Merry freakin' Christmas

Tomorrow's Christmas Eve! To be honest, I'm just glad it's almost over. Trying not to be too whiny about the deployment but the truth? I really miss my soldier and his army haircut. I even miss his prickly five o'clock shadow kisses. Being alone has put me into "survival-only" mode this December and I really haven't been able to get into the holiday spirit. I've done my best to make it ok for Emma, taking her to friends' houses and having people over, and today we went to see The Nutcracker (AWE. SOME.) but there have been a few meltdowns on Emma's part. She had a hard time decorating the Christmas tree without Daddy, especially when it came to hanging the Heiko and army ornaments. She burst into tears and insisted that we "just can't do this without Dad". I gently reminded her that we did it alone for nearly four years before I married Chad - did she not remember? She didn't. She only remembers Christmases with Chad Dad. We miss you, Daddy. Stay safe. Only nine more months left.

And as if I don't have enough DEPRESSING to dwell on right now, I've also been thinking about the in-vitro we did last year. It's so lonely around here without Fart Man that I can't help but wonder how it would be different if only we'd been successful. It would be a HELL of a lot harder with Chad gone and an infant (or two or three, since we put in three embryos), but maybe Emma wouldn't be so lonely if she had some siblings here. The infertility thing is really not something I dwell on normally, because with the job I have that would make me crrrrrazy, but it seems that everyone around me is either pregnant or just had a baby and it makes me a little sad. Sometimes I hate even talking about this because I'm afraid people will think I'm not happy for them or that they can't talk babies around me. But that's not the case. I simply need to feel sorry for myself every once in a while and then I get over it. I'm just no spring chicken anymore (it's amazing how fast your approved "child-bearing years" fly by!) so my stupid clock is ticking. And what can you do about that when your man is in Iraq? You think bitter, bitter thoughts about the army, that's what you do! We've talked about trying one more round of ICSI/in-vitro when he gets back home, but who even knows if my ovaries haven't shriveled into raisins what with all the CT scans I've had this year! Stupid sinuses. Stupid army. STUPID DECEMBER. I'm pretty sure I have an "I hate December" post every year. (I had an older, more rambunctious blog prior to this one.)

So here's a dose of comfort for those who have lost loved ones recently. Here's to all of us infertile peeps, and here's to Military Man's army unit and their safety. And here's a gigantic toast to a new year and the return of my sanity!

An update!

Insano Stalker Neighbor chased me into my house with a Christmas card today and a whiny story about how the other neighbors have sort of told him to LEAVE THEIR WIVES ALONE.

I now know his last name. (Christmas card return address!)

Who wants to run me a background check?

Today's list of random

1. Went to Arizona Mills Mall today.

Wait, that's not the end.....

They were playing Christmas music in SPANISH all over the place. In every store. Everyone around me was speaking SPANISH. Something is wrong with this American picture. (I realize I'm not being PC here but ask me if I care!) THEN some chick teenager hawking wares at a kiosk called out, "Hey princess, come on over here and try this!" at me. DUDE. Did you really just call me princess? Really? Because 1.) I could probably be your mom and b.) I poke babies with needles for a living and LIKE it. I am NOT a princess. Unless princesses end up with blood and vomit all over by the end of the day and use profanity liberally.

I remember when Arizona Mills Mall was so cool. *sigh*

2. I get to have surgery again. That's right, lucky Internet, you get to listen to me whine about my nasal passages again. Except that this time you get the added bonus of hearing about an infected bone in my skull too. To the nurse at my primary care doc's office who refused to believe that my headaches were real and severe and even felt the need to share that YOUR nasal surgery took a while to feel better from but that I really shouldn't be feeling so much pain anymore: I hope you enjoyed your steaming slice of humble pie. I must admit to a certain amount of satisfaction in your phone call after your office got the MRI results. Yes, I WOULD like some vicodin, thank you. And yes, I will see a new ENT immediately, and YES, you may call around and get me into one today because apparently the results were not pretty and quite frankly, alarming.

(Turns out I've lost 10% of my hearing already, according to my new ENT! YAY!)

Anyway.

3. I am a nurse and know this a thousand times over but it bears repeating: DO NOT GOOGLE YOUR DIAGNOSIS UNLESS YOU WANT TO START HYPERVENTILATING. If you choose to google your diagnosis of mastoiditis, make sure you have plenty of Xanax on hand, because you won't be able to drink with all of the Flagyl that will soon be coursing through your system.

4. Chad is safe in Iraq, in case you were wondering. And even if you weren't wondering, you now know. He's thrilled because he found a Cinnabon on the base he is staying at.

5. NEVER NEVER NEVER google the city in Iraq that your soldier is staying in. (Especially right after you just googled your diagnosis and learned that you were either going to DIE and/or go DEAF.) Unless you really don't like your soldier. Or your sanity.

