Tomorrow Is Another Day...

Things That I Love: Dreary Winter Edition

It's been a while since I did one of these round ups, but the weather in Germany has been taking its annual toll on my soul, and I am grasping for happiness in whatever dark corners of the universe I may find it.  Lord, but I hate winter.  I mean, I love Christmas.  And I love my birthday.  But the rest of it can just go sit on a tack.  

I'm a child of the South, born to a Southern man and a Southern woman who just so happened to have the misfortune of birth of being born a Yankee.  My formative years were all spent below I-10 (a much more accurate description of where the South truly begins than the Mason Dixon line), where it was not abnormal to spend Thanksgiving weekend at the pool.  At the very least, I crave sunlight.  Even in the chilliest depths of winter, I could find a little comfort in that big fiery ball in the sky.  And it's not even technically winter yet.  Ye gods.  Hold me.

Anyway, when these gloomy days come upon us, there are a few creature comforts that get me through the miserable days.

Starbucks Cocoa Mix

Recently, I started making my own hot cocoa mix, and I was pretty smug about how it was basically the best at home cocoa I'd ever tasted.  Then, I stumbled upon these bad boys: Starbucks Salted Caramel, Peppermint and Double Chocolate Hot Cocoa.  

Oh my lands, are these tasty.  If only I had my trusty frother which is somewhere in a storage unit in middle Georgia, I think it could easily compete with any cafe hot chocolate experience.  You've gotta use whole milk though.  Trust me on this.  Worth every extra calorie.  Little packets of happiness, people.

 

Yankee Candle Apple Pumpkin

As much as I love me some spring and summer time temperatures, the aromas just can't compete with the cozy scents of fall and winter.  Yankee Candle's Apple Pumpkin is a recent discovery of mine, though I don't know if it's new to the brand. I do know that it has trumped my previous favorite, Farmers Market.  

I light the wick, and for a brief moment in time, it manages to trick me into believing that winter isn't proof of the devil's work in our lives.  If there is a heaven, and by some happy accident, I end up there, I hope that it smells like the blissful combination of pumpkin and apple.

 

The Good Wife

This show!  It is so fantastic!  i've heard that for years, and I've honestly no idea why I didn't start watching until last month, but thanks to Hulu Plus, I was able to start with the first episode and thus far have worked my way through season two.  

I can't really put my finger on why I love it so much--Julianna Margulies is fantastic, none of the characters are perfectly good or perfectly bad, the standalone storylines are interesting, and the overall arc is gripping.  The writers of this show know how to employ a good cliff hanger, I can tell you that.  So, if you're the last human on earth who has never seen this show, give it a try.  I promise, it'll make at least a few frigid winter days fly by.

These Faces

(Photos by Talita Springer Photography)

Do I really need to say more?

Command Sergeant Major

I spent most of my formative years of life as a scared little girl.  I relied on my outgoing younger sister to help me make friends, or a friendly face at school to introduce herself and drag words out of me by force.  The thought of standing up to give a presentation in class was enough to give me the vapors.  In a social circle in which I was comfortable, there was nothing meek or reserved about me, but plunk me in a new setting and I immediately retracted into myself.  I struggled mightily with self-confidence.

When I started high school, I was given the choice to take gym or JROTC.  Given that I struggled with sports nearly as much as confidence, after a little encouragement from my parents, I opted for two years of JROTC over a year and a half of phys ed.  And that's when I met the man who quite literally changed my life.  I fully believe that at the age of thirteen, I encountered one of the most crucial turning points of my life, and I credit so much of who I am and where I am today with one person.

Command Sergeant Major Broadnax was not a large man, but he seemed at least seven feet tall.  He didn't waste words, but he spoke volumes with a look, with a hard earned laugh, with the dreaded bark of just your last name--he didn't need to say much more.  You always knew exactly what it was that you shouldn't have been doing.  He saw things in young people that they didn't know they were capable of.  He expected a lot from his students, and he usually got it.

He cornered me on my first day of class--a day in which I was overwhelmed with learning the military language, being issued a multitude of uniform pieces, trying to find my place in a whole new world among a new set of peers--and in his gruff way, asked me if I would be coming out for the drill team.  A group of individuals who seemed unspeakably cool and unapproachable to me.  I squeaked out a "yes", definitely thinking "no" in my head.

It took his penetrating gaze and my parents' bribe of ice cream to get me to turn up for drill team after school, but it ended up being one of the best experiences of my life.  Sergeant Major didn't stop there.  He encouraged me to compete in district wide JROTC competitions measuring military bearing and knowledge of customs, prototcol, current events.  I went from being scared to give a book report to public speaking competitions.  He chose me to be our student battalion's sergeant major, helped us plan our military balls, let us come into his office and talk when we needed a listening ear.

At the end of each school year, we had a change of command ceremony, when one student battalion commander would step down and pass the command on to the next year's commander.  It was a beautiful summer day in May as I ended my sophomore year, imagining myself perhaps someday at the helm as I participated in the change of command, watching a friend take control of the battalion for the next year.

