Fruit Basket Tipped Over

Family Night on Monday...

I taught the kids one of my favorite games when I was a kid. They loved it so we decided to play again last night.

Hadley and Maddox both wanted to be a coconut...then a compromise was reached.

"I'm a banana!" Maddox shouted. "I'm a banana and I shoot lasers out of my bum."

I was a speechless strawberry (that almost fell off the couch laughing).

Sled Hill

On our way.

In true blizzard-like conditions...

Oh, the weather outside is frightful...

But today, for a little while, it was delightful!

P.S. Here's the new house...finally. And Sled Hill is a block away. We four walked over while poor Stewart slaves away at work.

I heard the music...

And realized.

I realized that I have been busy being Bah.

Humbug, that is. (Do you know I actually told our kids that I was running away on Wednesday night on the way to meet you at the restaurant for your birthday dinner? I told them that the only person in our house that listened to me was the dog. I sounded more like my mother than I ever have before.)

Something going on every day, every night, running here and there. And I guess I missed what really mattered.

YOU!

Happy birthday to the love of my life. You are getting old now. You aren't quite old enough to dress the way you do or listen to the music you like...but you're getting there, Old Man. My old man.

I heard you in here checking my blog tonight. I heard the same old songs from my playlist that I really should update but haven't. Nothing new on here, right? No birthday wish for you. That's not cool. Lincoln didn't get one either. So, belatedly, happy birthday to Lincoln "Nino" Peay, too! You are all 2, all the time. And, unlike your father, you DO act your age. I'm not loving it. You may even be the reason I threatened to run away. Who gets into the kitchen sink with all of their clothes on? That's just not normal. You need to stop doing that, Nino.

Anyhow, happy birthday, Guys!

And, sorry...

I'm not running away. I think I'll stay, for now.

WHAAAAAAT?

I know, I know...

I've been out of blog-land.

Usually people try to come up with a great reason why they haven't blogged. Hmmm. I'm not pregnant. We did get swine flu here a few months ago but that's not really a good reason. We moved in July. Does that count?

But I have something cool to say so I'm here. My bionic kid and I got the greatest new toy last night. No, not a zhu zhu pet. Still can't find one of those blasted things. (Any tips? Seriously! Believing in Mr. Claus may be on the line here!) What we got is our own personal FM system. Unlike other FM systems that simply amplify the voice through speakers, this one goes directly into bionic girl's electrodes, stimulating her cochlea directly, skipping all of those middle steps.

I stayed down in our library and Hadley went up to her room with her door closed. I spoke in a normal voice and told her to knock twice on her bedroom door and then come downstairs and say "I love you, Daddy!". And she did! Not kidding. Miracle. That means if we are using it, I can talk to her while she's in the back seat of our car. I can talk to her at a noisy restaurant. I can talk to her when she's 100 feet away at Disneyland. I want to go there. Disneyland, or a restaurant, I mean. Now or even tomorrow would be nice.

It also works like a bluetooth with my cell phone. We tried it out and made a call to grandma. One of her best ever phone conversations. I was about to cry, I was so excited.

Frustrating as it may be to wait for the developing technologies, it's also very exciting when something new comes along. I love watching Hadley's eyes light up when it actually works. So, here's my technology wish list for the coming years:

1. An alarm clock that automatically zings her cochlea when it's time for her to wake up
2. A voice in her head whenever she forgets to hang up her wet towel
3. For teenage years: an electrical shock from her cochlear implant to any boy who comes too close to her
4. For now: an electrical shock to her whenever she yells at her brother

Okay, that's all for now. You techies work on those and let me know how they're coming along and then I'll give you a few more. And maybe work on a reminder bell for Maddox when his bladder is getting full. Four and a half years old...still gets too busy to take potty breaks. We don't have any internal electrodes in him so you'll have to design something that's purely exterior. Shock collar?

Days of War Episode 3 (Mamas, don't let your babies)

Haven't we all heard it? The country song about cowboys?

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys.

Don't let 'em pick guitars or drive them old trucks.

Let 'em be doctors and lawyers and such.

Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys.

'Cause they'll never stay home and they're always alone.

Even with someone they love.

