I've always wanted to blog. I don't necessarily think I have valuable things to say, but I'm the sort that if I'm not typing what's going through my head, I'm saying it aloud, and that's not always good. You can't backspace your spoken words and try again to avoid being inappropriate or offensive. I've kept a couple journals over the years, never for overly long, but usually in a time of stress or deep thought. Writing is usually what gets me through something with sanity.
I think this blog, unlike my other ones, will last longer, and in fact, I'll probably delete at least one of the other ones. I want a purpose to my blogs, and I always say I want it to be something I'm passionate about, but I end up running out of writing material. Or something else happens in life to distract me. Or, you know, there's a shiny sticker on the ceiling. You get my drift.
I'm Amy. Obviously. I'm going to be 28 in less than 2 months and I don't know if I feel old saying that, or feel like I'm faking my age so I won't get carded. I don't know if I can say I feel 28, but then I don't know if now that I'm almost 28 that I feel like that's old anyways. I'm old enough to say I have a 7 year old and a 2 year old...I'm old enough that most of the movies in the theater don't impress me. I'm old enough that I like listening to Enya in the car, over Nicki Minaj. But I'm still young enough to love The Walking Dead and Gilmore Girls and a variety of other stereotypical young shows, I guess. I like country music.
I'm married to a soldier. He's almost 2 years younger and a foot taller than me. I tell him all the time I only married him so he'd get the stuff on the top shelf for me and so I didn't have to work, but anyone who knows us knows I'm just teasing him. He's deployed right now. Deployments suck, and I can tell you first hand that the first night they're gone is the worst. After that, we Army wives generally find a strength that our soldiers don't know exists because it vanishes when they come home. I know for me, personally, my thoughts alter when he's gone. And no, this isn't the first time he's been gone. When he goes, I find myself talking to myself because it helps me analyze my situation better. It helps me process, and I do it a LOT because my thoughts take turns they don't normally take when he's home. Just this morning I realized I've been lulled into a false sense of security. If I had car troubles, I could call him and he'd come rescue me. If someone attacked me he'd get there as soon as he could...but this morning, I realized that in the end, whether he's stateside or out of the country, I need to be able to react immediately. An intruder isn't going to wait to attack me until I can get my hands on a phone to call him home; he's going to attack me and do his worst before I can let ANYONE know I'm in trouble. Thus, my own safety, and that of my son, rests primarily in my hands, because I'm the one there to react. And oh dear goodness, he left and I realized this morning that if I needed to get an intruder out of my house, I could...stab him. I have weapons but I can't remember his instructions on shooting them. I have no pepper spray to inhibit him. So I'm left with a knife, that for now, I keep in my pocket or on my person at all times. I could scare the crap out of him because the gun is close...
So now that I've outed my patheticness, I want to talk about my two favorite people. We'll call them G and J. G is my 7 year old daughter. She likes pink, Hello Kitty, Barbies, and her brother. And dogs. And animals. And she doesn't like chocolate unless she doesn't know that it's chocolate she's eating. She lives in AZ with her dad and stepmom, and while that is still occasionally a source of intense emotional pain for me, I'm working to "accept" the situation. Living with bitterness and anger isn't going to do me any favors or make my life any better. I've forgiven the whole thing. I talk with G's stepmom regularly; we're actually more alike than you'd think, and although there are some core disagreements there, we've worked hard to find a tolerance/acceptance/allowance of each others' differences, if you will. The better things are between us, the better things are for G, and the more information flows freely regarding her upbringing.
J is my 2 year old son. He's like the Energizer Bunny on crack. People really just don't understand the level of energy this kid has unless they spend a day or more with him. He's crazy. He never stops moving. There is only one video series I can get him to calm down for, otherwise he's all over the house, in closets...he's climbed in the dryer before. He's escaped the backyard, he's splashed in potty water countless times...there's nothing else to say except that he's crazy.
My husband is my soulmate. The longer we're apart, the more I realize just how together we were meant to be. He's selective of how much he reveals. Most people have no idea how goofy he can be. He has a silver tongue (that is, dude can sound like a jerk even when he's not trying to be mean), and sarcasm that rivals mine, but we get along well (usually) and are perfect for each other.
I'm a Christian. I'm a crunchy mom. I'm a future farmer's wife. I am who I am. That will become more obvious the more I post.
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