Comments (2)

By Alyssa, March 29, 2010 7:51 pm

I finally ordered my seeds!  Well, I ordered them last week and started to get excited about surveying my garden space when it snowed 10 inches.  Gotta love Colorado.  I have a few friends that are interested in what I’m ordering, so here’s the skinny.  I tried to pick out plants advertised as extreme condition survivors.  The old saying in Colorado is that if you don’t like the weather, wait ten minutes.  It’s sure to change.  I prepped the garden area today amidst snow drifts in a tank top.  No kidding.

I ordered all of my seeds online from Seed Savers Exchange.  The following vegetable and herb seeds should be delivered within the next week.

Vegetables:
Provider Green Bean
Detroit Dark Red Beet
St. Valery Carrot
Parade Cucumber
Bronze Arrowhead Lettuce
Gold Rush Lettuce
Black Beauty Zucchini Squash
Golden Zucchini Squash

Herbs:
Genovese Basil
Giant from Italy Parsley
Greek Oregano
Thyme

I also ordered Nasturtium (Empress of India) and Marigolds (Jolly Jester) in order to strengthen the soil and deter pests.

Instead of tomato seeds, I selected transplants that will be shipped the middle of May.  Colorado is a tough place to grow tomatoes, I’ve heard, because of the short season.  I’m hoping these two plants (Hungarian Heart and Stupice) will make it through our summer hail and extreme temperatures.

I’ve put a lot of research into everything so far and I’m extremely excited to get started.  I wish I had this plan during my moving military years as a garden would have instantly made me feel at home.  Feel free to comment if you have any questions about my selections.

Comments (4)

By Alyssa, March 24, 2010 11:43 pm

It started when Hubby worked this last Sunday so I took the boys to a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese… by myself.  The boys and I perused the mini-rides and arcade section before we found one game we were really good at, the “punch-the-buttons-really-fast” game.  Even Zeke was getting into the action when, out of the blue, a nine year old girl (at least I think she was 9) pushed Bubba off of the game wedging herself between me and the console.  Did I mention I’m not an angry person?

“Uh, excuse me,” I said as I gently guided her to the side of us and continued to play with the boys.  Not five seconds later, she slammed her way in again.  I moved her over a little more forcefully this time while quickly searching in vain for a parental figure.  Then, what do you think happened?

Yep.  She did it again.  Right after muscling my four-year-old out of the way, she turned to me and barked, “Hey, let me play!”  At this point, I kinda, well, lost it.  I squared my shoulders to this four-foot kid, pushed her to the side of the arcade game, and bent down to her eye-level, before booming with my command voice, “You need to BACK OFF!”

Wow.  That’s a moment to be proud of.  Sure enough, little princess skidded away, clutching her “It’s my Birthday” crown.  Good times.  Did I mention that the boys and I still managed to win like twenty Chuck E. Cheese tickets from that game?  When I relayed the story to Hubby, I assured him this incident was a direct result of arcade sound effects combined with severe jet lag.  He almost bought it.

Tonight, I kinda lost it again.  Really, I’m not an angry person.  A group of teenagers refused to “make a hole and make it wide” for my friends and I as we were running the indoor track at my neighborhood recreation center.  Sure, we were running three abreast but I used my ninja-like vigilance to always move over if I heard someone coming up behind us.  These teens, oblivious to their road block on the four-lane track, slowed us down every lap.

I’m not proud of it, but about the third time around, I kinda bumped one of them.  I did it the next lap too.  Then, our third time around, I sort of put my shoulder into it.  I said I wasn’t proud of it!  By the next lap, I think they got the hint and started to move for us.  I’d almost convinced myself that my shouldering was somehow accidental when I noticed a teen recreation worker flagging our group down.  ”Umm, there is a policy, umm for single lane running, umm,” I heard in passing as I flashed him the thumbs up and kept running.  On our next lap, one of my girlfriends slowed down as he continued to wave at us, “Sorry, but you really need to run in a single file, because…”.  I didn’t stay for the speech, thinking, there is no way I’m getting schooled for running in a row when those teenie-boppers behind me are blocking the whole track.

“No worries, guys,” I huffed as we continued to run, “We’re not breaking any rules.”  Really we were breaking the rules, but come on, Lane-Nazi didn’t intimidate me.  He was, however, getting really annoying as he monitored and commented on our lane procedures every time we passed him.  I continued to flash him the thumbs-up sign, because I’m an awful person, until he got annoyed and raised his voice to say, “If I need to get my supervisor, I will gladly…”.  My girlfriends, the sweet ones that put up with me, got into a single file and we finished our last laps by the rules.

At home, I lamented to Hubby again.  ”Ridiculous,” I said, “we weren’t blocking the way and those teens were walking around the track.”  I forgot to include the shoulder tackling and thumbs-up gestures for obvious reasons and complained until Hubby started to laugh.  Not exactly the reaction I was looking for. “You’ve got issues” he said grinning, before heading up the stairs.

Stalking to the computer after he left, I formulated the title of my post, Kids that Don’t Deserve Birthday Parties, Teens Without Respect, Inconsiderate People.  As you can see, that’s not the title of this post.  Let’s just say, I better get my act together before my boys start picking up on this stuff.  Wait, maybe they already have.  Oh, brother.