Well, true confession time. I used to feel the same way about soldiers. Here's how my version of the song would have been sung:

Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be soldiers.

Don't let 'em shoot guns or drive them old tanks.

Let 'em be dentists and pharmacists and such

(those are the guys who seem to be home a lot more then the doctors and lawyers, by the way)

Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be soldiers.

'Cause they'll go off to war all on their own

And leave behind someone they love.

I still feel that way a little bit. I am not going to lie. When I see this:

I get a little twinge. I don't want my little boy to EVER grow up and I certainly don't want him to grow up and go to war. (This was the last time Stewart went to drill. He officially got out of the National Guard last year. He's still not sure how he feels about it but couldn't manage another deployment without destroying his career.)

And more confessions. I was awful...I mean awful...to my mother in law when Stewart was in Iraq. I selfishly only understood the impact that his absence had on me. I didn't have a little boy. I didn't understand how she felt about her little boy. I didn't understand that she had sleepless nights worrying about his safety, too. I didn't understand that even though he hadn't lived under her roof for a very long time, he had never left her heart.

I quoted Band of Brothers in an earlier posting. It is a Stephen Ambrose novel that follows one group of soldiers, Easy Company, through their training and the war. Everyone should read it because it is hard to read. It is vivid and awful but true and beautiful. I can gratefully say that Stewart was spared many of the horrors of war but was given some of this same brotherhood that is written about in the book. He had Tony & Ben in Iraq. I had Caroline & Angela, their wives, in America. We formed our own families to take the place of the emptiness. The boys took care of each other. The wives took care of each other. It worked, in a strange sort of way. Nobody could ever really understand how it worked unless they experienced it.

After eleven and a half years of marriage, one fifteen month deployment, and one World War II Trip through France, I may have changed my tune. oops. Didn't mean the pun.

Mamas, maybe it's okay to let your babies grow up to be soldiers. Soldiers are men. Soldiers are people who put others before themselves. Soldiers are disciplined and structured. Soldiers know how to take care of things. They know how to lead. They know how to follow. Soldiers make great husbands and also great sons. Mamas, it may break your heart, but being a soldier may be the very best thing that could ever happen to your son.

Maybe it's because we are learning about Captain Moroni right know in our family scripture study. Maybe it's because my husband was a great soldier. Maybe it's because Maddox gets dressed like this most mornings.

But...I think maybe...just maybe...

We could all only hope our babies do grow up to be soldiers.

Days of War Episode 2

Who are these men?

I remember standing on a crowded bus in Russia and looking at a very old babushka. Her snow white hair and her clear, blue eyes, deeply set in her wrinkled face above her nearly toothless grin, held my attention. I wondered what she had seen in her lifetime. I wondered how many revolutions and overthrows, how many times she had seen her country reinvented and who she had lost to wars.

I felt similarly fascinated to speak with the veterans of World War II. I looked into their eyes and wondered what they had seen. I watched them wipe tears away as they walked among the graves of their fallen comrades. One man said to me, "If he saw me today (referring to his friend who died in the war), he would not recognize me. He only knew me as a boy and now I am an old man." I told him that I thought his friend would know him, still. His eyes are the same. You can still look into those clear eyes and see the soul of the brave man who was willing to give his life for his friend, for his country, for freedom.

I have such great respect for the group that has since been coined "The Greatest Generation" for they truly are great. Their heroism and sacrifice changed the course of history. And I can't deny that today's soldiers are doing their part to change the history of this world. I was struck with the feeling as Stewart and I wandered through Arlington National Cemetery when he was travelling with General Dayton. He had spent seven months in Iraq at that point and was so tired. I have never seen someone sleep so soundly as he did for those few nights we had together. I have never slept with the sounds of air sirens and mortar attacks all night long. I have never slept in a war zone, nor do I have the desire to do so. I look at Stewart and I know some of what his eyes have seen.

In our lives, we do not know how much time we have to spend with our elders. We would love to return to celebrate the 70th anniversary of the D-Day invasion but I wonder how many of the veterans will be able to make that journey. Whether or not any of the veterans are physically present and alive, there are fields full of thosewho never made the trip home. They can be celebrated and remembered.

