<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:blogger='http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3415611257156878286</id><updated>2024-10-08T21:07:25.382-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Military Spouses Serendipities</title><subtitle type='html'>Serendipity: a fortunate mistake. Seredipity: making it humorous&#xa;Too honest, too blunt, quirky, &quot;laugh at my trips&quot; kind of blog done with as much etiquette as possible...</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3415611257156878286/posts/default?redirect=false'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Belle~Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02887774081009855562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPG0FHYkINY1xQf927FNEMjHSkJUsSX74ZTDxVD9V0tts7lbsiFmEH59h4lCXbpOAzzpX3wXg3AQH4DJtmjKbpINrv6otBvowijXRtvq5ziPdnw7-l316AaQRE9TKc6Y/s220/Love.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>9</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3415611257156878286.post-3064801447776831039</id><published>2012-06-05T00:58:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-06-05T00:58:51.249-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ready, Set.... Dont jump!</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpFirst&quot; style=&quot;line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
The military is full of
rules. Rules for everything. I usually try to find gaps in the rules and
deviate from the norm but there is ONE rule I will follow, rules for deployment
security. So before I begin, any specifics in this post are probably inaccurate
and so forth. Apparently posts containing deployment details can endanger our
soldiers even more so let’s avoid that. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
So GOOD NEWS! I finally
have a social group. We recently celebrated our daughters 2&lt;sup&gt;nd&lt;/sup&gt;
birthday! This came as a shock to us, being that when we gave birth to her we
figured she would always weigh 8 pounds, 3 ounces and make goo-goo eyes and coo
at us. Didn’t work that way. We had to officially celebrate 2, bittersweet. Anyways,
so we celebrated with our good friends down the street and their almost 2 year
old son for a 1:30 gift give and cake. Then we went out to dinner with a couple
from my husband’s unit and their almost 2 year old son. (This was Saturday).
Then Sunday we were invited to this same couple’s home for chicken and mashed
potatoes, mac and cheese, beans and corn bread. I brought a cheese cake, which I
was reluctant to leave with them, and it turns out another couple met us there
for dinner! &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
This was indeed the
most eventful weekend we ever had here on base! So today is Monday and since we
finally jumped onto the social gravy train we just couldn’t let it go so we
invited yet another couple, friends of my husbands, over for a grilled cheese
night! Dinner went smoothly, I was able to clear the kitchen table and get both
kids in bed by 9 pm, while my husband retreated to the garage for some “man to
man” chat with his best battle buddy.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;So I continued cleaning up and just happened
to stroll passed the cracked door to the garage. The boys were discussing a
briefing they had, had earlier that week about their up and coming deployment,
which apparently the other gentleman had filled in his wife about. The briefing
was to inform the soldiers about the seriousness of this particular deployment
and how they would be entering one of the most DANGEROUS areas. This particular
deployment post has no buildings-the boys will be building their own
functioning station (which probably means it won’t be as secure as an already
standing one) and there will be NO communication between soldiers and the
people they are away from. They were unsure about the possibilities if airmail.
&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
A returning soldier was
1 survivor of a group of 6, where the other 5 had died. He watched his friends
die and then came back only to suffer from PTSD. At first I was horrified by
the danger these boys were facing and I was hurt that my husband hadn’t disclosed
any of this to me previously. He didn’t know I was eavesdropping so had he known,
would he have continued to talk about it? &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
As you have probably
noticed the best way to cope with stress or uncertainty for me is bring humor
to the situation to make light of it and laugh more than I cry. I am not sure
how to bring that light over this cloud. So I called Alex. I spat out as much
as I could as fast as I could and waited eagerly for some heart-warming words
to ease my worries and put my mind to rest. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Heart-warming words: “Yeah,
that particular area is producing a death rate of 50%; but don’t get your hopes
up for a change, they’re definitely deploying. He’ll be lucky if he comes away
unscathed.” &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Really?! Excuse my &lt;i style=&quot;mso-bidi-font-style: normal;&quot;&gt;vulgarity &lt;/i&gt;but &lt;i style=&quot;mso-bidi-font-style: normal;&quot;&gt;F**K YOU ALEX!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Right hand to God, I
thought deployments at this time consisted of playing video games and Skyping.