6. Emma, it turns out, is violently opposed to The Chipmunks Christmas music. She likes it "even less than Aerosmith". (What child of mine doesn't like Aerosmith?!) I admit to being largely relieved by the Chipmunk dislike - now I can delete it from my playlist. Their voices make my skull hurt even more.

7. My *squeak* keyboard *squeak* squeaks *squeak* every *squeak* time *squeak* I *squeak* hit *squeak* the *squeak* space *squeak* bar. Santa, I would like some WD-40 for Christmas, please.

8. My new neighbor. At first I thought he was just overly friendly but after today I know he's just insane. I was outside attempting to put up Christmas lights when he asked me what size shoe I wore (!!) and then when I told him, he disappeared into his house and came back out with like three pairs of shoes in my size. Turns out he bought them at thrift stores! (Ew.) And they're barely used! (Ew.) And here, try them on! Ummm...... I waffled between blatantly telling him that he was really creepy or just trying the things on to appease him, and finally went with the latter. The shoes are now in my garage (where they will STAY) because he deemed them a "perfect fit!" I'm sorry Crazy Neighbor, I just have a thing against wearing shoes that have been on other peoples' smelly, yeasty feet. I'm not a Duggar. I don't typically buy my shoes used. If he starts asking what size pants I wear I think I'm just going to go ahead and call the police.

Ugh. The snowbirds are back.

I need to preface this post with this: Emma is a *good* kid. She'll run her mouth off occasionally and it takes AGES to get her to pick up even a sock off the floor, and she did display a bit (ok, a LOT) of poorly disguised glee when she discovered that her school had asked me for an address to write to Chad in Iraq and it turned out that her STEPSISTER'S CLASS would be writing to HER stepdad, but who doesn't have moments like that? I know that *I* can appreciate the irony in the stepsister thing. The donor and the stepmom are going to LOVE that one!

But of course I'm being nothing but an adult about the whole thing.

*snicker*

Ahem.

But as I was saying, my little spawn is usually a *good* kid. We are enjoying being back in a civilized town, with things like libraries, neighbors that aren't running drug businesses out of their garages, parks and paved roads with more than one lane. Last night we made our way over to a neighborhood park we've been wanting to check out for a while. It's some kind of bird reserve but it seems that a bunch of idiots have released their unwanted cats into the place. Let's think about it. A bird reserve. Add a bunch of feral, starving cats. Yeeeeeah. At this point, it's basically a cat reserve with only the really BIG birds left over. The nature trails are cool, though, so we put Sadie and Winston in the car and headed over.

We're walking through the place when we come across a gaggle of geese. BIG geese. Honky geese. Curious geese who waddle closer to see what we are about. I'm no dummy. I have seen my share of America's Funniest Home Videos and know that big geese like this can have a bit of a 'tude so we just stayed back a few feet and waited for them to cross the path. Sadie is all ears and eyes, and suddenly goes BERSERK, barking and lunging. (Yes, yes, Sadie, you are very intimidating, in all your fifteen-pound glory.) My perfectly well-behaved, dainty little princess of a daughter howls a war whoop, "GET 'EM SADIE!" and goes galloping toward the army of geese, who have now decided to cross the path a little more quickly, and in the opposite direction. I throw a half-hearted "don't chase the geese, Emma" toward their retreating figures but in the throes of battle these things can get ignored. And I'm tired and know that they're not going to catch the birds anyway. We round the little bend in the path and what do we come across? An old guy. With no teeth. An old, ugly fat guy with no top teeth who is FEEDING THE CATS. Who decides that he is full of infinite wisdom for the horrible woman who doesn't discipline her child.

"I don't know if that's a bad way to train your dog, or a bad way to train your kid." he drawls.

Oh really?

I give him a sweet smile and sidle up to him, dragging poor Winston along.

"You feeding the poor little cats?"

He changes his tune and smiles, probably figuring that his words have gone straight to my sweet little feminine heart and that I am trying to rid myself of guilt by being nice. "Yep, if I feed them they won't try and eat the birds anymore."

"Um, are you sure the cats read that memo?"

A look of surprise crosses his face. "Wow, not used to a woman being a smartass." (Really? What age is he living in? He wasn't even being sarcastic! He was genuinely surprised! Well BEHOLD CORINNE. My husband just landed in a war zone today so you may have picked the wrong person to try to share your child-rearing advice with.)

"Yeah, well, it seems a little irresponsible to me, encouraging the cat population out here. Of course, I'm just a woman who lets her kid and dog chase geese, so what do I know?"

I walk away with my trained goose-dog and my rebellious, hellion child in tow and leave the guy standing there holding his cat treats with his mouth hanging open.

