of a college fair in Boise, Idaho.  I didn’t really think I’d follow through with the application.  I confidently assured myself midway through senior year that with a top placement in my sixty-student class and my winning personality, I would be turning down scholarships.  Reality set in as I received multiple “thank you” letters explaining I did NOT receive a scholarship for my submissions.  It was about this time my parents first financially positive year in real estate coincided with my application for aid.  What luck!

I panicked in March of 1997.  Graduation loomed and I’d won just enough scholarship money to cover buying books for a semester.  I pulled the crumpled ROTC brochure from a bag and applied only days before their deadline.  I wish I could say it was my patriotic spirit and willingness to serve that inspired me to apply for ROTC.  I can envision myself humming “Yankee Doodle Dandee” as I marched to the mailbox and sent off my packet.  Yes, I tear up every time the national anthem is played and love this country, but my first few steps to joining the military were in desperation.  I gave myself two options.  Spend my college years sharing a room with my sister or use a ROTC scholarship to live on my own.  It didn’t take long before I received my answer. Accepted!  I completed a physical fitness test (still not sure how a shuttle run and throwing a basketball while kneeling proved I was physically ready for the military) and applied my ROTC scholarship to a private liberal arts college in Spokane, Washington.

After celebrating with my family, I discussed my plans with my high school sweetheart, Mr. Hometown. He was the captain of the basketball team and we were voted most likely Mr. and Mrs.. Although we’d only officially started dating the beginning of our senior year, we were desperately in love.  We’d discussed where we would live and knew how many kids we would have.  He debated between a college in Oregon and the school I wanted to attend in Washington.  I begged him to go to school with me.  How could we possibly be apart?  I was thrilled when he finally decided we would go to the same college.

To be continued…

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By Alyssa, October 19, 2009 4:31 pm

Thankfully, I’ve never had to spend Christmas deployed.  One of the best Easter services I attended was under Army green canvas in the “Middle of Nowhere” Iraq, but I’ve always been with my family during Christmas.  My Dad is spending another Christmas in Iraq this year.  He’s halfway through his second deployment spending his birthday, anniversary, Christmas, my mom’s birthday, and Easter without his family.  Don’t tell him (the web system over there doesn’t give him access to this site), but yesterday I packed a sweet Christmas box for him.  I also helped pack boxes for a few other soldiers.

Packing Boxes

Our church started a “Christmas Packages for the Troops” ministry a few years ago with the goal to give soldiers encouragement while overseas.  It started in someone’s living room with a few boxes and now they send almost two thousand boxes.  I was very impressed. Before the packing started, there was ceremony including the Pledge of Allegiance (I relied on the 4th grader standing next to me for some of the words… it had been awhile!), National Anthem, and my favorite rendition of the Army song so far (they played all the service songs but had it right playing the best one first).  The donated items for the boxes were incredible.  New books, crock shoes, food drink mixes, golf balls, you name it.  They had new bungee cords and electric toothbrushes too.  I know I’m geeking out about this stuff but you don’t understand what I would have given for an electric toothbrush and bungee cords while deployed!  At the end of packing a box, they inserted notes from kids, a bandana with dozens of signatures, and, at the end, green and red tissue paper and candy canes so it would be like opening a real present.

My Dad's Box

As I was packing, I’ll admit I was a little jealous.  During my first deployment, I was so far away from anything that there was an entire month I couldn’t speak to my family or receive mail.  I was trading envelopes for batteries and sugar packets for crackers.  Right now there are soldiers in similar situations.  They are on their fourth consecutive deployment and their family probably sent tons of stuff for deployment one and two, but by now, they aren’t receiving as much love from home.  For this reason, I love the ministry our church has undertaken.  When all of the boxes were packed yesterday, the entire group gathered around them and prayed over each box.  Prayers for safety, prayers for family members, prayers for love during the Christmas season.

Interested in packing boxes for a deployed Soldier?  I can tell you that it’s pretty easy to send something to one person and in turn be helping 5 to 10 soldiers.  Everyone in a unit loves when a package arrives, because soldiers always share.  I guess it’s being stuck in the same awful place that creates a giving heart.  Find one person you can send a box to and do it today!  ”What should I pack?” you might ask.  I formed an addiction to Green Tea Raspberry Crystal Light during my last deployment.  Here’s a list of things I would have loved:  Drink Mixes (as there is no running water and plain ole’ bottled water gets old fast), Old magazines, paperback books, SOCKS!! (black or white), beef jerky, trail mix or protein bars (just know that if you send chocolate it will be a melted hunk when it gets there), gum, EAR PLUGS (because you are NEVER alone), bungee cords, electric toothbrushes, chapstick (in a ziploc just in case it leaks), hand sanitizer, baby wipes….