In all of the excitement of the ceremony, I didn't notice what should have been a glaring absence in the crowd.

After the ceremony was over, the guidance counselor approached.  We were all asked to gather around, and were told that Sergeant Major had passed away the night before.  Cancer.  He hadn't wanted any of us to know he was sick.  He didn't want us to worry.  I honestly can't even remember him seeming ill.  Missing class.  Right until the end, to me, he was seven feet tall.  It was so sudden.  We all went to pieces in an instant.  I don't remember anything else from that day except so many tears.  He would have been 60 years old three weeks later.

I attended his military funeral, complete with 21 gun salute and a flag folding.  We met his wife, his family, his church family at a beautiful church funeral that celebrated his life with joy and singing.  Over the next few years, we continued to make pilgramages to Sergeant Major's grave.  The grass grew over the mound of dirt.  We all got older.  Some of us entered college, some the military.  Our trips to visit Sergeant Major dwindled.  I commissioned in the Air Force and moved away.  But I have never stopped thinking about that man and the immeasurable ways that he impacted my life.  My eyes and throat sting with tears as I write this today.

I wonder what he would have had to say when I made the decision to join Air Force ROTC in college.  When I earned a full scholarship.  When I said my commissioning oath.  I like to imagine that we would have kept in touch somehow.  That I could have realized how much he shaped me as a person and thanked him for it.

On Veterans Day, I always think of my grandfather, my father, my husband.  But I also think of a man unrelated to me.  A man that I haven't seen for fifteen years.  A man that I was never able to thank in person.  I appreciate every man and woman who has served in our military, protecting our freedoms and safety.  But in particular, I thank the man who didn't choose to rest after a prestigious career of military service, but instead entered the battlefield of public education.  Who put so many of us on a very different path than we may have gone down had he never entered our lives.  And I thank him for his service.  To the United States.  To the Army.  To his students.  To me.

Thank you, Sergeant Major.  I miss you.

The Inevitable Mom Guilt

I wasn't raised Catholic, and I'm not a religious person, but I did inherit a fair bit of "Catholic guilt" from my maternal side of the family.  Over the years, I got pretty good about brushing off that immediate instinct to feel utterly terrible and responsible for every bad thing that happens in life, but then I became a mom.  And the minute those two girls came screaming into this world, I instantly became afflicted with a healthy dose of "Mom guilt".

The baby is crying?  It must be my fault--I'm not producing enough milk, or holding her comfortably, or changing her diaper the right way, or putting her to sleep properly, or dressing her in the right clothes.  We can't make it out the door in time to show up fashionably dressed, fed and happy for a playgroup--I'm failing at motherhood and obviously can't keep up with every other mother who is somehow able to find the energy and ability to leave the house.

A lot of those feelings were PPD related--I beat myself up about pretty much everything for months, and was pretty sure I'd made a huge mistake thinking I could be responsible for one helpless human, let alone two.  But as the fog lifted around 6 months post partum, and the babies stopped spitting up or pooping all over me and themselves anytime we tried to go anywhere or do anything, life started to get a little bit easier, physically, mentally and emotionally.  I think getting more than 3 or 4 hours of sleep in a stretch helped out a lot.

But even now, there is a certain amount of guilt that I can't shake.  About something that has worried me ever since that day six weeks into my pregnancy when we heard two heartbeats.  Am I ever going to be as good a parent to two babies as I could have been to one baby?

How can I give them both enough attention, enough patience, enough cuddles?  I know that I am fully capable of loving them both with all my heart.  I realize now that I could have fifteen babies and I would love them all with my whole heart--differently, of course, but fully.  But the other aspects of parenting are harder.

I am guilty both for feeling envious about friends who are able to experience one-on-one bonding experiences with their babies and for not being equipped with enough arms to engage in them myself.  I wish that I could bring Charlotte and Annabelle to swim classes, music classes, dance classes, but with only two arms and hands, it seems both unsafe and quite frankly, unfun.  

I know that in just another year or so, it will get easier to provide them with classes and activities that will engage and educate.  I know that they won't even be able to remember these first years and hopefully won't hold it against me that I wasn't able to do everything that I might have wanted for them.  I just can't help but wonder how they might have developed differently or have been better off if I had been able to give them my entire, undivided energies and attention.

But then I see them playing together, working out the concepts of sharing and social interaction, without even having to leave the house, and I know that they're learning things now, important things, that they might not have been able to learn as easily if they didn't have each other.  Maybe the twin relationship will help make up for whatever might have been different if it were just me and one child.

I love having my two girls.  I would never, ever trade this experience for another.  I don't wish for them to be any different than what they are, I just hope that I can be enough for them.  And really, I suppose that's every mother's hope.

Early this morning, when they woke up to eat, I got them out of their cribs individually.  I brought each girl back to my bed, in turn, cradled her in my arms as she nursed.  Gently stroked her head.  Held her tiny hand.  When she finished, I placed her on my chest and held her for a few silent minutes, listening to her soft breaths, and feeling her heart beat next to mine.

We don't have many one-on-one moments of silence, and the older they get, the fewer and further between those moments will become.  But just in that moment, I felt like maybe I was enough.