Hey, stupid meddling man. I don't need your helpful little hints about kids or dogs. Especially since you probably live in a trailer with your five million cats and have never actually raised a kid yourself. So shut your wrinkly pie-hole and stop trying to tell me how to raise my kid. You decide to be snotty? I'm going to give it right back.

DON'T MESS WITH ARMY WIFE.

Bendy.

Her beautifully executed springboard pike dive would have been judged a ten. Until she got to the landing......

A story about the child who is currently making monster noises in her room instead of doing her homework.

When my friend Jamie and I were in junior high we were famous for doing anything we could to avoid actually *doing* anything in P.E. class. I recall one famous hour spent screaming the song "Three Chartreuse Buzzards" across the Hendrix Junior High tennis courts, much to the obvious auditory pain of our instructor. The day's lesson plan included actually *playing* tennis but we, of course, weren't following directions. (I think we swatted a few balls around but were we learning anything? Doubt it. I still know nothing about tennis.) There were multiple times that she and I were lucky to get our mile "run" (we actually ran as little of that as we could) done in under fifteen minutes. Of course, now Jamie is a marathon whiz and I am cursing my Power family cankles (although KUDOS TO ME I've lost ten pounds in the last month! Hooray deployment stress!), so it would appear that she and I took very different paths on this later in life. (Jamie, YOU ROCK.)

Given this history and my hatred of any kind of physical exertion that doesn't involve a donut on the end of a string, it shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone that the Spawn of My Loins, my mini-me, Corinne version 2.0, had this to say to my mom on the 1.5 mile Walk to Cure Diabetes this past weekend:

"I sure hope they come up with a cure for this disease in the next year. I do NOT want to walk this far again NEXT YEAR."

Again, a testament to my superior parenting skills. And the strength of Power family genes.

Hello long-lost bloggers.

Well now that Emma's away on her own blog, it's back to updates from Corinne!

Chad is currently freezing his arse off on the East Coast but should be making his way to the Middle East sometime this month. I have my good days and my bad days but so far we've done ok on our own. I "single-mommed" it for almost four years before he showed up so I thought it would be just like slipping back into that. WRONG-O! I didn't realize how dependent I'd become on someone else plugging my cell phone into its charger. (So if you try to call me and it immediately goes to voicemail, leave a message and I'll call you back once I 1.) find my phone 2.) plug it in and 3.) remember to check the voicemail feature after it's charged. Please allow 3-5 business days for a return call.) You don't even want to know who was in charge of taking out the garbage before he left and who will now walk to a room on the complete opposite side of the house to throw something away just because all of the garbage cans are full. Dragging it out to that big black plastic thing in the garage? Is that an option? (As if I even KNOW what day garbage day is! HA!)

(Hi honey! I miss you!)

Here are a few things Emma and I have done to keep ourselves busy:

Horseback riding. I started it. I passed out. Guess it's too soon after surgery to bend over and pick a horse's feet out. Emma was in charge of the photos and the camera was misbehaving for her so really all we got was a movie of my backside. (It was later discovered that the camera was on movie mode. I have no idea how to upload that to here. Need I bring up the phone and the garbage?) Not my most flattering side, but neither is my front, depending on my most recent Ho-Ho consumption. Chewy the Haflinger was most patient with me.

Grew some crystals. Mad Scientist Emma was most thrilled.




































(Thanks Afton, for the kit!) These are not the Crystal Meth kind. But since we're on that topic here's a fun photo for you: (You'll have to click on this one.)

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=2722398&l=bc3fdadffd&id=624267667

I've said it before and here it is again: I'm the best parent ever. (Might this explain why Karma wouldn't let our in-vitro work last year?)

(It's root beer, for all of you violently nodding your heads "yes" in response to that. A pox on your households.)

Oh yeah, and we moved. We're closer in to town. (And dairy farm stink.) It stressed me out. It's still stressing me out, since this house is bigger than our old one and I feel like I need to fill it up with furniture. We're renting while Chad is away and we sold our other house. (I miss my roses. But I'll have MORE roses in the next house dammit.) The plan is to buy one closer to civilization when he gets back. I desperately needed to be closer to friends, family and work while he's gone and now that I live back in my old hood I remember how much I loved it. I'm not leaving again.

Emma and I also went to the zoo today:

(Spot the otter!)

Goats can be such jerks.

One more thing: I'm finding that my reserve of patience for whiners is relatively thin. I'm trying hard to take deep breaths but my rude side is coming out more often and I'm much more blunt in the wake of this deployment. And that's not because *I'm* whining less - quite the contrary! I'm a little (translation: HUGE) pain and I know it. I'd apologize but if we're being all honest and crap I'll admit that I don't really feel sad about it because I feel entitled to some negative right now. And I'll have my whine with a big dollop of whipped cream and a cherry on top so that I can truly savor it. In a year I won't have much of an excuse so if you'll just agree with everything I say and pat me on the head I would appreciate your indulgence.