One soldier said after we arrived on base, if you can play call of duty you’re
a good infantryman. So I was relieved. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Now it’s come out of
the video game? How am I supposed to react to this?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;I always thought that joining Uncle Sam was an
honorable endeavor but not because it was dangerous- because you were asked to
be away from your spouse and children for outstanding amounts of time! Now, its
life-threatening and I’m wondering where the glitch in the contract is that I can
get him out of this… but there isn’t one.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Who can I pay off to get him on some god-awful
non-deployment duty? No one. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
I kissed my husband 7
times more before bed this evening and 40 times longer. I stayed up an extra 10
minutes to do his laundry and pre-set the coffee and breakfast for the morning.
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
He has no idea why…. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/feeds/3064801447776831039/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/2012/06/ready-set-dont-jump.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3415611257156878286/posts/default/3064801447776831039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3415611257156878286/posts/default/3064801447776831039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/2012/06/ready-set-dont-jump.html' title='Ready, Set.... Dont jump!'/><author><name>Belle~Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02887774081009855562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPG0FHYkINY1xQf927FNEMjHSkJUsSX74ZTDxVD9V0tts7lbsiFmEH59h4lCXbpOAzzpX3wXg3AQH4DJtmjKbpINrv6otBvowijXRtvq5ziPdnw7-l316AaQRE9TKc6Y/s220/Love.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3415611257156878286.post-8502970773780817013</id><published>2012-05-22T04:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-05-22T04:16:46.449-07:00</updated><title type='text'>a series of UNFORTUNATE events</title><content type='html'>We haven’t gotten around
to having our mail forwarded to our new home. I realize that it is as simple as
a trip to the post office and some flicks of a pen. My excuse is that I have
two babies. It’s my excuse for everything but people accept it so I continue to
use it. Anyways, the reason this is even relevant is because we have a lot of
important documents being sent to an address 7 hours away from us, including
our proof of name change, bills(now late bills), and proof of insurance. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The day started off like
any other. I had a miserable time trying to fall asleep, I finally did and five
minutes later it was 5 am; my husband jumps out of bed like a particularly
clumsy rhino without an equilibrium in an extraordinarily small and extremely
cluttered china shop so forget the extra half an hour of sleep I could have
enjoyed, I was also awake. My husband asks me to throw on the coffee so I run
down pour in the water, dump in the grinds and slug into the shower. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Its quarter of 6. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
We say our goodbyes,
trying to be positive because positivity from the beginning leads to a positive
day! Of course we wait until 3 minutes before my husband must absolutely zip
out for PT only to realize I never hit start on the coffee maker. (UNFORTUNATE
EVENT 1) So my husband leaves unhappy. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Now my husband is an
excellent athlete. He’s cooperative, polite, and very upstanding. He is the
most competitive person I know and not only with others, with himself. If he
runs a 5 minute mile he MUST beat his time the next run. In fact, he scored a
326 on the extended PT scale, which for anyone unfamiliar with PT scoring- IS
AMAZING (most people score somewhere between 280-290 and the general scale only
goes up to 300)! So you can imagine I was surprised to hear that he gets ‘smoked’
every single day; but it’s MY husband, if we didn’t have bad luck we wouldn’t have
any luck at all! So, like every other day my husband got ‘smoked’. This time it
was for dirty ACU’s. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Sgt: “Why are your ACU’s dirty
private!?”&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Tater (my husband): “Cause
I’m always getting ‘smoked’ Sgt!” &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Sgt: “Roger that! Now
