The day isn’t different. I won’t wake up tomorrow magically more in love with you than I was today. You will still get up before me and I will still crawl out of bed 5 minutes before I leave for my run, yelling at the kids all the way out the door what they need to have finished before I get back. Chances are you will have left for work by the time I return, and I will finish packing lunches, shove a total of 74 Valentines into their respective child’s backpack and kick them out the door.  If it’s a good day, I won’t have to lock the door behind Monster, or drag him down the street by the arm the whole way to school. The I’ll shower and you’ll do whatever it is you do at work.  I’ll head to a meeting and you’ll, I don’t know, do some army thing. We might meet up for lunch.  Because we can. And we’ll look at each other and laugh because neither of us cares the slightest about Valentines Day, or any other ‘special’ day for that matter, but there we will be at lunch anyways. Every once and a while I love going out with you in uniform.  You look sexy in green. And then after work and school we’ll head out to the gym and the kids will go to MMA and you and I will go to kickboxing.  On the way back we’ll rent a movie and we’ll eat the pizza I made in the afternoon and watch it together. Maybe we’ll even find one…

It’s time. For those of you that know me, I hate labels, short cuts and excuses. For other people. I LOVE short cuts and excuses if they are mine. And though we’ve been struggling with Monster in many ways since he was a toddler, he was so unique, so outside the different labels that we heard suggested or considered, or mumbled over the past few years, I never pushed to have one because it seemed at the time more like an excuse than a necessity. In fact, I may have pushed against one. If my child obviously fit a mould, I would have embraced whatever label was suggested to get him help.  But most of the time, most of the time he only grazes the top.  He doesn’t fit the box, the criteria, the different expectations for a kid with the various labels that have been offered. So I just said no. Monster has an imagination that makes you wish you could see what he sees while he runs, jumps and sings his own theme music around the room. He’s been working computers and video game consoles and tablets since he was a toddler.  Usually, better than we can.  And at 4 I already knew he was a gamer.  Which is strange for us, since his dad and I aren’t.  We have considered sending him to live with my brother. He loves puzzles and wants to know each detailed bio of each obscure super hero. He makes you laugh.  He has the best grin.  He is affectionate and cuddly and will never hug on demand but will always hug on his whim. He wears costumes and capes and two different shoes and…

This past week, like many, many weeks before it, entertainment news has offered a lot of cheap and easy fuel for any writer, blogger or person with a social media account. It’s easy to point fingers, mock, insult or make hurtful memes of otherwise successful people when they are down and bleeding for the world to see. We all secretly (or not so secretly) like to in one way or another.  I mean, sometimes these people are rich and powerful for reasons we don’t understand, and then they make such epically terrible decisions that it seems almost like kicking them while they are down is the *right* thing to do. And I am no different.  Trust me, if there’s one thing I have in abundance, it’s opinions on how other people have messed up. But then yesterday, through course of conversation with a friend I was reminded of something. I’ve been broken, too. In many ways and through no fault but my own, I have been broken.  I have made very poor choices. And there have been times those choices have left me in very, very stupid places. In fact, I was reminded that 16 years ago, the *right* choice seemed at the time to rob a local liqueur store of a case of expensive whiskey.  Why?  Because we were already intoxicated in one way or another, and we wanted some. I mean, that’s a totally reasonable, right? Fast forward several hours and a shit storm of poor decisions and my boyfriend at the time is in police custody, along with a few of my friends and I have squelched my anxiety under so much of said whiskey that I am blacked out…

