Nothing to say...

It was a long hard night at work tonight. I am tired. I just want to listen to some music. Take a shower, and wash all this ham gravy off of me. (I will explain some other night.) And fall asleep watching a movie. I will pick the movie at random. Just close my eyes, and whatever I grab is what is going in. That's all for tonight. I have nothing else to say....

Not enough to know their names

I got to thinking this morning. I got to thinking that I listed the names of those fallen soldiers. But it just doesn't seem enough to me, to only know their names. So I spent awhile scouring the net. And I found a photo for each of them. Here they are.

Memorial Day

It is officially Memorial Day here in Iowa. It is in most of the United States. (I think Alaska and Hawaii have some time left still.) I couldn't sleep so I decided to check my email one last time before crawling back into bed to await sleep. I had an email in my inbox from one of my dearest friends. Her name is Dee. We don't speak often, in fact there were a few years when we didn't speak at all. We have never met, Dee and I. Just found each other one day in a Military chat room, and have been friends ever since. I have told her things about my life that I have never shared with anyone else. Personal things, about myself, and my relationships. Nothing awful, or shocking. Nothing that is of any real importance. Except to me. Even during the years that we lost track of each other, I never stopped thinking about Dee. Wondering if she was happy. Wondering if she was still married, if she had any more children. (I think so, YES, and Yes.) But Dee must be in a private hell. Her husband is over in Iraq. Again. And I think today must be especially hard on her. I do not know, I am not going through it, but I can imagine. I opened the email. It was not a chatty note. It was not a joke, or a forward, or even some fancy HTML page about Memorial Day. It is titled "Moment Of Silence". It was simple. It was in plain text. And this is what it says.

This list is not updated as there have been more casualties this weekend which family members have not been notified of. A Veteran is never forgotten unless you forget them.

REMEMBERING FORT BENNING'S FALLEN

The following soldiers and Rangers from Fort Benning have been killed in either Afghanistan, Iraq or Kuwait this year:

Sgt. Allen J. Dunckley , 25, Yardley, Pa. (1st Battalion, 15th Infantry Regiment): Died May 14 in Salman Pak, Iraq, of wounds suffered from an improvised explosive device and enemy small arms fire.

Sgt. Christopher N. Gonzalez , 25, Winslow, Ariz. (1-15 Infantry): Died May 14 in Salman Pak, Iraq, of wounds suffered from an IED and enemy small arms fire.

Sgt. Blake C. Stephens , 25, Pocatello, Idaho (Headquarters and Headquarters Company, 3rd Heavy Brigade Combat Team): Died May 8 in Salman Pak, Iraq, after an IED detonated near his vehicle.

Spc. Kyle A. Little , 20, West Boylston, Mass. (HHC, 3rd Heavy Brigade Combat Team): Died May 8 in Salman Pak, Iraq, after an IED detonated near his vehicle.

Sgt. Glenn D. Hicks Jr. , 24, College Station, Texas (1-15 Infantry): Died April 28 in Salman Pak, Iraq, after his vehicle was struck by an IED and small arms fire.

Pfc. Jay-D H. Ornsby-Adkins , 21, Ione, Calif. (1-15 Infantry): Died April 28 in Salman Pak, Iraq, after his vehicle was struck by an IED and small arms fire.

Pvt. Cole E. Spencer , 21, Gays, Ill. (1-15 Infantry): Died April 28 in Salman Pak, Iraq, after his vehicle was struck by an IED and small arms fire.

Pfc. Richard P. Langenbrunner , 19, Fort Wayne, Ind. (2nd Battalion, 69th Armor Regiment): Died April 17 in Rustamiyah, Iraq, of injuries suffered from a non-combat related incident.

Staff Sgt. Harrison Brown , 31, Pritchard, Ala. (Bravo Company, 2-69 Armor): Died April 8 in Baghdad of wounds from enemy small arms fire and an IED.

Pfc. David N. Simmons , 20, Kokomo, Ind. (B Co., 2-69): Died April 8 in Baghdad of wounds from enemy small arms fire and an IED.

Pfc. Joey T. Sams II , 22, Spartanburg, S.C. (1-15th Infantry): Died March 21 from non-combat related injuries sustained at Camp Buehring, Kuwait.