climb the f’in mountain!” &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Seredipity~ I am truly
sorry he always gets smoked… but I’m sure he felt just a little bit sly coming back
with a quirky remark like that! &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
(UNFORTUNATGE EVENT 2)&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
I felt like this day hadn’t
been particularly great so I decided to surprise my husband with a meal truly
fit for a soldier (and one of his favorites!) shrimp/mozzarella stuffed
potatoes! It takes about an hour and a half- two hours to prep and complete so I
began it around 3:45. About an hour later I woke up from a nap both the kiddos
and I NEEDED to the sound of a screeching fire alarm and the smell of nasty
burnt to a crisp shrimp. Scratch that idea, we weren’t having stuffed potato. Regrettably
the smoke detector didn’t get the memo about the shrimp already being outside
in the dumpster because it continued to holler for another 15 minutes until I finally
found the off button. Now everyone was awake! Since it was nearing 5 o’clock
and my husband would be home from work soon I threw some hotdogs in a pan and
peas in the microwave. Mediocre meal for a mediocre day. (UNFORTUNATE EVENT 3) &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
5 o’clock came and went,
6 p.m. reared her ugly head and my husband still wasn’t home. I tried his cell,
but it was off. Probably at the gym? Or getting ‘smoked’? It was about 6:30
when I started to worry. Usually if he’s going to stay after or hit the gym
after a long day he would at least shoot me a text… so I was frantic for the
next 45 minutes. Actually more pissed that frantic! I was actually kind of
relieved that my gourmet dinner had met flames because I REALLY would have been
mad if I had prepared such an extravagant meal only to eat it by myself. 7:15
rolls around and there’s a rattle on the door: my husband! Since our proof of
insurance was sitting in Maryland my husband had spent the last couple of hours
trying desperately to have it faxed over to barracks and then eventually just
walked home. (UNFORTUNATE EVENT 4) &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Needless to say we went
to bed pretty early that night.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Not every day is a bad
day, but when we do have a bad day, we walk home from work. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/feeds/8502970773780817013/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/2012/05/series-of-unfortunate-events.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3415611257156878286/posts/default/8502970773780817013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3415611257156878286/posts/default/8502970773780817013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/2012/05/series-of-unfortunate-events.html' title='a series of UNFORTUNATE events'/><author><name>Belle~Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02887774081009855562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPG0FHYkINY1xQf927FNEMjHSkJUsSX74ZTDxVD9V0tts7lbsiFmEH59h4lCXbpOAzzpX3wXg3AQH4DJtmjKbpINrv6otBvowijXRtvq5ziPdnw7-l316AaQRE9TKc6Y/s220/Love.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3415611257156878286.post-3406416606419118778</id><published>2012-05-19T23:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-05-21T03:23:37.657-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Indian Giver</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Calibri;&quot;&gt;Dead Broke. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Calibri;&quot;&gt;A week ago I was considering ANY means of earning an extra
dollar, than I got a job.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Calibri;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;I finally got the
house tidy and functional and then my husband volunteers me to watch a recently
mobile infant; of course it has to be a neighbor, and the only neighbor who’s
actually introduced themselves at that! Now my house looks like I’ve provoked
the wrong kind of hurricane into my living room. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Calibri;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;It wasn’t even as if I
could have said no though…I say my husband volunteered me but really the
neighbors approached him with “Hi, since your wife doesn’t do anything during
the day do you think we could just drop off the baby while we’re at work?” HELLO!