Sending a package in the next week or two will ensure the box gets there by Christmas since the military mail centers are inundated with mail right before Christmas.  Don’t bother with priority shipping as once a package is transferred to the military mail, nothing’s really a priority (sorry, I’ve just known too many Army mail handlers).  Make a party out of packing boxes and invite a few friends over.  Each friend can bring a different item and, BAM, you’ve just helped someone that doesn’t get to see their sweet toddler in footed-jammies on Christmas morning.

If you’re in the Denver area, head to Cherry Hills Community Church (www.chcc.org).  We are packing more boxes this Sunday, October 25, starting at 1 p.m.  I love Christmas morning and can’t wait for that great feeling this Christmas knowing the same time I’m opening gifts, someone in the desert is opening my box.

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By Alyssa, October 15, 2009 5:51 pm

We took Zeke’s one year pictures today.  Well, to be truthful, we took his one year picture today at 14 months of age, but who’s counting?  I try not to, but every time we take pictures of this incredibly cute little blonde boy, I get a little nervous.  Zeke was born with a large “V” birth mark on his forehead and red splotches above his right eye.  When he is irritated or cries, these marks turn a dark brick red as if I stamped the letter on his forehead or his brother socked him in the eye.  He’s beautiful to me with dark red or soft pink blotches, but it’s been an emotional process handling other people’s reactions.

When Zeke was born, at first sight of the marks, I thought I pushed him out too hard.  Seriously!  After two gigantic pushes, he catapulted into the doctor’s arms so fast that I turned to Hubby holding him and said, “I just can’t push anymore.  He’s got to come out.”  After his first bath, one of the nurses handed him to me and said, “Oh look! Angel kisses!”  Angel kisses?  Seeing my puzzled look, she explained that about 1/3 of babies are born salmon patches or red birth marks on their skin (nevus simplex is the medical term).  A patch on the face was nicknamed an “Angel Kiss” and back of the neck patches were called “Stork Bites.” Sure enough, after examining every little bit of my sweet boy those first few days, I discovered Zeke was blessed with red marks on his forehead, eyelid, and the nape of his neck.

After the marks didn’t fade in the first few months, I started to worry and with the worry came truly insensitive comments from strangers.  ”Oh, you’re the one with that kid that has the “V” right?”  ”Do you think he’ll be stuck with those marks forever?”  I felt like everyone that met my baby wasn’t looking at him, but at his birth marks.  To make matters worse, I researched studies connecting the cause to the mother’s hormone levels during pregnancy.  GREAT!  Let’s just load a little guilt on my worry.  I was sure I had caused the marks stressing during my pregnancy.  I was also convinced that Zeke would be labeled “that kid with the ‘V.’” This unhealthy pattern of thought continued until I was talking to a friend about taking my boys to my parent’s Idaho farm for a few weeks during the summer.

“I don’t want any of my parent’s friends to meet Zeke,” I lamented.  ”They’re going to make comments and I’m just so sick of people implying that having a kid with birthmarks means you have a kid with something wrong with them.”

Thank goodness for amazing, brutally honest friends.  ”You know, Alyssa,” she told me.  ”You’re never going to be able to control what people say about Zeke.  He may always have those birth marks, have them for the rest of his life.  But does that really matter?  Does it change anything about who he is or how much you love him?  Do you really care that much about what strangers say about your kids?”  I swallowed.  She was right. Was I embarrassed that there might be something different about my kid?  Were my insecurities at fault? She continued, “Just because other people label him doesn’t mean you do.  What a lesson you can teach your boys through all of this, that people are different, and God blessed them that way.” Insert tears here. I’m still crying now reading her words.  I always thought I was accepting of “different” people, but I don’t think I was being honest with myself.  I accepted that other people were “different” but struggled that MY kid was different.  I hadn’t even considered that Zeke had been blessed to be different.

So I got a little nervous today taking pictures, nervous that all of those depressing thoughts would flood back into my mind.  They didn’t though.  As I watched my precious 14-month-old rustle through fall leaves and pose for the camera, all I could think about was how blessed I am to have him.  Sure, he’s got birth marks. He also has an insatiable hunger for graham crackers, a bubbly chuckle, and sandy blonde hair that always smells like lavender.  Those angel kisses may never completely fade, but it doesn’t matter to me. He is different and God made him that way for a reason.

Sweet Zeke

***UPDATE HERE***