Signed, Confused in Paradise.

Suppose that I should follow up a bit more.  Sorry about that. The party went off without a hitch- very few people showed up, as expected, but the ones who did made the day. I had a blast.

This should probably teach me to quit my bitching, but I don't think it's going to have much of an effect.

We're on Prudence. Have been since last Wednesday when I drove up from Maryland after staying a few days with Michelle and her two.  Not sure that I would have chosen an extra few days of family bonding, but the slots on the boat were limited and you guys were so excited to see Granne and Grandbob that it made sense.

The weather has been pleasant, the temperatures moderate. The house is clean, the beds made and my parents have been bending over backwards to accommodate healthy meals and not expect me to clean up everything all the time. They have been ridiculously helpful.  So why do I want to scream?

Seriously, this place is gorgeous. A beautiful environment, trails, garden, access to the beach and the water. But as I sit here in the main room where I'm supposed to be writing to your dad, all I can think of is that I want to throttle someone. All I wanted was a bit of privacy. A moment of quiet. Some down time.

Not. Going. To happen.

You have run in and out a few times. Your grandmother thinks that right now is the perfect time to sweep the floor and sigh heavily. Maybe clang a few dishes.  Putting away the bags that have been sitting out for a few days up into the attic has become a HUGE priority. Now. Right now.

I never thought of myself as a loner. I just like being alone sometimes. I like losing myself in a book and concentrating to the point that it runs along my (Can you help me get a cup? I can't get a cup! ) brain like a movie only I can see.  But it's harder to concentrate and get any sort of groove to write or (I want a cup too!) read when you wonderful wee blessings are in my face every ten seconds.  Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't change this time for love or money, but reading a book straight through seems like a  (I want water!) far off dream.

And let's face facts. Your grandmother and I are both strong willed people. Granne and Grandbob have their life and their schedule here that we are interrupting. We're adding an interesting new element and are more than welcome, but we're barging into the middle and disrupting their days. So of course,  they are trying to take back control.

Problem is, I'm usually the one in charge.  So when your grandmother gets you up and wants you to get dressed before blueberry muffins, I want to take a pass. It's no big deal for me to send you out to play in the yard while you're still in pajamas until you get hungry, but it's a HUGE faux pas to your Granne.  Food first, then change, then outside.  There is order to the chaos. Me? I'm okay with you going off to play until you get hungry. I'm more than okay with the dishes sitting until we feel like doing them, or the laundry waiting until we feel like doing it.  But they have a routine and we are trying to be respectful.

But the yelling. Wow. I never realized how impatient my parents are. Maybe I'm going to be just like them when you're older, but the knee-jerk barking responses are enough to make me tell them to back off. Of course, they find this endearing and do so immediately. NOT.

I don't mean to sound ungrateful and I know that I sound it right now.  We've been here for two weeks and they've been nothing but gracious.  But when you're older, and you and your kids come to visit....we're going to have a lot to talk about.  Just talk to me, okay?  I'll try not to get defensive and upset while you tell me what you need.  And I'll try hard to listen.

We can work this out. Either that or we can start drinking. I'm up for either one.

Hades has a disco ball

We're staying at Corrine's.  A wonderland where the televisions stays off, children are engaged and entertain each other and the juice flows freely and the peanut butter and jelly comes like manna from heaven.  It's been a week and the honeymoon is still going on. But as soon as the girls start calling Corrine Mommy again, we're out of here.

There is going to be a party tomorrow. Beth wanted to say good bye and have a surprise party for us, but Donna insisted that it involved husbands and neighbors and what began as a small get together turned into a bouncy castle nightmare due to a wayward Facebook message.  I hate parties. Okay, I don't hate parties, but I dislike parties for me.  In this area, people just don't show up. There's no malice or hatred,  just apathy and laziness. And tomorrow the weather is supposed to be over 100 and the drive is a solid twenty to twenty five minutes for almost everyone. At the least. Of the dozen or so families invited, I expect to see three. Maybe.

Never wanted a good bye party. Honestly, I'd like to take my time saying my farewells by going out to coffee and spending time with people who I have cared for.  The insistence of others that we turn it into a family affair, when your dad isn't here, is just strange. I don't know many of these husbands and they will probably be motivated to enjoy their air conditioning and a cold beer at home rather than run out here and sit in the heat.

There was a birthday party last fall for a girl in Grace's class- Nami. Her mom sent out invitations and asked for RSVPs so that she could book a roller skating party.  The whole place was dark and filled with eighties music- my idea of the seventh level of hell with a disco ball.  While we waited in line I saw that eleven people had responded-  I was glad we weren't going to be the only ones there on this lovely Saturday. But when we got inside, there was no one there. Eleven families had responded that they were bringing their kid skating, so Nami's mom had paid for the skating rink entrance, the skate rentals, pizza and drinks. She'd bought a lovely cake AND NO ONE SHOWED UP.  We stayed the whole time, I went and got skates and skated with the girls but this was awful and akward. Nami didn't really know the difference, but Nami's mom was quietly raging. Me? I would have been furious and hurt for my kid.