That makes me sound like a drag… I’m SO occupied. With…. Laundry and dishes,
and Dr. Phil, and Anderson Cooper…PRIORITIES! &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Calibri;&quot;&gt;I have to admit, at first I was excited; $150 dollars on the
1&lt;sup&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: x-small;&quot;&gt;st&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/sup&gt; and the 15&lt;sup&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: x-small;&quot;&gt;th&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/sup&gt; of every month!!! Then I thought about
it… that’s 11+ hours a day (sometimes more because the military likes to throw
on overtime) 5 days a week. That’s approximately 1.50 or less an hour. THEN if
it happens to be a 5 week month, it’s even less. Somehow I have been tricked
into providing ALL wipes, ALL cereal (since my own son is eating it, I must
have TONS!). Did I mention that before I took on this child we were struggling
to make ends meet? &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Calibri;&quot;&gt;Now it’s the same, only I’m TWICE as stressed, TWICE as
exhausted, and doing TWICE as much laundry! &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Calibri;&quot;&gt;BUT I come from a tiny town, I’m a trusting girl. I even
donated some stylish heels her way when I discovered we wore the same size
shoe! I figured… we ALL must be broke, probably all the poor girl can pay! (Ignoring
the fact that her AND her husband are both E4)….&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Calibri;&quot;&gt;However… this ignorance is bliss attitude took a jack and Jill,
down the hill, WANT TO BEAT YOU WITH MY ROLLING PIN kind of spiral after the
first payday. As any ‘tight on funds’ person with common sense would be, I was
paid the cash and put it immediately in the left pocket of my open purse which
sits directly on the desk in the living room. I know exactly how much was there
because I counted it, two or three times. In fact, I budgeted it out on paper.
After two days of not moving my purse, I went to pull out a $20 to give to my
husband for gas. When I pulled it out, I was 40 dollars short. Now I’m not
jumping to any conclusions BUT our neighbor came in our house, because she was
the only one in our house other than myself and my husband and she took the
money right back! &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot; style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Calibri;&quot;&gt;INDIAN GIVER!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/feeds/3406416606419118778/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/2012/05/indian-giver.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3415611257156878286/posts/default/3406416606419118778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3415611257156878286/posts/default/3406416606419118778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/2012/05/indian-giver.html' title='Indian Giver'/><author><name>Belle~Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02887774081009855562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPG0FHYkINY1xQf927FNEMjHSkJUsSX74ZTDxVD9V0tts7lbsiFmEH59h4lCXbpOAzzpX3wXg3AQH4DJtmjKbpINrv6otBvowijXRtvq5ziPdnw7-l316AaQRE9TKc6Y/s220/Love.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3415611257156878286.post-3354558153385956475</id><published>2012-05-15T04:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-05-15T08:29:45.815-07:00</updated><title type='text'>dirty underwear</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpFirst&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
As I said before, I am a cliché
housewife straight out of a Southern Living magazine. So, I wasn’t at all in a
panic when my husband called me to let me know he was bringing home one of the
specialists from work to pick up some items for his ruck. No, in fact I was in
hysteria! I dashed around our house running from room to room picking up
anything I could get my hands on and sprayed every inch with &lt;i style=&quot;mso-bidi-font-style: normal;&quot;&gt;frebreze! &lt;/i&gt;I threw on a dress and managed
to wipe lunch off the children’s faces just as the garage door went up. I was
pleased. The house looked spectacular, the first floor of it anyways. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
My husband marched in,
Specialist Du’(something extremely hard to pronounce, much less remember)
following not far behind. I got up from the couch- I was posing like Rose from
Titanic on- and I shook his hand, trying to hold my breath to keep from
breathing as if I just finished a triathlon but I’m sure the bullets of sweat
running down my forehead didn’t give me away. &lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;If you have ever run a mile and then tried to
introduce yourself to someone you know exactly what I mean. Unfortunately, I didn’t
pull it off because I looked more constipated then smooth and it didn’t help
that he had just watched me get up from the couch. Awkward. &lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
“It’s upstairs man,come on
up.” &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Really??? &lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;They couldn’t find&amp;nbsp;their crap&amp;nbsp;in one of the rooms I had
actually cleaned? So I retreated to the couch to make like potato and morn in