Pfc. Ryan Garbs , 20, Edwardsville, Ill. (3rd Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment): Died Feb. 18. Was one of seven soldiers killed when a Chinook helicopter crashed in southeastern Afghanistan.

Pfc. Kristofer D. S. Thomas , 18, Roseville, Calif. (3-75 Ranger): Died Feb. 18 in the helicopter crash in southeastern Afghanistan.

Sgt. James J. Regan , 26, Manhasset, N.Y. (3-75th Ranger): Died Feb. 9 in northern Iraq when his vehicle was hit by a roadside bomb.

All I can add to that is Thank You Dee, for sharing.

Some other day.....

I have completely wasted my entire day. For me that is a good thing. I am normally so busy running from place to place, work, the hubby, the kids, the housework, cooking, shopping, school conferences, doctor/dentist/orthodontist/optometrist appointments, AA and NA (in support of a dear friend) etc., that I hardly have time to breathe. Not today. I refused. The phone rang numerous times, I lied and told everyone who wanted me to get up off my ass today that I was busy. Well, it wasn't really a lie, I was busy. Busy at trying hard to do a whole lot of nothing. I am not that good at doing nothing. The first thing I did when I got up today was start a load of laundry. I figured I had better, or I would be spending tomorrow naked! But doing nothing does not seem to come natural to me anymore. I used to be good at it. However, these days every waking hour seems to be filled with something. (And sometimes I think I am busy even in my sleep.) But today, I am just trying to get my computer chair to conform itself to the contours of my ass. That is my goal for the entire day. I checked my email this morning. Today I actually looked at my bulk mail. Normally I just dump it all. But today I looked at each one, all 423 of them. (Yes, I get that much in under 24 hrs.) I listened to some music, and watched a few videos at www.youtube.com everything from The Cure to Faith Hill. I shopped online for a new hoodie. The one I want I can't seem to find. (Well, I found it, but the website won't load the check-out page! Stupid, Stupid website!) ((This is the one I want- I want it in a XXL - sorry dropping birthday gift hints! http://www.mychemicalromance.com/store/detail.php?category=HOODIES&name=shredded_hoodie My Birthday is September 26th for anyone who cares.)) I browsed www.ebay.com for nothing in particular. I read blogs I could find in English, and looked at the pictures posted in the ones I can't read. I made up a silly little poll to add to this blog page. I added a little button at the bottom of this page that shows the location of people reading my blog. I added a clock to my page apparently for the sole purpose of showing myself how well I am doing at wasting my time. I looked up deceased family members for my family tree. I watched "Platoon" and "Enemy at the Gates" while doing all these other things. (I have seen them both before.) I plan on sitting here in front of this screen, or on the couch in front of that screen until I feel tired, or hungry, or my ass falls asleep again. Or until I have to use the restroom. (I am drinking far too much Pepsi.) What I should be doing is cleaning my nasty house. Washing the car. Mowing the yard. Changing the bedding in all the pet cages. Giving the dogs, the ferret, and the guinea pigs their baths. Going to the grocery store so we don't all starve to death this week. Folding the clothes I washed this morning. Getting all the checks written to pay the bills. Balancing the checkbook. Changing the furnace filter. Changing the car's oil. Or any of the other myriad things that need doing and won't get done if I don't do them. But, they can wait. I will get to them some other day.

Thoughts for your Memorial Day Weekend

We cherish too, the Poppy red

That grows on fields where valor led,

It seems to signal to the skies

That blood of heroes never dies.

-Moina Michael 1915

This poem was written about the ultimate sacrifices made by the men and women in the Armed Forces. That is what Memorial Day is all about. Remembering and Honoring them. We seem to have forgotten that along the way. These days when you ask someone about Memorial Day, you will hear about barbecues, picnics, concerts, out of town excursions, and sales, sales, sales . You rarely hear that they will spend the day remembering those who have fought and died to protect their freedoms. Rarely will you hear that they will spend their day with a Veteran who is alone in a nursing home. Rarely will you hear that they will invite to their picnics and barbecues military personnel who are far from home, and lonely. But to me that is what Memorial Day is supposed to be about. So while you are enjoying the freedom to spend your Memorial Day weekend anyway you want, contemplate this...when was the last time you did something, anything to say "Thank You for all you have sacrificed for me." to any member of the Armed Forces, living or dead? Plant a flag for just one of them, and say a prayer for them all.