Comments (5)

By Alyssa, March 22, 2010 7:28 am

After 16 days in South Korea for my National Guard Annual Training, I’m home.  I have a lot to write about and even more to think about from the trip, but jet lag is pounding my thoughts to mush.

I missed my boys more than I could have imagined.  They’d grown so much in that short amount of time that I had to spend several minutes hugging each of them before their foreign bodies became familiar again. Zeke, my 18-month-old, spent the first fifteen minutes with me scowling.  Over the last day or two, he’s slowly warming up to the idea that I’m back and that he doesn’t have to be mad at me for being gone. Bubba elaborated nonstop for the 45 minute drive home on the things I’d missed the last two weeks.  At one point he paused and grabbed my hand murmuring, “I sure like you, Mom.”  I think I’ll remember that moment forever.

Soldiering had its highlights, but I found the same idiotic active duty practices I left behind two years ago ring true today.  Egos and locker room talk brought out a sarcastic side of me I hate to admit exists.  I didn’t realize how much I missed being around women until I came home to a houseful of my girlfriends.  Their welcome home party brought a much needed respite from my time outnumbered thirty males to one.  Out of all of those males, Hubby still remains the only man I want to report to.  I blushed when he picked me up from my unit remembering that this handsome linebacker was mine.

If anything, the trip confirmed for me that I don’t want to quit my day job anytime soon.  I missed cooking breakfast and making lunches, sword fights and wrestling, and even winked at my front load washers, as that dreaded chore didn’t seem so harsh compared to other things I’d done while away.  Wife and Mom have become two titles I yearn to epitomize.  Absence from those roles rejuvenated my passion for them as my Army now consists of one handsome man and two adorable little boys.  It’s good to be home.

Me, Hubby, and Moose Drool.

Comments (0)

By Alyssa, March 3, 2010 10:25 pm

I’m trading in my PB & J encrusted outfits (thanks to my 18-month-old) for boots and Army camo as I head off to train with my National Guard unit tomorrow.  I was going to write a long, witty post to keep you entertained for the next few weeks, but honestly, all I can think about is leaving my sweet little boys.  Hard to believe that three years ago about this time I was saying goodbye to then 18-month-old Bubba as I left for my second deployment to Iraq.  This time is definitely not as painful, but it still isn’t fun.  I’m going to miss Hubby and those boys.

*Sigh* If you want to count down the days until I’m home too, you can make a handy paper chain like this one:

Took Hubby three days to notice it next to the fridge.  He asked me who was going to read the notes to Bubba.  Silly Hubby, along with taking care of our house and the children and your job, of course, you’re going to read my little notes to our son.  He was excited… I think.  Anyway, 17 little paper chains until I’m back with my boys.  The countdown begins…

Comments (0)

By Alyssa, March 1, 2010 11:54 am

For some reason as a kid, I never got a temperature when I was sick.  This characteristic meant a lot more time at school than I liked.  I could be ready to launch my breakfast at any moment, but, unless I had a fever, my parents sent me off to class. Whenever I was feeling crumby, I tried to ensure a sick day by sneaking the thermometer up to my nightstand lamp prior to the verdict.  You know, the old “light-bulb-to-thermometer” trick.  ”Seriously, I don’t feel good, Mom!” I would lament as she dragged me toward the school bus, shaking a 107 degree reading. More than once, I remember getting to school super sick and having to be sent back home. Don’t think that a fever meant a doctor’s visit either.  You had better be half-dying before my parents took you to the doctor.

I rarely get sick, but because of my upbringing, when I do it takes a lot for me to visit a doctor’s office.  The Army didn’t help that cause either.  In order to go to the doctor, a soldier has to report to “sick call” in the morning.  Sick Call at the medical clinic starts at 6:00 a.m., conveniently right before Physical Training begins at 6:30 a.m.  Reporting to Sick Call means standing in line with a bunch of other half-awake peeps in wrinkled Army physical training uniforms, most of which came to Sick Call to get out of a 4 mile run at 6:30.

When you really are sick there is nothing worse than waiting a ridiculous amount of time before seeing a Physician’s Assistant (P.A.) that could care less how many times you threw-up this morning, assumes that you are hung-over, and sends you back to work right after giving the infamous Army get-well instructions. Drink water and take some ibuprofen.  I kid you not, there was a time in my life when I was crapping blood and the Army doc’s diagnosis was for me to eat more salads and drink more water.  Nice.  Probably more than you wanted to know about me, too.  The only time I was ever given quarters, a military term meaning you get to stay home for a sick day, was after I started working on an Air Force Base (typically Air Force doctors believe more whining).

Soooo, it would come as no surprise that after about a week of feeling awful, Hubby had to BEG me to go to the doctor yesterday.  Sprawled out on our bed, I moaned through a pile of pillows, “I don’t need to pay some dude to tell me to drink more liquids and take Advil.”  Because I am less than enjoyable when I’m ill, Hubby didn’t let up until I was out the door headed to the closest “doc-in-the-box”.  Imagine my surprise, when I walked into a very pleasant waiting room, saw the doctor in less than 10 minutes, and left with antibiotics. Seriously, you don’t want me to explain all of my many symptoms so I can convince you that my body may need more than water and ibuprofen? I thought as the doctor wrote my prescription.

Let me know if you ever want me to bring out my government health care soapbox.  Let’s just say when I walked back in the front door only an hour after leaving the house, I thanked Hubby for making me go and told him, “You know, it’s kind of good not being full time Army anymore.”