the failure of my attempts. Sorrows aside I was just praying whatever underwear
covering the floor of our bedroom be something sexy like that might redeem me
somehow. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Not a chance…&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/feeds/3354558153385956475/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/2012/05/dirty-underwear.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3415611257156878286/posts/default/3354558153385956475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3415611257156878286/posts/default/3354558153385956475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/2012/05/dirty-underwear.html' title='dirty underwear'/><author><name>Belle~Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02887774081009855562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPG0FHYkINY1xQf927FNEMjHSkJUsSX74ZTDxVD9V0tts7lbsiFmEH59h4lCXbpOAzzpX3wXg3AQH4DJtmjKbpINrv6otBvowijXRtvq5ziPdnw7-l316AaQRE9TKc6Y/s220/Love.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3415611257156878286.post-3963269832487629885</id><published>2012-05-15T03:59:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2012-05-19T23:29:56.443-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cake Boss</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpFirst&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
The perfect housewife
manages her house in a way that is organized, while managing to keep things
homely and decorated. I skipped the organized part. Who cares that I have a
toddler who simply loves to pull things off shelves and out of drawers. I lined
things up in a decorative manner on the bottom of every shelf and filled each
cabinet with important papers. I am certainly paying for it now. Every single
day I pick up the same things. I feel like every parent deals with the “never-ending
mess” but I got an extra butt-kick for stupidity. In fact, to top that off, my
toddler has recently discovered the fridge. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Funny story.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Like any EXTREMELY ON TOP
OF THINGS mother, we had the lights dimmed in the living room, the baby was
asleep and my daughter and I were winding down watching Elmo. So… mommy zonked
out. I am sure the moment my daughter realized this she jumped up from her
carpet mat did a victory dance and ran to the kitchen because 7 minutes later I
was awoken to the cracking of eggs into a steamer pan on our living room
carpet. Yes, that’s right, steamer pan…. there were holes in the bottom. Immediate
reaction, I wanted to jump through the roof. So I calmly got up and walked over
to this disaster. My daughter is not yet two and extremely smart. As I approached
this mess I realized every single egg had been cracked out of its shell, shell
thrown in the trash and she was mixing it together with a wooden spoon.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;SEREDIPITY- I am now putting every spare dime
into a ‘culinary fund’ because obviously my daughter is going to be the next ‘CAKE
BOSS’. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/feeds/3963269832487629885/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/2012/05/cake-boss.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3415611257156878286/posts/default/3963269832487629885'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3415611257156878286/posts/default/3963269832487629885'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/2012/05/cake-boss.html' title='Cake Boss'/><author><name>Belle~Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02887774081009855562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPG0FHYkINY1xQf927FNEMjHSkJUsSX74ZTDxVD9V0tts7lbsiFmEH59h4lCXbpOAzzpX3wXg3AQH4DJtmjKbpINrv6otBvowijXRtvq5ziPdnw7-l316AaQRE9TKc6Y/s220/Love.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3415611257156878286.post-5517945027657165003</id><published>2012-05-14T08:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-05-19T23:29:32.417-07:00</updated><title type='text'>These streets will make you feel brand new, these lights will inspire you... now you&#39;re in New York</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpFirst&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
There are 50 states in the
United States, we come from one of the smallest (Maryland) of the 50 and live
in an equally small town where the most outrageous parties happen in cow
pastures and corn fields and if you’re lucky someone lends out their barn. The first
date I ever had with my husband was swimming in the town reservoir, which was
also the town’s drinking water. The second date, we fished in it. When we got
serious we camped out at a bonfire. So you can imagine my excitement when I got
word our first duty station was going to be in NEW YORK! We were actually going
to join the world and become &lt;i style=&quot;mso-bidi-font-style: normal;&quot;&gt;city savvy! &lt;/i&gt;Ironically
enough, we are stationed in a town probably 10 people larger but instead of
fields and pastures we have mountains. It actually snowed in April. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
I am in disbelief. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Accents are like flags, a