What I do on a Saturday

It is my first weekend off this month, and I've been damned tired. Just kind of worn, you know? So today, I slept. And slept, and slept. I finally crawled out of bed at about 2:30 this afternoon. Not because I wanted to, but because my bladder demanded it. Once I am out of bed, that is it for me, there is no going back. So I hopped online and listened to a few songs as I smoked my first cigarette of the day. The two older kids were off playing. The youngest who has adopted my extremely late night habits, was still sleeping. I just sat here and enjoyed the sunlight coming in through the window. It felt good on my face. My friend Tony called, and off I went. I had promised we would go to the store together. We drove across the bridge to Omaha. Iowa recently added a dollar per pack tax on cigarettes. I bought a couple of cartons. Then we headed to Wal-Mart. I hate that place, but it is the most convenient grocery store. I bought something for dinner tonight. We are having homemade sub sandwiches. It is my night to cook. See how I got out of that one? I came home, and played with the little one for awhile. The two oldest have chosen to spend the night with friends. My hubby, trying to get back on some semblance of a normal schedule, stayed up all night last night. His body has revolted, and he is now blissfully unconscious. I would put money on it, that he will sleep all night. So it looks as though it is the little one and I for the night. When I finish typing this, I will make us dinner. While we are eating I will put in "The Brave Little Toaster", and she and I will watch it together. (I love that movie, it is so cute.) When it is over, I will put in another movie for her. I bought her the whole "Toaster" series. She has never seen them before. I will open a bottle of wine, and sit down at my computer, hoping that my "cyber soul-mate" (lol, you know who you are) will be online to keep me company tonight. We will probably chat into the wee morning hours. When we say goodnight, I will go crawl into my bed with a good movie. I am considering something with Audrey Hepburn, or maybe my new John Wayne. (I just got "Hitari" on DVD, finally.) Maybe I will opt for something romantic, or something funny. I can't decide yet, I don't know how I will be feeling then. I will watch the movie, and somewhere about half way through it, I will fall asleep. I will sleep for about four or five hours, and wake up to get the kid's clothes ready for church. And my Sunday will begin. It is not a great life. Not very interesting, not at all risky. But it is mine. I am glad it is.

A good day

I got off work early tonight, which would make most people happy most days. Not me. Not tonight anyway. The reason I am not pleased is that they had us stay late at work all freaking week. I was getting home well after 1 A.M. , now, on Friday the powers that be decided that we need to get off early. Well, it pisses me off. Those assholes stole my overtime pay. Work sucks! Sorry just needed to vent that before my brain exploded. On a lighter note, things are getting friendlier at work. One of the women decided that she would teach me a few Spanish words. She taught me the words for "bag", "rubber gloves", and "tired". I can say them all perfectly apparently, but please do not ask me to spell them. I also reached deep, and managed to piece together two sentences of high school Spanish. Again, I can't spell them but the English translation is "I like working with her. She is very fast." As I weigh slices of roast beef for a living, speed is essential. So, having a fast partner at your table means less work for you. I put these two sentences together haltingly. Everyone laughed. I thought maybe I had screwed up and said something like "The lampshade on my hand is full of horses." That is how bad my Spanish teacher was. He was British for crying out loud! Okay, I will take some of the blame. That is one class I didn't really bother to pay attention in. My Spanish teacher was also my Speech and Debate coach, so I was admittedly the teachers pet. (I write really good speeches.) But, I digress. When they all started laughing I thought I had just made a complete ass of myself. But then they started clapping and talking excitedly to each other. One of them who speaks a smattering of English informed me that I had done very well except that I had used the masculine forms of words, instead of the feminine that I should have used when speaking about a woman. See, what makes Spanish particularly hard to learn for most English speaking people is that words change depending on the sex of the individual you are speaking about and/or the perceived sex of the object about which you are speaking. For example, the word for cold is "frio". But not always. If you are saying "It is cold in here" then the word for cold is frio, because "here" is perceived male. However, if you want to say "The water is cold", then the word for cold becomes "fria" because "water" is perceived female. Are you confused yet? Yeah, me too. That is why I didn't pay much attention in class. But, never the less, they seemed to be pleased that I made the effort. Many of the women also took stabs at speaking to me in English after that, though we often still have to revert to a crude form of sign language. The point is, when I made the effort to communicate with them, they responded in kind. We may never be FRIENDS, but at least I now know that we have a shot at being friendly. And that, in my book makes for a pretty good day.

