green enough for me

no crying in baseball...

2013-05-14T16:56:00.003-05:00

This boy's team lost out in the post-season tournament over the weekend.

Kid after kid came out of the dugout heartbroken or stompin' mad.

I braced myself for my spirited boy's reaction...

My boy looked at me with a smile and asked, "I played good, right, Momma?"

Yes, son. You played well.

Most days, I don't know how to do this... this mothering, this raising boys...
And I fear I'm doing it all wrong.

But I feel like somehow, just maybe we've done something right...

the vase on the shelf

2013-05-09T22:02:00.001-05:00

it's that pretty vase you want to keep safe,

so you put it high on a shelf.
and one day, you find the vase on the floor with a chip in its side..
you toss the chipped glass in the trash,
and turn the vase around as you place it back on it's shelf.
no one will ever know...

the days come and go,
and eventually you forget the chip was even there...

until, you hear the crash.
the vase has fallen to the floor.
this time, a crack down the middle.
super glue will fix it, you think.

carefully, you run the glue down the crack,
and think... good as new.

no one will ever see the crack... nor the chip...
and back up on the shelf, goes the beloved vase.

one day, a friend notices the crack,
and dares to ask what happened.
you brush her question off,
and deep inside, you kick yourself,
because no one was supposed to notice.
you thought you'd hidden it well.

flowers are bought, and water is run,
and fingers are crossed, for the best.
the cracked vase still holds water.
the flowers go in and up on the shelf it goes.

time gets the best of you, and the dust collects on the pretty vase
and the now-dead flowers.

but then, for a third time, you find the vase in the floor...
shattered into pieces.
through the tears, you carefully gather the broken pieces.
through the cuts and blood and super glue,
you try your damndest to fix what's broken,

just one last time, you think...
when will all this gluing be enough, you think.

what happens if the vase doesn't go back on the shelf, you wonder...

the one about windows

2013-05-07T12:06:00.001-05:00

I miss our windows in Germany.

The solid panes of glass that opened like barn doors. The way the breeze flowed through the house, cooling it off without needing central air. This southern girl was amazed.

The view stretched for miles... That winding narrow road followed the hills and disappeared somewhere through the trees; if you drove the twists and turns just right you'd find a tiny little village and a castle.

Austin's fascination with the weather started there. We'd pull chairs up to the windows when the sky grew dark, and we'd watch the clouds roll in, and if we watched long enough, the storm would tumble right on through...

If ever an occasion called for fireworks, we'd prop right up and look down on them from our fourth floor view. Germans enjoy a good celebration.

the view from here, my office in alabama

I stare out the windows here at work, and while the glass is big... Not much else compares. The windows don't open. There's a hill blocking my view of anything more than highway and a hospital... The sky is big and beautiful and there's freedom in that, until my eyes focus on the reflection of the flourescent lights in the ceiling.

I watch an airplane and it's trail climb higher and higher, until the plane is out of sight and the trail fades away...

Oh, to be on that plane... I know where I'd go...

the best things in the world

2013-05-06T21:28:00.000-05:00

i'm distracted and tired and lonely these days.

i'm lost and confused, and at the end of the day, when they put on their pjs, and brush their teeth, and i trip over baseball cleats and there's red dirt in my floor,

they'll crawl in my bed and scrunch their eyes closed and

i pretend they're already asleep and i push their hair back and i kiss their foreheads and i linger and i pray over them and i whisper them good night and i choke back the tears and i breathe deep and i walk away,

and they lift their heads and jump up and say, "momma! aren't you gonna lay down with us?!"

and when all i want to do is throw my work clothes into the floor, and grab a book and a coke and settle down on the couch and ignore the dirty dishes...

i sigh, and i crawl into the middle of the bed that's no longer empty, work clothes and all...

and there they fall asleep, on either side of me, all sweaty and snoring and close,

and i ignore the dirty dishes, and the red dirt in the floor, and i didn't need that coke anyway,

and i drift to dream, surrounded by the best things in the entire world...

[this is a simple story.]

write (right) where you're at...

2013-04-25T08:58:00.002-05:00

There's a book inside my head. But I can't seem to get it onto paper, or on the screen...
Things have changed so much since my writing slowed, and I'm struggling with when and how and why to share...
I'm here in this weird place, trying to force a life from a life I didn't plan for. This wasn't my plan.
And while I know His plan is great and mighty and so good, it doesn't mean I've easily let go of my plans.

If you were to scroll through my dashboard in this space, all you'd see is Draft, page after page of drafts.
I've been here; you've just not seen me. I've tried to write here, but I get a few sentences in and something pulls me away, or the words aren't right, and I just click the little Save rectangle up there and leave it be.

The words are there- deep in my heart- rooted, but struggling to grow.

I'd like to tell you about how when we flew into Chicago from Germany that very last time, I hated O'Hare. You try hopping onto a train with your life shoved into a few suitcases and two little boys. A kind soul offered to help and as he loaded one of our duffel bags, the doors closed and I watched as the train pulled off with all our clothes. We caught up with the bag on the next stop, another kind soul waited for us and asked if he could help get us to where we were going. The strong, proud Army wife in me declined, saying "I do this all the time. We're fine." when truly, all I wanted to do was collapse in a heap and cry right there in front of him.
He wandered off with the rest of the crowd, and I gathered our things... I hollered at the boys to stop climbing the benches, don't jump off of that, feet on the floor... And we settled in front of the elevator, willing it to come. I looked up and there it was- red, white, and blue... The American flag.
Do you know what I did?
I cried.
Not because we were home. But because we had, just 12 hours earlier, left our home and we'd never go back...
You see, for 5 years, if I saw an American flag, there was usually a German flag right next to it.
Don't get me wrong, I'm proud of our country and the men and women who give their all to defend our freedoms... But it just wasn't a reminder I wanted on that particular day and I had no idea what would come of the weeks, and months ahead...