high flyin’ sign that ‘you’re not from here.’ Nobody thinks they have an
accent. We finally got a call that someone had moved out of their 3-bedroom
house on base and were eager to move in and get friendly with our new
neighbors! I always imagined myself being close with the people around me- how
could it be possible to live next door and barely know one another? Well, I suppose
that just shows I’ve obviously never lived close enough to any other houses to
have neighbors! HELLO! Nobody likes their neighbors!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
I guess I kind of
fantasized the home we would live in as well. I thought it would be a cute
little house with a flag out front, a small garden in the back, maybe a porch
swing and the day we moved in all the neighbors would flock to our door with
greetings and warm wishes of friendship. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Not even close. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
The closest we got to a
greeting was the lady to the left explaining that if we heard any knocking she
was merely just preparing for the homecoming of her deployed husband. Probably didn’t
have anything to do with the fellow stopping by every day after she got home
from work and making the huge ruckus departing at all hours of the night;
eventually she pulled me aside and explained how she didn’t like girls, they were
too caddy for her so she preferred to have only male friends. That’s nice. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
The guy next to her
approached us completely intoxicated only to disclose the most personal details
of his recent de-motion. And the lovely couple to the right of us doesn’t seem
to speak any English. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Anyways, so accents and
dispositions are a true telling of where a person is from or rather that they
are new to an area. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Cramped up in a home of
boxes and empty rooms can get a little nauseating; for this reason nature walks
and playground visits have become a daily ritual for myself and the children. That
is until I got the email. I would have been perfectly content in never being enlightened
about the dangers within our homestead. Apparently, there was a small black
bear spotted rummaging through some trashcans. Well, this set our family on
lock-down. The rest of the neighborhood, who I’m sure received that very same
email, continued their daily routines of outdoor play before and after dinner
while I sat frantic by the front door rifle in hand for fear of a bear attack. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
We must just be the new
family….&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/feeds/5517945027657165003/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/2012/05/these-streets-will-make-you-feel-brand.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3415611257156878286/posts/default/5517945027657165003'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3415611257156878286/posts/default/5517945027657165003'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/2012/05/these-streets-will-make-you-feel-brand.html' title='These streets will make you feel brand new, these lights will inspire you... now you&#39;re in New York'/><author><name>Belle~Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02887774081009855562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPG0FHYkINY1xQf927FNEMjHSkJUsSX74ZTDxVD9V0tts7lbsiFmEH59h4lCXbpOAzzpX3wXg3AQH4DJtmjKbpINrv6otBvowijXRtvq5ziPdnw7-l316AaQRE9TKc6Y/s220/Love.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3415611257156878286.post-6963317120805727776</id><published>2012-05-14T06:32:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2012-05-19T23:28:58.854-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Cornerstone of the Military Marriage</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpFirst&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
I think a lot of military
wives at some point or another probably question whether they are strong enough
to endure the active service spouse’s lifestyle. Without a doubt it is the most
trivial, patience-testing life choice a family can make. The truest words of
wisdom came from my husband’s recruiter’s wife, “The army is hard but the
hardest job in the army is the army wife.” &lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Every day is a test of loyalty, of stamina, of
emotional, mental, and physical strength. Deployment is not the only thievery. Our
husbands devote countless nights to CQ duties, weekend-long trainings,
week-long trainings, month long trainings, specialty schools 1-3 months on end,
odd hours, undependable schedules; it’s truly a wonder the military mother
should have a life at all outside of just that. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
So what makes this worth
the while? &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
My husband completed
basic from October 4&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; through February 3&lt;sup&gt;rd&lt;/sup&gt;. He had a
scheduled “Christmas exodus” break beginning on December 15&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt;. I was
home alone with our 18 month old daughter and expecting a son on December 5&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt;.