Tired

Have you ever felt so tired that your brain just didn't seem to work right? Well that's me right now, so I thought tonight I would just give you something to think about the next time you want to bitch about being tired, so enjoy these pictures, remember our boys (and girls) overseas in your prayers, and thank your lucky stars that when YOU get tired enough YOU can crawl into your bed and sleep the peaceful sleep of the well protected because of what they are willing to endure for us.

My Son

Tonight, I want to talk about my son. While I was at work tonight, he was all I could think of. The reason is, that I just plain miss him. I love him so much more than he will ever know. Right now he hates me. I don't just think it. He says it. All the time. I hope he doesn't REALLY mean it, but it still hurts. Most of the time he is a good kid. And while he has his bouts of asshole-itis, he has an amazing soul. I was thinking tonight, that when I was a stay at home mom for four years, I just wanted him to shut the hell up. But since I started this job, what I miss most is the sound of his voice. He gets angry with me because I am the one to yell at him when he screws up, the one who hands out the discipline, the one who makes him clean his room, take out the trash and play with his little sisters. I am the one who drags him to the doctor for shots, to the dentist for fillings, to the orthodontist for the monthly tightening of his braces. I ride his ass about doing his homework, and bringing up his atrocious grades. I make him apologize when he is rude, to me and to whomever he was rude with. I do not let him interrupt me when I am speaking. And when I am busy and he wants to tell me something, I have been known to ask if anyone was bleeding. When the answer is "No.", I tell him to leave me alone. I bitch at him for forgetting to feed his animals, and occasionally make him give the baby a bath. I often find myself losing my temper with him. And when I do, I yell. And yell. And yell. And then when I calm down, I feel bad, but I do not say I am sorry. I should. I do not know why I don't. Maybe because I am afraid that to admit that I was wrong shows weakness. And I know my son well enough to know he will take advantage of me in a moment of weakness. He is so much like me, that we constantly butt heads. We are both extremely stubborn. What kills me is that I know that he got those traits from me (okay from his dad too). But when I see them in him, I cringe. Mostly because I know how difficult life will be for him to live that way. I know. I've done it. He is like me in that once you hurt him, he never trusts you again. He does not forgive and forget. It is not in his nature, just as it is not in mine. His life will not be easy. But, and this is a Big but, he is like me in other much more pleasant ways. When he loves, he does it completely, totally and without abandon. He always tries to find the good in people. Even when it is very well hidden. He would give anyone anything he had if they seemed as though they needed it worse than he did. I say this is a good thing. Some people do not. I am just like that too, that is where he gets it. All my life I have had people accuse me of being too nice, too trusting, a "sap" to quote the hubby. Yes, I have been taken advantage of. Yes, I have been hurt trying to help others, but each time I do it again, because each time, I am hopeful that a life will be changed for the better. My son is like that. It is not always obvious, because he can at times seem extremely selfish too. (Especially with his sisters.) But I have seen him spend his own money on an ice cream, and then quietly give it to his baby sister when she dropped hers on the ground. I watched him be tormented over the course of a year, because he had chosen to grow his hair long in order to donate it to Locks Of Love, after seeing a show on T.V. about kids with cancer. In fact he was even held down on the bus by a number of boys while one of them wrote "GAY" across his forehead in permanent black marker because of his long hair. When he got home, after repeated scrubbing, I asked him if he wanted to cut his hair. He said no, because it wasn't long enough to donate yet. He went to the school the next day, even though you could still read that filthy word across his face. He went, it was his choice. I had never been so proud. The day he cut his hair he was so proud. He got out the tape measure, and measured the pony tails himself. There were two because his hair is so wonderfully thick. The one from the top of his head measured 18 inches long, the one from the back was 13 inches. When he told me how long they were he also told me that all the crap he had put up with was worth it, if it made a sick child happy. He also told me that he was thinking of doing it again. Just not yet. When I see my son do these things, quietly, without asking for special treatment or reward, I know in my soul that I have done a good job with him. He may be mouthy. He may leave his bedroom a wreck. He may forget to feed the animals. He may not always be nice to his sisters. And he may tell me almost daily that he hates me, but I know that he is a good kid, and that he will be okay out there in the world someday. I hope when he does, that I get to be there to see it. I want to know this amazing child, not as a child, my child, but as a man and as a friend.

