Random Musings from the Loops for Troops 5k – I hate running. I like winning at stuff. They balance each other out, as long as I think I’m winning. And my definition of winning is pretty broad. 5k for your average runner is a warm up. I have no intention of ever running more. I’ll just get as good as I can at this. – At 4.5k I’m completely exhausted. I am trying to focus on the finish line and it’s all I can do to stay upright. Then my dh says to his dad “this is a great pace, I could run at this pace forever” and I want to punch him but I’m scared I’ll fall over from the effort. – My daughter hid from the Stampede Horse mascot but ran to the guy in combats standing next to the tank with the big gun. That can’t be a good sign. – Can a spouse have survivor’s guilt? Sometimes seeing the family of a fallen soldier makes me feel more than a little guilty. It’s hard to wrap my head around why mine came home and their husband/son/brother did not. I thought that feeling might fade in time, but it hasen’t. It won’t make me stop wanting to meet and spend time with them, especially amazing friends we have met like Linda, but it’s always there. That’s hard for me to admit because it seems selfish and more than a little neurotic. – My dh’s newest tattoo has more meaning on days…
Today started off normally. Got up, sent the oldest to school and had breakfast. Ended up rushed, as usual, and missed my tea. Now, I don’t drink coffee. But some caffeine is necessary in my life. Unfortunately, so is dressing and brushing my teeth, all things that preempted any time I had for tea. My poor dh has been working 18 hour days teaching a course, and I noticed when I got up that he forgot his lunch. Understandable, he was up and out the door before 4:30 a.m. So I grabbed it and after dropping the youngest at preschool, I drove to the base to drop it off. Cause I’m such a good wife. Well I drove the 20 minutes into the base to find no parking in front of the Regiment’s doors. And right when I’m going to defy parking law and take the handicapped spot for 3 minutes while I drop the lunch off, an MP car pulls up. So I go to the parking lot and see that most of these soldiers must be very used to driving big armoured vehicles. Or at least, that’s the excuse I give them for parking so terribly. So I park way in the back. Then I go to grab my wallet. And with my hand in my purse I visualize it, sitting next to the computer where I needed my credit card to order something. This means that all the other things I had planned for this trip cannot happen. The Father’s Day gift from the kitshop for my father who loves all things from the Regiment. The all…
When your last blog was really nice and emotional and heartwarming and then you have to write another one about…… something…. it sucks. I was going to try to not even bother writing anything until after Loops for the Troops, but that didn’t seem like the answer either. So, I will write about something totally silly and mostly meaningless to break it up a little. If you want to read something good, you might want to just go back to this post. But if your still with me here, lets talk about small. Small can be a good or bad thing. When you are trying to lose weight, smaller is the goal. When it comes to diamonds, small doesn’t have quite the same appeal. Small is relative. Well, my 3 children are small. Not small like young. Small like “awe, he’s so cute, is he walking yet?” about your 3 year old. Small like never hitting the bottom end of the 3rd percentile on the growth chart. When I had my first, he was born average size. Now, by average size I mean actually average, not Dutch-community where I live average, where ladies have 11lb babies without a hitch. I mean 7.5lb average. But weeks went by and well, while he didn’t lose weight, he gained it very…..slowly. After a couple of check-ups I was on daily weight monitoring with him, We got sent to testing for Cystic Fibrosis and every other possible disorder that might cause stunted growth. All turned out fine. They had us feed him solid foods early, and mix in high-fat milks, creams and even…