Our goal was to try and hold off on the delivery until the day my husband came
home for block leave. Now as any biological mother would know, this is not in
the hands of the mother. If the baby is coming, they are coming regardless of
what you had planned. &lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Unseasoned to the
world of military and the “chain of command” I called EVERYONE trying to reach
my husband. I could not for the life of me figure out why the company commander
would not return my phone calls. Eventually, I was able to get through to a MILITARY
ONE consultant who by the hands of God and probably consequently a smoking for
my husband, was able to reach on of the Sergeants in my husband’s company. The
Drill Sargent was able to relay the message to my husband that the baby would
be induced on the 9&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; due to complications. Apparently they had been
getting my devote messages but paying them no mind as the drill sergeant remarked
before hanging up, “Ma’am if your husband is half as persistent and determined
as you, he will have no problem finding success here.” &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Sure enough, my husband was able to call on
the day of induction, once in the morning shortly after I arrived to the
hospital for induction and once at 2 pm when I was about 2 cm dilated. As luck
always has it, his phone was flying off its rocker that day. So the final call I
got was around 7pm. I picked up the phone to hear the voice of the drill sergeant
himself informing me that my husband’s phone was acting up and that he would be
using his phone instead. It was as if something clicked in our baby’s head
because as soon as I received that call, after 12 hours of labor, I had the
urge to push. I can assured you no wife has ever demanded so much from her husband’s
drill sergeant as I did that day and he was certainly quick to pass over the
phone. &lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;I informed my husband I needed to
push and promised I would call as soon as I had a healthy little boy in my
arms. 25 minutes later a beautiful baby boy was swaddled in my arms and an
impatient husband who so honorably missed the birth of his first born son was
on the phone. That was most definitely the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do
alone. But 7 days later the tearful reunion between my husband, myself and our
daughter and the introduction of a father to his son was so powerful. It was
then that I realized the cornerstone of every marriage. It’s the moments spent
together, the reunions, and the sacrifice for one another that make it all
worth the while. The wives, in fact the marriages of the military are strong
and undying, devoted, thirsty LOVE is the cornerstone. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/feeds/6963317120805727776/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/2012/05/cornerstone-of-military-marriage.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3415611257156878286/posts/default/6963317120805727776'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3415611257156878286/posts/default/6963317120805727776'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/2012/05/cornerstone-of-military-marriage.html' title='The Cornerstone of the Military Marriage'/><author><name>Belle~Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02887774081009855562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPG0FHYkINY1xQf927FNEMjHSkJUsSX74ZTDxVD9V0tts7lbsiFmEH59h4lCXbpOAzzpX3wXg3AQH4DJtmjKbpINrv6otBvowijXRtvq5ziPdnw7-l316AaQRE9TKc6Y/s220/Love.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3415611257156878286.post-306048821535299870</id><published>2012-05-14T04:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-05-19T23:28:15.021-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Home Sweet.... Hotel</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpFirst&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
If you are already military
affiliated than you are already aware of the stench from “after work” ACU’s.
For anyone not affiliated, imagine working out for 2 hours, then taking a swim
in the neighboring swamp, throwing in some construction workers socks after
pulling an 8 hour shift in 95 degree weather, and leave it to mildew for about
a week…This is how our temporary housing, home until home, hotel smelled! 48
rooms filled with 48 soldiers and 1 laundry room. I’m sure not every uniform
got washed. To ease the transition we were blessed with a beautiful ONE bed room
for my husband, myself, and our two children under 2. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
The first week was
bearable. I am a firm believer in ‘anyone can do anything for a short amount of
time.’ So, the process for obtaining on base housing is simple. First, you take
said paperwork into the housing office, then you sign a couple of forms, you’re
rewarded with a house and finally you move in! &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Here’s what they don’t tell
you… in order to bring in the paperwork, you must FIND the paperwork, and since
your husband has about 125,263,488,579,159,158,000,000,000,000 papers, that’s not
an easy task. Then once you find it you must drive your husband into work at
4am, so even though your kids don’t usually wake up until 8 am you have to drag
them out of bed or your husband will go to work for the day and you won’t have
a car. Once you have the car and the paperwork, you must drive to the housing
office, which if you’re new-you’ll get lost and arrive about 30 minutes after