This time of year...

At this time of the year, I often get very "reflective" about my life. I guess it is mostly due to the fact that June is just around the corner, and June 17th will be the 9th anniversary of the death of my baby daughter. She was born into this world on June 15th 1998. She was not breathing. The doctors didn't know why. They did all they could and brought her back to me. It wasn't enough. She was not meant for this world. The doctors told me she was not aware of what was going on around her, but I was the one looking into her eyes as she passed away. I was the one who was holding her in my arms. The doctors don't know everything. When asked, I explain her loss in one of two ways. To adults I explain that she suffered from Twin To Twin Transfusion Syndrome. I then go on to explain exactly what that is since most people have never heard of it. (If you want to learn more click here http://www.tttsfoundation.org/ ) To children I explain that she was so beautiful that God wanted her in heaven, He decided to give me twins so that He and I could both share these amazing girls, and that God has promised that when I get there, I get to raise my baby with Him. Actually, I consider myself extremely lucky. Many people who experience Twin to Twin lose both of their babies, or their survivors suffer from multiple handicaps (refer to website above for more details). We were blessed, we not only got a perfectly healthy daughter, but we also got to hold an angel for two days. When I reflect on these things, I wonder why I am so blessed. I think about how after my miscarriage (before my son was born) I was told that I would never be able to carry a baby to term. I have multiple issues which led the doctors to that conclusion including a strange blood thing called an anti-M titer. (Try google for that one) I took the doctors word on faith. Well, I did for a time. But the day I met my now husband, I knew. I told my friends that he was going to be the man who gave me my child. My friends told me not to get my hopes up, on the man or the baby. But I knew, just knew that God had intended him for me. Together we have had four wonderful children. When I had our youngest daughter, I got my tubes tied. We seemed to be having children every five years. It was not planned that way, we did nothing to help pregnancy along, and nothing to stop pregnancy. It is just the way it was intended to be I guess. My health was starting to suffer more with each child however, and the doctor and I agreed that tubal ligation was best. My diabetes was out of control with the youngest, and I spent many days and nights in the hospital trying to complete that pregnancy. More children could have done much damage to me. I want to be there to watch them all grow up, so the decision was made. I sometimes regret that decision. I see my children growing up, and now that the teenage years are starting for one of them, growing away as well. I miss being able to hold them and stroke them and sing to them. My son is now as tall as I am. He has other things to do. Other places to be. I understand, but I miss him. My eight year old daughter too is finding herself. She wants to be off playing doing all the things little girls do, not cuddled in Mommy's lap. The little one, well I still get to hold her and sing to her, but she has an independent streak a mile long. I long for the days when they needed their mommy for everything. When I, in their eyes, was the sun and the moon, and controlled the stars coming out at night. It is selfish I know. I do not try to claim otherwise. Before I became a parent for the first time, I thought childbirth itself must be the most difficult part of parenting. How I wish that were so. Then after the loss of my baby girl, I thought to myself that NOTHING could be harder on a parent. And, in that I was only partly mistaken. The death of my child is a pain that will never fully heal, but with time you do get more able to cope. But as they are growing up and away, I see that the hardest part of parenting is not either of those things. It is not the no sleep for years on end. It is not all the time you give to children or the multiple doctors appointments and dentist appointments and school functions you attend. Those are the good parts. I give them my time freely. The hardest part, is letting them go. I work full time second shift. I am gone before the kids get home from school. I get home after they have gone to bed. The only time I have for them lately is the weekends. But they want to spend the night with friends, or be out playing. They want to watch a movie in their rooms, or read a book. They want to be on the computer or on the phone. And learning to let them is what is so hard on me. If I have been doing my job right as a parent, i have to let them out there in the world, and cross my finger, and bite my tongue. I need to let them grow up and into adults. I am not great at this yet. I still sometimes tell them no to spending the weekend elsewhere, mostly for my own selfish reasons. But, I am working on it...