A friend posted something on facebook this week calling out a pop-celebrity for her lack of positive influence in the lives of young girls. When I agreed, he encouraged me to dedicate much blog space to calling her out too. But, as I stated before, I don’t write to argue or call down others, and I only tell my own stories. But that doesn’t mean I can’t point out something different, but the same. Which brings me to the story I’ve promised myself I would write for almost 2 months now but couldn’t bring myself to type. About the Loops for Troops Run in Calgary on Father’s Day. And the story starts at a weird beginning, in 2007 when I was 5 months pregnant and Dh was heading out on deployment again. Knowing that Dh has a strong faith, as he was preparing to leave on his last tour his OC asked him if he would take on a very different job than that normally required of an armoured crewman. They would be spending this tour living away from the main base outside the wire and because of this, there would be no padre serving alongside them. His OC wanted to know if Dh would be willing to stand in and lead a memorial service if, heaven forbid, one became necessary during the tour. Dh agreed. This was his 3rd time to Afghanistan and he wasn’t going to pretend the reality wasn’t there. He spent some time talking with our Pastor before he left and tried to prepare as best he could while praying it would not be needed. But less than a month into the deployment, it was. Cpl. Nathan Hornburg…
This week is my 10 year anniversary. And, not suprisingly, my dh is where he usually is during ‘major’ life events… off saving the world somewhere while I stay home and look after the kids. He was a little upset to miss it. I reminded him he wasen’t home for our first anniversary, or most of the anniversaries in between, and so why ruin the whole trend we have going? It’s just a day. And him not being home doesn’t make us less married. In fact, it makes it the perfect anniversary. Because, in fact, if he were home, I would have EXPECTATIONS. And, invariably, those expectations would not be reached. There would be disapointment. I would be thinking “but it wasen’t as perfect as I pictured.” When a husband deploys what you have, in essence, is the perfect husband for however long he is gone. Because really, how can you fault him for anything while he’s away? He doesn’t leave the toilet seat up, mess up the kitchen, hog the bathroom or fill the laundry room with his crap and make it impossible to do anyone elses laundry but his own. He’s off being all heroic. And your memories of him soon become perfect memories of a perfect life together. It’s total fiction, but it’s wonderful. So while he’s away this anniversary, I will remember those perfect moments and how he’s the perfect husband while I have the chance. Before he get’s home and my front room looks like the army came and threw up in it…
If I knew anyone would bother reading this blog, I would have given it a better name. It’s too late now. But in retrospect, I think kimsbiggirlpanties.blogspot.com would have been the better choice. Because these past couple days, I sure could have used someone reminding me that I own a pair of big girl panties. My bad attitude started with a phone call from my daughter’s teacher. They desperately needed parents for her swimming field trip the next day. Could I come in? Well no. Why? Because I hate field trips, I hate rostering and I hate bathing suits. I don’t like that many kids all together, I don’t really like pools and I wanted to go to spin class. Surprisingly, none of those answers sounded good coming out of my mouth. So I call the day home I can occasionally send my son to when I need to roster and ask if she could please tell me she had no room for Jonas the next day. But she couldn’t. Because she had room. So I waited until the very last minute to call the teacher back, hoping and praying that she had found someone else. She had not. So I resign myself to go on the Kindergarten Swimming Fieldtrip. Someone tried to tell me after I was being obedient to God’s call to me as a mother. But I don’t believe obedience counts if you have the kind of shitty attitude I was going in with. I even let my daughter overhear me on the phone whining. She’s sitting there, so excited her mommy is coming swimming, and…
One month from today will be my 10 year Wedding Anniversary. That means that exactly 10 years ago, I was finishing college exams and putting the finishing touches on the ridiculous dream wedding that was coming fast. I had just turned 20. I had no idea what I was doing. I was excited and naive and spoiled and immature. I had lots of ideas of what life would be like and even more about what my wedding day would look like. I would like to write a letter to me, 10 years ago, and let me know what was and wasn’t important. Dear Me ver. 2001 This month will be busy. You are excited and nervous and for the most part acting like a spoiled brat. Since I am 10 years older and so very much more mature, there are some things I have decided you should know: 1. Breathe. You can stress out making place cards and finding the perfect Guest Book until you are blue in the face. People are going to sit where they want. You are going to misplace the guestbook and you won’t even realize it’s gone. 2. I have no idea what possessed you to think singing at your own wedding was a good idea. You can practice all you want, you can’t sing. You will sound terrible. You will cry partway through which will only make it worse. 3. Do it anyway. 4. In the end, he will feel worse about the bachelor party than you do right now. Let it go. 5. You are beautiful. You don’t think you are, but you are. And most importantly, he thinks you are. So lay off the tanning bed before you give 40 year old…