your appointment. Then, since you have romanticized being an army wife you will
be all dolled up wearing the most stunning White House|Black Market ‘hand-me-down’
you can find in your closet with heels taller than the stack of diapers in your
oversized diaper bag. Finally, you’ll arrive to the building grab your 18 month
old out of her car seat, swing the diaper bag and your purse over one shoulder,
the infant seat in the crease of your other arm and the stack of loose papers
in your hand so you can hold your rambunctious toddlers sticky hand with your
free one. Forget locking the car, it doesn’t matter that you just dropped every
last morsel of your savings into it, if they really want it they can have it. You’re
in Gods graces if you manage to kick the door all of the way shut with your
foot. And since everyone is incredibly fit, they have conveniently made it a 2
mile walk from the parking lot to the front door and it’s the middle of winter
so every 30 seconds an enormous gust of wind is flashing everyone your behind and
blowing your hair half into your lip-gloss and the other half into a gigantic
birds nests knot. Did I mention that you haven’t walked in heels since your last
funeral, like 2 years ago? Eventually you’ll get to the door, which will be a
HUGE relief until you figure out that the housing office is 2 flights of stairs
UP. You’ll pretend like you meant to look like ‘this’ and then manage to trip
over dust and smack the stairwell, papers flying everywhere. With your luck the
soldier who stops to pick up your disaster will be the hottest man you’ve ever
laid eyes on but you’ll casually blame it on your 18 month old and COLLECT
yourself as best as you can. After making it up the stairs and out of breath
you’ll get to the housing office just to find that you can’t sign anything
unless you’ve got Power of Attorney over your husband, which he has to do
anyways. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
FAIL.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
&amp;nbsp;I can assure you the empty-handed walk of shame back to your car
is far worse after not having accomplished anything…. Another hotel confined
week.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/feeds/306048821535299870/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/2012/05/home-sweet-hotel.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3415611257156878286/posts/default/306048821535299870'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3415611257156878286/posts/default/306048821535299870'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/2012/05/home-sweet-hotel.html' title='Home Sweet.... Hotel'/><author><name>Belle~Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02887774081009855562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPG0FHYkINY1xQf927FNEMjHSkJUsSX74ZTDxVD9V0tts7lbsiFmEH59h4lCXbpOAzzpX3wXg3AQH4DJtmjKbpINrv6otBvowijXRtvq5ziPdnw7-l316AaQRE9TKc6Y/s220/Love.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3415611257156878286.post-8577041259245418261</id><published>2012-05-14T02:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-05-19T23:27:48.779-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fairy-Tale? More like Fabricated.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpFirst&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
I will be the first to
admit I was swept off my feet by the tales of “Army Wives” reality but rather
fictional persona of the military lifestyle; &lt;i style=&quot;mso-bidi-font-style: normal;&quot;&gt;CLASSY &lt;/i&gt;girls dressed to the nines, strutting in their 4 inch heeled Gucci
stilettos and possessing an extraordinary amount of power. Those girls get what
they want. The best way to describe it is a blend between PEARL HARBOR (the
movie) and the STEPFORD WIVES…like all military spouses have perfect hair and
the body to match with adorable little skirts and aprons and all the girls in
your clique fall in love with a group of military hunks, all best friends as
well. These ladies are excellent housewives, every house is spotless all
the time, regardless of the amount of perfect little children running around
and a homemade dinner is always on the table by 5 because the military is extremely
punctual. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
Well, let me be the first
to tell you… that’s a load of crock and not out of the crock pot. It’s about as
glamorous as realizing your milk is spoiled, after you drink a large-thirst quenching
sip. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormalCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 150%; margin: 1em 0px;&quot;&gt;
&lt;o:p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/o:p&gt;Serendipity: a fortunate
mistake…. Seredipity:making it humorous&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/feeds/8577041259245418261/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/2012/05/fairy-tale-more-like-fabricated.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3415611257156878286/posts/default/8577041259245418261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3415611257156878286/posts/default/8577041259245418261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://belle-anna.blogspot.com/2012/05/fairy-tale-more-like-fabricated.html' title='Fairy-Tale? More like Fabricated.....'/><author><name>Belle~Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02887774081009855562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPG0FHYkINY1xQf927FNEMjHSkJUsSX74ZTDxVD9V0tts7lbsiFmEH59h4lCXbpOAzzpX3wXg3AQH4DJtmjKbpINrv6otBvowijXRtvq5ziPdnw7-l316AaQRE9TKc6Y/s220/Love.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>