My 14th Wedding Anniversary

May 22nd 2007 was my 14th wedding anniversary. We did not do anything special. He bought me a CD I had been saying I wanted. I bought him a book about the history of the Corps a few months ago (he got it back then, he never waits for anything). He got my son up for school this morning, and fell back asleep before it was time to get our daughter up. She missed the bus, and woke me up at 9 a.m. to tell me. I got her to school and tried to go back to sleep. It didn't work. So, after about three hours of blissful unconsciousness, I was up for the day. He was still sleeping. I came out to the computer, and checked my email, blogged for a minute, and then jumped in the shower. When I left the house at noon, he and our youngest were both still sleeping peacefully. I woke him up to tell him I was leaving, kissed him and told him I Love him. He reminded me to pay a bill, and I was off. I went to my friend Tony's house, and had coffee before work. I was at work by 2:35. On my lunch break I called him to tell him Happy Anniversary, and then rushed outside for a smoke before my break was over. I worked until after one a.m. When I got home he was sitting on the couch, building a model tank, watching a war documentary, World War Two, I think. My dinner was sitting on the stove, homemade taco's. Leftovers from the night before. But they were warm. Our youngest ate half my dinner as she usually does. I got online to check my email, and started pming with a very good friend (Dee, I love ya, and Billy will be home soon). As I sit writing this he is still in the living room on the couch. He is staying up to do my laundry, he forgot this afternoon. I am about to head to bed. He will finish the laundry and work some more on the tank. When I wake in the morning he will be asleep, and it will start all over again. Nothing special. But knowing he is there, knowing he is always going to be there, even when he forgets to do the laundry, well that is special. And our love is special. And I am grateful for all 14 years.

The Things I Do For My Kids...

So, my children have informed me that if I blog, I must list some of my favorite things like movies, songs, books, etc. Who knew? So to satisfy my kids I will list some of those things, but I will not call any of them favorites, because there are just too many I enjoy to pick a few. so here it goes.

Books

Memnoch the Devil by Ann Rice

King Rat by James Clavell

Alas, Babylon by Pat Frank

The Stand by Stephen King

Fried Green Tomatoes at The Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flagg

The Lord Of The Rings (The entire series) by JRR Tolkien

The Harry Potter series by JK Rowling

The Dark Tower series by Stephen King

A Painted House by John Grisham

A Hole in the World by Richard Rhodes

There are about a million more (okay, maybe not a million) but they will have to wait for my next list.

MOVIES

The Lord Of The Rings Series

Beaches

The Color Purple

Seven

28 days Later (I know it is hokey, but I like it)

Memoirs Of A Geisha

Legends Of The Fall

Hellfighters

We Soldiers Once (And Young)

Blood Diamond

Seven Years In Tibet

Pride And Prejudice

Star Wars (original series only)

Silence Of The Lambs

The Pursuit of Happyness

Pan's Labyrinth

Hitari

Flags of our Fathers (though I did not like Letters from Iwo Jima)

Million Dollar Baby

Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence

Saving Private Ryan

Black Hawk Down

Schindler's List

Calendar Girls

Hotel Rwanda

This list too is by all means not complete. After you have watched all those let me know and I will post more.

I need to sleep more

Wow, I just read that crap I wrote last night. I really need to sleep more. But he is adorable.

Just killing time...