Question most often in my inbox? “Can my husband get in trouble for what I post online?”   It’s like OPSEC, but if the fear wasn’t security but instead, discipline. The short answer is no, not really. But life rarely works in short answers. I’ve touched on this before, but I’m going to go ahead and give the rules I use that help clear up some confusion. (These are MY rules.  So hold no weight.  Like, at all.) *Remember, I’m talking about posts that don’t violate OPSEC, PERSEC or information security rules.  That’s entirely different and never okay.* 1. What you re-post is actually important. Whether it is something you made yourself or shared from someone else, posting something tells people you agree with it (unless you explicitly state otherwise). Make sure you agree with what you post so strongly that you would be willing to defend it, and that it’s never anything that violates OPSEC, PERSEC, information security or is illegal or threatening.  2. What you say is attached to your name. Some people comment on facebook or twitter or news articles.  A lot.  On everything. Sometimes on pages, on groups, on friends statuses. We get it, you guys have OPINIONS and free time.  And you enjoy letting people know. That’s fine if that’s your thing. Some days the Internet wins and I post comments, too. I almost always regret it. But remember a couple things about your comments: You are talking to real people.  Real human beings sitting at their own computers or phones, with real lives and real feelings you know nothing about. You are also…

“There are no curses.  This is just Afghanistan.” Watching Lone Survivor with Dh, when Marcus Luttrell, as portrayed by Mark Wahlberg, gives that line, there are audible snickers from all over the theater. This is, after all, a military town. And after I watched Hollywood re-tell me a very real story of Navy Seals at war, I was compelled by the courage and bravery and strength of spirit. I have no illusions. My husband is not American.  He’s not a Navy Seal. And this movie did not portray his experiences. It would be a gross exaggeration for me to say that it did.  The truth is, I will never see my husband’s war on the big screen.  I will never see the moments of camaraderie or danger or bravery or courage or boredom or anger or fear or pain.  And that’s ok.  I think I’m best not knowing. But sitting there after it ended, watching the people file out while Dh took it all in for a moment, one thing sat heavy on my heart. It’s been a long 12 years. I know because when the movie ended it took a long time to get up.  And when I did, I picked up my jacket from the back of the chair, then dropped it and hugged Dh just long enough that the people beside me waiting to file out had to be just a little uncomfortable. I know because Dh didn’t try to get me to stop, just  tucked my head under his chin and held on. I felt like my heart was full of stories but they will never need to be told. Because we are…

Do you know what NORAD is? Even more important, do you know they TRACK SANTA? It’s true, and not only that, they offer an interactive website that features Christmas music, games, videos, a library of information on Santa and a countdown! How fun is that?! So check out the website with your kids (or without.  Because everyone knows they would probably just hog it and you wouldn’t get to look at all the cool stuff yourself…..) I was totally cool enough to snag me a chat with one of Santa’s helpers,  Captain Jennifer Stadnyk, Public Affairs Officer for North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD).  She works all year round at NORAD and gave us a little peak at what goes on behind the scenes there each Christmas season. Captain Jennifer Stadnyk She Is Fierce: What is NORAD and what does it do?  Captain Stadnyk:  NORAD is a bi-national military organization responsible for ensuring the skies above North America are safe. NORAD performs this important mission 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year by monitoring the airspace and coasts of North America, and by being prepared to defend from any danger in the air.  She is Fierce: What countries are involved in NORAD and where are they located?    Captain Stadnyk: We are a bi-national command, which means Americans and Canadians work together at our headquarters in Colorado Springs, Colorado as well as our NORAD Region headquarters located in Anchorage, Alaska; Winnipeg, Manitoba, and Panama City, Florida with supporting Air Force Bases across Canada and the U.S.    She is Fierce: How far in advance do you start getting ready for the Santa Tracking? Captain Stadnyk: NORAD begins…

In very early 2000, after Dh completed Basic Training and Battle School and all the rest, he was posted to the base in Edmonton to join his Regiment. And being an 18 year old single man, he moved into the Shacks.  Military single quarters that look a little like dorm rooms.  Teeny tiny rooms with cement walls and a bed, shared bathroom and no kitchen because they eat at the mess.  They fill a need, but warm and friendly, they are not. But that was OK, because most weekend I would either go up to stay with him (obviously, for those reading who are in charge, I wouldn’t stay there because you aren’t allowed.  I would stay….somewhere else…. that’s not there…. moving on) or once he bought his own truck he would come back to Calgary where he had both his family and my family who loved him, close enough to drive to see. Thanksgiving that year, if my memory serves but I could have the wrong year, when he returned from his big turkey dinners surrounded by those loved ones, he found out that over the holidays a soldier in those Shacks had been there alone.  And he had taken his own life.   I was stunned. In my bubble, I didn’t know. There were people who stayed there alone. There were people who had no one to spend the weekends with, the holidays with. There were people who were too far from family to travel to see, those who couldn’t afford the plane ticket or maybe even the gas money. And some of those people, they had felt so alone for so long, they saw no other options…