Run, Run As Fast As You Can, You'll... Probably Catch Me

I've had an on and off relationship with exercise since Charlotte and Annabelle were born.  The first six months were purely about survival, and while I would try to get a run in every now and again, I was probably only averaging one 2-3 mile "run" every couple of weeks.

Then, two things happened that helped ignite the endorphin fueled fire under me to work out more regularly.  1) We bought a double BOB jogging stroller, drastically reducing the number of excuses I could make about why I was opting to catch up on my Hulu queue instead of going for a run. 2) My sister came to stay for three months and watched the girls for me a few times a week so that I could go to some classes at the base on gym.  I found a barre/pilates fusion class that I really enjoyed and also got hooked on cardio kickboxing.  Sadly, all good things must come to an end, and that includes my sister's visit.  There's no childcare at the gym, because let's face it, this is the military, so bare minimum is the best we can expect when it comes to family support, so I stopped going to classes on base and started focusing on running.

I started going for 3-4 mile runs 3 or 4 times a week, and was geting back to the point where I really enjoyed them again.  It was hard to start back at the very beginning of my training, remembering how just a couple of years ago I ran a 10K and a half marathon.  But I tried to be patient with myself and stick with my trusty Couch to 5K program and before I knew it, I had gotten my pace down from a 13ish minute mile to an 11ish minute mile.  Not going to qualify in the Olympic trials, but I've never been a speedy runner--9 minute miles are a sprint for me--so I was pretty proud of myself.

Then it happened. Fall in Germany.  Early fall was actually pretty beautiful and temperate, perfect for running.  But the drear and rain, it is upon us.  In the past couple of weeks, I've only managed to run twice, and judging by The Weather Channel app, I won't be getting another chance for a run this week.  I don't so much mind running in the cold, but in the cold rain?  Nope.  Not gonna happen.

A month ago, I was actually contemplating registering for the Paris half marathon, but it's in April.  I just don't know if I'll be able to force myself to train in weather like we had last year from November through April.  I hate this season so, so much.  I love a lot of things about living in Germany, but I would love it a lot more if we could migrate to Australia for the next few months.

I am registered for a 5k with Colby and my sis while we're in Louisiana, and I think it will be fun, though I doubt I'll be leading the charge.  I'm hoping that after the past few weeks of constant rain, we'll get a little break from the precipitation and I'll be able to hit the pavement again.  I've also been wanting to find someone to come watch the girls a few times a week so I can get back to the gym, so that's a goal for after the holidays.

I really do feel like my mood is so much better when I'm not just sitting on my duff all day, but man, it's tough to be inspired to do anything when it looks like the beginning of a black and white horror film outside, complete with lashing rain and villagers with pitchforks.  It's a vicious cycle.  Ugh.  I think it's time to break out the vitamin D pills.

A Multitude of Celebrations

Phew.

We survived the fun!  Fun is such a joy, but it's downright exhausting at times, isn't it?  Particularly when you're the self-elected president of your one-person introvert club.

The end of last week right on into the weekend was one exciting event after another.

We kicked things off with a celebration of candy, zombies, and Despicable Me minions (pop culture costume phenomenon of the year, don't you think?) with Halloween on Thursday.  We went to Trunk or Treat on base with some friends and their adorable little girls, then came back home for a street party in Little America.  We couldn't hang for too long as it was pretty chilly and Charlotte and Annabelle's fun-o-meter had about hit its limit, but it was a really great first Halloween.  No melt downs and everyone kept their hat on--I call it a win!

Friday, we got ourselves all cleaned up and presentable and went to Colby's promotion ceremony where he finally got to pin on Major after finding out he'd been selected for the rank almost two years ago.  It was a lovely, and more importantly, short, ceremony, and we followed it up with a party in the squadron, and later went to a schnapps distillery for dinner with some friends for some more celebration.

Saturday we spent the day cleaning, decorating, and doing food prep for... the girls' FIRST BIRTHDAY!!!  Yep, on Sunday, November 3, 2013, they made the transition from infants to toddlers.  I suppose they've been toddling for a while now, but I feel like it's pretty official now.  I was actually awake, staring at the clock at 12:17 am, thinking about how exactly a year ago our lives were turned upside down, inside out and made epically more fantastic.  Surreal.

We had a bunch of fabulous friends over on Sunday to help us celebrate, and it couldn't have gone better.  The kids all seemed to have fun, and Charlotte and Annabelle were first birthday party champions.  They went to town on their birthday cupcakes, played with their friends, and went an astoundingly long time maintaining a cheery disposition sans-nap.

As if that weren't enough excitement, last night, right after Colby got home from work, Annabelle took her first real steps.  Both girls have been cruising around using their walker and the furniture for a while now, but last night, AnnaB took the couple of steps from the ottoman to the sofa without holding onto a thing.  Colby and I sat in silent shock for a moment, then looked at each other and simultaneously shrieked, "DID YOU SEE THAT!?!"  

Y'all, this parenting gig.  It's pretty freaking stellar.