Ok, so I am sitting here bored, I should be going to bed, but if I do I will just be laying there awake. It is well past midnight, which means that today I have been married for 14 years. Wow, who would have thought? Anyway... so I am sitting here with nothing to do.. hoping that soon I will feel sleepy as opposed to just tired. I always feel tired these days, just not sleepy. Ok so I am rambling.. this is my place to do it. I am listening to the CD the hubby bought me for 14 years. Actually it is exactly what I have been saying I wanted, who knew he paid attention? It is the My Chemical Romance CD "Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge", and it rocks. I love this band's music, and I must admit I have developed a bit of a "school-girl" crush on the lead singer Gerard Way. The hubby says he looks like a Nazi. But really it is his eyes, and his amazing smile that have drawn me. He has the most expressive eyes I have ever seen, and his smile is so genuine, and I love that he has a style of his own. I started looking for a good pic to use as my wallpaper, and I saw a bunch of people discussing whether or not he was gay because of a picture they saw, so I went to see it. The only place I can find it is in a video montage, it is of him about to (well it appears he is going to) french kiss Frank Iero, another member of MCR. So, I thought I would be repulsed by the pic. Actually just the opposite is true. I think it is the hottest thing I have seen in a long time. I wish I could find that picture. You know, I have not fantasized about any man but my hubby in a long time, but that picture has given me good dream material. It is funny, whenever I watch the videos of MCR my three year old daughter starts asking "Is that the Black Parade?". She does not know the name of the band, but she can sing three of their songs, word for word. She has a crush on Gerard too. She told me that when she gets older she is going to hug and kiss him. "When I am big and have big boo boos like you." she says. I can't help but laugh. She is so damn cute when she says that. She blushes when she says that she wants to kiss him. How cute is that? Oh well, I have rambled enough for now, maybe I will go watch a movie.

Tommy

Well I am back again. I really should be in bed sleeping but I just finished up spending the whole night talking with my friend Tommy. Tommy is a former United States Marine, and recently left the Marines in favor of a safer quieter life here at home. Tommy didn't leave because he was afraid, or because he no longer believes in the cause, he said he left because he couldn't pack up the belongings of any more dead Marines. He didn't have it left in him to do it anymore, and the government is not letting our boys fight this war to win it. I know what he means, we send them over there, all of us, waving our flags, and shouting about "taking those bastards out", but as soon as the bodies start to pile up we scream "get them out, what are we doing there?". Tommy is just a good guy that was fighting to secure freedoms for people who want to be free. That is what we are doing there! I hear all the time, people saying "They do not want us there.", I ask, who is THEY? Because I gather from what I have heard from almost everyone I know that has been fighting this war, that the majority of Iraqis and Afghanis (Yes people we are still in Afghanistan) do want what our boys are trying to help them achieve. It is the few, which seem to be many, because they are so violent and outspoken, that do not want the freedom we offer. You need to ask yourself, why would they not want freedom. The answer is simple, they are already free to do what they want to do, they want others to be under their control. We must fight that voice that tells us that we need to run away from this fight. It is not the men and the women who are doing the fighting that want to run. They want to finish their mission, to bring freedom to an entire nation or nations. It is the politicians here at home, who are safe in their beds, and concerned about the next poll that will not allow them to do the job they were sent there to do. We have the bravest and best equipped fighting force in the world, but we do not equip them. We send them to fight in substandard vehicles, when we have available the means to make them safer. We have men who know nothing of the strategies of war deciding the future of our forces. Pull your heads out of your backsides America, and demand that your elected leaders give them what they need to succeed. I have to go to sleep now, so I will end with this. Tommy, and all the other men and women who are in uniform or ever have been...Thank You.