So this is what I think is going to happen tomorrow. Ms. Corrine has rented a bouncy castle for "all the kids" and I think it will just be us. My ego will be bruised and I will foolishly worry that my friend will think me the biggest loser of all that my other "friends" couldn't be bothered to show.  Logical or not, that's still in my thoughts.

Seems that every place we go, I get to know quite a few people. Your dad and I have a wide circle of acquaintances and people we spend time with. But friends, the people we really talk to and enjoy, are few. That's not a complaint. I just think it's rare to find someone who can accept you as you are.  The others are just there for the food and bouncy castle while it lasts.   If they show.

Quotes of the day

We stayed at Michelle's for a few days and came back to recharge and head down to Ms. Corrine's.  Mm and Dad's offer to use their place is very generous, but the mac-n-cheese painting on Mom's mirror convinced me that their time is not quite occupied.  We came down here to let the girls run free and not have the hazard of stepping into Dad's garden hanging over thier heads.

Three hours later- results!  Juice drunk, exhausted, non-yelling, and happy. Corrine and I went shopping for noodles. I have a crazy idea of building a raft floaty with the noodles. The prototype was less than successful. With the stunning exception of almost making Corrine laugh so hard she almost peed her pants when the center of the raft separated and left me dangling.

So the girls were riding on the sharks in the pool. Notable quotes:

Look Mommy, I'm riding him.
I'm blowing him, Mama. Now you blow him. I'm blowing him hard.

Yeah. That's one for the baby books.

How many times a day can you say, "Don't shoot your sister." At least I only had to tell them once, "You do NOT stick the American flag up your nose."

We're in the middle of moving. Actually, the girls and I are in the middle of moving. Todd is moving us to Oman and Sumeyye left this morning to go back to Turkey. More later on all that.

Lord love a duck. Let's add "Do not shoot your mother." to that list.

New hairstyles

Your Aunt Michelle is here. We finally got to see her for the first time since Christmas. Your dad is over at the table on the computer and we're in the kitchen at the counter.

AM: So I found out the best hair color.

Me thinking: Clairol? Loreal?

Your Dad: Grey!

We're both just staring at him. He hasn't got a clue.

You are so screwed.

Your dad is in the kitchen helping you with your homework. He's being patient, soft spoken and very clear. He is giving concise instructions, step by step and trying to teach you how to do math problems involving telling time, quarter hours and half hours.

You are about to lose it.

I can hear it in your voice. Every time he says, "Stop. Just focus." after you said "Daddy..." and want him to let you go play a game with your sister. You are not understanding the question, your dad or why we're doing this fifteen minutes before bed time. The frustration level that I always felt when my dad was teaching me and I didn't understand is probably something similar to what's going in there- so I'm in here.

"There are sixty seven in a minute. I mean, there are sixty seconds in a minute."

And now the chanting begins. Somewhere along your dad's education in Louisiana and the Marine Corps, someone drilled material in your dad's head by having him repeat it over and over again getting louder and louder.

"There are sixty minutes in a hour!"

Sounds like so much fun. So I'm in here with Eleanor. Don't get me wrong, I eventually liked math problems, but I think it will be a while until you warm up to them. Just like your mom. Maybe two, three decades...

I've been ignoring this blog for a while. It has been sitting idle while your father and I are taking Arabic in preparation for our move to Oman. Five days a week, we leave at four thirty, five in the morning and head up to the Foreign Service Institute to take six hours of language instruction. Throw in some lab hours and lunch and we don't return until four in the afternoon.

Thank goodness for Sumeyye. Otherwise we'd be beside ourselves.

But this morning, I am alone. And it shocked me, how long is has been, since the last time I had the house to myself for a few hours. The quiet. No television, no chatter, no escalating, excited voices. And I realized how long it's been since we talked.

Eight months of language training and your dad and I still have to take a few more training classes here and there. You're going to love the ones of your mom with a Beretta 9mm and the lovely pics of me shooting a shotgun. And before you asked, yes I qualified on the M9, the M11 and the m4 before playing with the shotgun. And no, you can't have one.

I've missed the mornings with you. The snuggly, warm cuddling where you are in the process of waking up and we curl up in one of my quilts and watch the morning news. I have missed the slow, steady getting ready for school; breakfast, brush teeth, change clothes, shoes on, backpacks. The evenings with you have been fun, but we're all tired and hungry and your dad, Sumeyye and I take turns trying to get the other ones to cook. Getting you all into the bath and bed is a bit more of a challenge than getting you excited to go to school...

On the news front, our government announced that it had killed Osama Bin Laden. He was a man who was responsible for the 9/11 attacks. For ten years, our government has been looking for this man and they finally found and assasinated him. I can understand their actions and the taking of intelligence materials from the compound where he was staying, but I am not understanding the huge arrogance that we, the American people, are showing by telling the world that we killed this man. My fears are of reprisals, especially with us heading overseas. Pictures of the body and burial have not been released, so the conspiracy theorists have said that he's not dead and the American government are hiding him. Some moron on the news actually said that they had "cut the head off the snake". I don't think so. I think we've taken out one of the eyes- and that snake had been functioning very well with that eye under cover for quite some time. So now we've gouged out it's eye, drawn its attention and pissed it off.

And what do we say about messing with our enemies? Either kill them or leave them alone. Messing with them just pisses them off. I just hope I'm wrong.