So anyone who knows me, or really anything about me is aware that I have a small Starbucks problem. It’s just that, now I live really close to one, and I like to think it’s an office that I pay a couple dollars a visit to use several times a week…. I have met the staff, all very sweet people who as a general rule go out of their way to be good at their jobs.  Which makes it even nicer to go there. Yesterday, I heard someone complain about what they felt was bad service. Even though the slight was imagined, after much apologising by the staff and much ignorance by the customer, he eventually left with the managers number.  He then took the time to call immediately after leaving to further berate them for his perceived wronging.  He even returned later to explain the ways he felt he had been inconvenienced.  His over the top actions brought a couple of the girls working to tears. And I realized something. The time that this gentleman took to point out what was a completely fictional wrong that he felt he had been committed, was amazing. And it got me thinking. How often do we go out of our way to take the time to point out ways we have been wronged? When we receive terrible service we are so fast to leave that angry comment card, to ask to speak to a supervisor, to demand that our grievances are heard.   Sometimes we are justified.  Sometimes we are just in a bad mood. But what about those times when a waitress, barrista, cab driver, doctor, retail, gives a little bit more than expected? What about when you are tired and…

It’s November 17th and we’ve decorated for Christmas.  I like Christmas.  The music and the colours and the general happier feeling in my little area of the world.  People start giving a little more, caring more, they are more likely to take part in a random act of kindness or even just smile in a strangers direction. So personally, I like to start a little early.  This is probably the earliest I’ve ever decorated, but I stand by my decision. We put out the nativities (yes, I have several.  Move along) and hung the advents and switched out fall runners for red and green ones. And then it came time for the trees (yes, I have 2.  Move along). I pulled them out of the storage room and snapped them together.  The one is looking a little worse for wear, it’s over 12 years old now and on it’s 3rd house.  It’s was cheap and on sale when I bought it and it shows.  Branches fall off every year and it looks more than a little sparse. The kids brought up the box of decorations and we placed them beside the tree.  And then the moment came when they wanted to know when we will decorate it. Because as has been the case many years, Dh is not here to see the house transform. But other years, other years we knew when he was coming back, and even though it meant sometimes it waited for just days before the big day, we didn’t decorate the family tree until he was here.  But this year, this year his blackberry says different things each day.  This…

Well, tomorrow is Remembrance Day and once again I find myself in a place of reflection. Dh is home, he just got home this weekend.  He’s here for a week, give or take.  And I’m enjoying having him there, even if it’s just sitting on the couch behind me shining his boots. Today at church, there was a moment of silence and a video of our church families service to commemorate tomorrow’s importance.  Watching Dh’s pictures flash for all three deployments, the truth of my feelings each Remembrance Day were clear. Three deployments.  3 times I said goodbye and he got on that plane. All three times he came home.  In one piece.  To me, who had been waiting, Home.  With me. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen on movies or TV, where the soldier writes a letter to his spouses before he heads into harms way, saying all the things he needs her to know? I had always assumed Dh had one of those, he just hadn’t told me, and I have by the grace of God, never had to read it. But I learned a while ago there had never been a letter. Not that Dh had never been in danger, in fact, he has been more than I’m sure I will ever know.  Or want to know. But Dh’s philosophy has been that his goal is to live his time with us in a way that if something were to happen to him, he would have nothing he had left unsaid. At first this made me mad, I mean, I would have nothing to hold on to. But…