And me? What can I do? How do I show my enduring appreciation? The one thought that keeps returning for me is to take the time that I have with my own grandparents; to not feel impatient when the elderly driver is going SO SLOW in front of me; to help the grandmother in the grocery store; to take the time to look into their eyes and wonder what they have seen.

Who are these men? They are your neighbors, your grandparents, the man walking down the street, the couple holding hands in the restaurant. They are great men and women.

Days of War Episode 1

I have never been to war.

But my husband has.

And so have a lot of other people. Do you still remember them? Every day? Do you think about them when you are eating dinner. Please pass the green beans, and oh am I glad that I'm not sweating it out in Iraq right now. I don't. I should. I try to. We bless the soldiers in our family prayers and we also bless their families 'cause I know they need it. Oh, do they need it.

Having just returned from my whirlwind World War II tour, I decided to post for the next few little whiles on my impressions of what I saw. I am not quite as ambitious as some who can do a post a day for a whole month. Hence, little whiles. I don't know how often I'll post or how many war posts I'll create but this here will be episode one. We'll see how it goes.

Normandy: Day One (June 4, 2009)

Pointe du Hoc, FranceYou look out over the rocky cliffs and wonder how it is possible. How could only 225 US soldiers have scaled those cliffs on rope ladders? And, how did they EVER defeat the Germans who were in concrete bunkers, reinforced with steel? Concertina wire, machine guns, higher ground. They had a lot going for them.

The wind blew and I could hear the whispers of the dead on that sacred ground. Poet Stephen Spender must have heard them, too. He wrote: "You are men who in your lives fought for life...and left the vivid air signed with your honor."

Yes, I do believe battlefields are a sacred ground. So many gave all in those holy places. Their souls linger, in the wind, in the waves, in the warmth of the sun, in the blowing grass. The artillery shells made these craters all over the beach and they have never been filled in. I was amazed, speechless, breathless. I wanted to be quiet and feel the moment. I wanted to cry, too. I did.Stewart looked out over the scene and explained the objective of the rangers who were trying to overtake this position. From Pointe du Hoc, you can look left and see the beach at Utah. If you look right, you see Omaha Beach. These are the two beaches where the Americans came ashore. Thus, it was of great importance to secure that lookout point. In Ronald Reagan's words in 1984:

The Rangers looked up and saw the enemy soldiers on the edge of the cliffs shooting down at them with machine guns and throwing grenades. And the American Rangers began to climb. They shot rope ladders over the face of these cliffs and began to pull themselves up. When one Ranger fell, another would take his place. When one rope was cut, a Ranger would grab another and begin his climb again. They climbed, shot back, and held their footing. Soon, one by one, the Rangers pulled themselves over the top, and in seizing the firm land at the top of these cliffs, they began to seize back the continent of Europe. Two hundred and twenty-five came here. After two days of fighting only ninety could still bear arms.

I remembered a part of Band of Brothers in which excerpts of one soldier's diary are included. He wrote, "Back in America, the race tracks were booming, the night clubs were making their greatest profits in history...few people seemed to care...and we wondered if the people would ever know what it cost the soldiers in terror, bloodshed, and hideous, agonizing deaths to win the war." It reminded me of today. Do we think about it enough? Do we remember the sacrifice?

I looked at my Stewart and felt pride swell in my heart. My strong, brave husband heard the call to serve and answered that call. Few people will ever know what the cost of war is because most of us do not ever have to live through it. After an evening at sunset in Pointe du Hoc, I shed a few tears for the boys who died for that position and for their sweethearts at home; for the empty places at the dinner tables in American homes and for the comrades in arms who lost a brother that day. I shed tears for the young German boys who, although fighting for something I do not believe in, were also someone's son, someone's lover, someone's brother.

I have heard it said that kids today do not have heroes. I cannot, for the life of me, understand why. I can think of some. The monument that stands at Pointe du Hoc lists their names. Reagan said, "These are the boys of Pointe du Hoc. These are the men who took the cliffs. These are the champions who helped free a continent. These are the heroes who helped end a war."

I have never been to war. I did spend a few days memorializing those who have and I am so grateful that I did.