A couple weeks ago I went on a date with my dh and we watched Battle:LA. On it, they have a war-cry: Retreat, Hell. They yell it back and forth to motivate each other. And it’s pretty frickin motivating, I gotta say. Even I wanted to fight the aliens by the end. My dh’s regiment also has a motto. Perseverance. So it’s no Retreat, HELL. But it’s still…. okay, so I am sure it has a very impressive battle story. Or maybe if you have tanks you don’t really need a fancy motto? Now, I can’t say that my dh’s Regimental Motto comes to mind all that often, or ever, but this week, it sorta did. I have been spending a lot of time thinking about what it means to be a good wife to my dh in his chosen field. Loving a combat soldier is hard. To be honest, I think love is hard. And all relationships have challenges. But this is the one I have, and some days it seems like it can be entirely uphill. So for motivation, I started taking a look at the women I saw around me. And that’s where Perseverance took on a new meaning for me. Because it’s definition has come to describe for me the virtue that I see most in the strong women I have met. It’s B. who has moved 9 times in her marriage and endured 5 tours. Who has taken time to home school her kids despite the pressure and stress of running the house alone. It’s C. who has a handful of deployments under her belt and still stands willing to…
Isn’t it mind-blowingly annoying how bad we are all (and by all, I mean me) prone to wanting what we don’t have. For me, it’s not the material jealousy that gets to me. Don’t get me wrong, I want lots of material things I cant have. Vacations. New cars. A maid and something that automatically does your laundry for you….. But I can bring myself back to perspective pretty easily by realizing I am among the richest people in the world. It’s humbling to know that to the majority of people alive on this planet, I am incredibly rich. So it’s easy to refocus from my quest for a home with a backyard and secret underground lair. Even my desire for a perfect body type can be shut down with some deeper thinking. Sure, I would love to be someone who could eat whatever and however much they wanted and still look great naked. I wish I could throw on trendy clothes without it becoming painfully clear that my body was not built for strapless shirt or skinny jeans (though I attempt to wear the jeans anyways). It’s also (relatively) easy to remind myself that I am a healthy and happily married 30 year old women and the extra pounds and stretch marks that have come with my life are just that, a part of my life. I will not be judged at the end of this life for love handles or sagging bits. So contentment with my appearance, that comes eventually too (I’m still waiting for it, but I am sure it comes.) So what is it that is bothering me? It’s what is more obnoxious and harder to…
One of my friends is a freak. Actually, most of them are, but one in particular more than others. Yes, she runs marathons and Death Races and is the motivation behind every insane fitness activity I have ever taken part in. She is crazy, but not just crazy. She really is a freak. 8 years ago, when I met this friend, she was much quieter. I didn’t know at the time, but when I met her she had only months earlier had her 2nd child, a little boy. I have never met my friend’s 2nd born. One minute, she was happy and pregnant and expecting what by all accounts should have been a happy and healthy baby boy just like her first. The next, she was in premature labour at 29 weeks, having an emergency c-section and just like that, Baby Matthew came into this world for a moment looking perfect but inside, having no kidneys and no ability to survive. And just as fast as he arrived, he was gone. Leaving a mother and father and older brother to wonder what his Maker was thinking. And the most wonderfully amazing thing about my freak friend – she never forgot that question. What was Matthew’s Creator thinking? Why did he bring a little boy into this world only to take him back so soon? What did he want her to learn? And I believe it is in the answer to that question that my freaky friend found who she was created to be. I have never in my life met someone who has seen a loss like hers and not just overcome but allowed it to re frame her entire purpose. In her…