My first ranting and raving session

OK, so this is how it is. I have always considered myself to be a good and moral person. But it seems the older I get the harder it becomes to still feel this way about myself. I say this because I find myself lately becoming a person I am not proud of. I have started grouping entire races of people together and disliking them based on the actions of a few. I know, intellectually, that this is not right. But the longer I live, the more I seem to be doing it. I was talking to a friend lately about this problem. I see it as a character defect in myself. He says it is experience, and that I am not becoming a racist, because even though I sometimes find myself making snap judgements about people, that in the main, I do not dislike anyone unless they ,personally, have given me a reason to do so. I tend to agree somewhat with this statement about myself. However, I still worry about those few times, when that little voice in my head says something that I myself would never, under normal circumstances, say. For example, I personally do not use the "N"-word, and I often admonish others when I hear them use it. But as I was watching the news a few days ago I watched a 70 or 80 something year old World War Two Vet be beaten nearly to death for his car, while this was happening a group of men stood around watching it happen, and they did nothing. Everyone involved in this incident was African American, the criminal, the victim, and the bystanders (who just stood by, so I do not consider them innocent). I found myself thinking "Those f-ing N's". I do not know why that thought came into my head, I had much compassion and concern for the victim, and he too was a black man. I grew up in Southern California, and went to a very racially diverse school. Many of my closest friends were black. So why then did that word just pop into my head? What does that mean about me? Does that mean that I am a racist, a bigot, a person that I would normally despise? And if I am truly not a racist, then why would a thought like that ever be in my head ,EVER? I do not know. I wish I could explain it to myself.
Also, I have started to have bad feelings towards people of Mexican decent. Again, intellectually, I know this is not right. I just cannot seem to help it. It all started when I recently started working for a large manufacturer of meat products. I will not name the company, but I will say that if you eat meat in the United States, hell in the world, you have most probably eaten their products. Now I walked in to my first day of orientation, and things went fine. My orientation group was a grab bag of personalities and nationalities. We all got along fine, we all enjoyed our time together, and were very friendly during the three days it took for this class. It all started going wrong when I walked onto the production floor the first day. I was treated very coldly by all the other female workers. I do not know why. I had done nothing to deserve the cold shoulder. My only crime seems to be that I am white. You see, I am the only white woman working on the production floor for my shift, except for the supervisor. All of the other women are Hispanic, with the one exception of a beautiful woman from Nigeria. I am an outsider to this little group of women. Most of them do not speak English, and I had three years of high school Spanish, but all I can remember is how to ask where the bathroom is, and how to order a hamburger and a Coca Cola. Granted, that makes communication a bit difficult. But a smile is a smile in any language. However, when I walked in for my first day actually on the job and I smiled, I was greeted with cold indifference. In all my other work experiences, most people tend to want to help the newcomer learn the job, and feel welcome. But here, that is not the case at all. In fact they seem to be purposely trying to make things more difficult for me. They leave me with the most difficult tasks, they often make comments to each other in Spanish right in front of me making it obvious that I am the butt of their joke, and they make a show of not wanting to work at the same table with me. They stand there and give me dirty looks, and refuse to help with any problems I encounter. The two "leads" on my shift are also Hispanic. In fact I am not sure you can be a lead with this company if you can not speak fluent Spanish, because how can you communicate with the workers if you do not? The leads also engage in this frustrating behaviour. They often admonish me for doing something they say is incorrect, but ignore the same behaviours from the other Hispanic workers. They send me off to do tasks no one else wants to do. Now this I know, is all part of being "the new girl", but I have been there for a month now, and it is getting old. None of them (OMG I am actually saying "THEM")((See how this is making me crazy?)), even the ones who do speak English, have in all this time made any effort to get to know me. And this behaviour does not go on when there is a supervisor in the room who is paying attention. So what am I supposed to feel? I have never before grouped people together and made a judgement about them based on race, but these women did just that about me. They have ostracized me to the point where I no longer care to get to know them. I have accepted that they will continue to treat me badly. But is this a reflection on me, or on them? Do I have something to make up for with them, something that was done to them by some other white person, that I must now pay the price for? And how will my feelings towards these women affect my behaviours towards Hispanics that I meet from this day on? Will I automatically push forward my feelings for the women I work with, and think poorly of someone who has done me no harm? I am afraid I might. This worries me. I never wanted to feel like this, and how can I raise my children to believe everyone is equal until they have done something wrong, when I myself am struggling with this issue everyday? UGH, this is so frustrating. When I see judgement and prejudice in others my whole heart rebels against their hatred, but what do I do about these feelings growing in my gut? What do I do to make it better? To make ME better? For now, I give it over to God, and try to do the best I can, everyday. To be the best me I know how to be, and hope that my heart and my mind come to some agreement that I and they can live with. I want to be proud of myself when I face myself in the mirror. I want to leave this world knowing that I did not contribute to the evil that I see around me everyday. That I was a keeper of peace and someone who spread love. That is how I want to be remembered, but I worry that with all the hatred I see around me, some of it is starting to infect me like a disease.