I've wanted to tell you about baseball and about how crazy our weeks are with both boys playing. But how much I've needed the sunshine, and the excuse to get out of the house. How proud I am of my boys jumping out there and learning something new.

I really want to tell you how difficult it is to transition from the military (especially when stationed overseas for so long) back into civilian life. How lonely and alienating it can be. How angry I get becasue I'll go days, weeks even before a coworker or friend mentions ANYTHING military related.
Do you know I read the names of the fallen almost daily? I pray for their families, I pray for the soldiers they left behind on the the battlefield. The disconnect is heartbreaking to me.

I'd love to share pictures of our house, our own space. It has a large fenced in backyard and room for a playroom. The laundry room is outside and it only has one bathroom, but after living four floors up, I can deal with a few quirks.

It's April and even though it's been rather rainy and we've yet to see really warm weather, I have tan lines on my arms. I've not seen tan lines in April in over 5 years.

I want to ease back into this space, I want to share our lives with you again...

There are things I wish I could change, but I know I can't. There's no sense in trying to fight it. It's time to start trusting Him.

I'm right here, and it's time I start writing again...

the one about permanent ink

2013-04-24T13:41:00.001-05:00

There's the one on my arm, that you've seen before...

liebe means love, in the place the military told us to call home.
yellow ribbon, until they all come home.
my heart on my sleeve because my heart was in afghanistan...
The one that reminds me of strength and friendship. The one that reminds of pain and heartache, but also, joy and hello...

There's the one on my shoulder...

The one of the bird, a seagull... The one that reminds that even in the dark, we can fly...
The one that represents hope...

There's another one on my hip...
A sign of peace.

The one that tells me that peace has wings... that peace is alive and waiting...

Love. Hope. and Peace.
permanent reminders...

Do your tattoos have a story?

A Deeper Story Synchroblog: Embodied Stories

bravery

2013-02-07T12:22:00.001-06:00

When I filled out the questionaire to enroll him in preschool, it asked questions like, "What does your child fear?"
Fear? "He's not old enough to fear things," I thought.
The sack man? Perhaps.
The monster in his closet? Sure.
He's the kid that fake cries for a nightlight.
He doesn't like to be turned upside down. Ok.
I left the question blank and felt sad that I couldn't answer a simple question about my child.
On the first day of preschool, his normally grouchy-i-hate-mornings-leave-me-alone-don't-take-my-pjs-from-me self bounced out of bed, and asked me every 5 minutes if it was his turn to go to school.
He was so proud of his new Buzz backpack, and the old lunchbox I found in the attic. He waltzed into the school like he owned it, quickly squeezed my leg, and ran straight in the room to play with kids he's never even met...
Brave. My littlest boy is brave.

still dancing...

2013-01-14T12:09:00.003-06:00

[[Today marks a year since we welcomed our Soldier home from his 3rd and final deployment.
I wish I could tell you everything is perfect, but it's not. We still have a long way to go- in our marriage, in our new! civilian! careers!, in finding a home for our family of four. Those things will come, we may only inch towards them... but they'll come.
I've said many times that the biggest battle is fought when the Soldier returns home from war. Many dear military friends are struggling through their days, right beside me. Mostly, we struggle silently. We hold it in and battle crazy thoughts, while trying to forget the cruel words that were uttered the night before.
I'm reposting from January 25, 2012 today... because today, I need to be reminded that sometimes there's beauty in the fight... ]]

from January 25, 2012...

It seems as though I dance through my days more often than I realize.

A few nights ago, in the middle of angry words and hurt feelings, my husband and I cleaned the kitchen together.
Our little kitchen is barely wide enough for us to stand side by side in;
yet, we somehow stepped around each other without bumping, without being in each other's way.
I unloaded the dishwasher and he scrubbed counters,
and we moved with grace....
but spoke without it.
When the counters were clean and the sink was empty,
I was amazed at how seamlessly we did that...
How we could argue so harshly, so hurtfully;
but clean a kitchen together so well...

Today, when Austin came home from school, the house was fairly clean.
In the time it took us to do homework, eat dinner, and play before bed,
it was all a disaster again.
We had a plan- David would tuck the boys into bed and I'd start cleaning...
The boys had a different plan- they wanted me.
So I stopped cleaning, and tucked them.
David and I danced through the living room picking up toys,
and clearing the dinner table, and returning a stray child to his bed,
and back to the living room to fish trains from underneath the table....
and back to the bed rooms to quiet and comfort little boys...
and back to the kitchen to wipe counters...
and back to the hallway to warn a child to settle under the covers....

And we did this dance in and out of their rooms, into the living room, into the kitchen,
moving around each other, and turning together...
without even really knowing we were doing it...

But we were.
And we are.
We're doing this.
Together.
This dancing.
This living.

I hope it lasts forever.

why i fell in love

2013-01-11T18:30:00.000-06:00

in a wine-induced flirt, i stopped mid-kiss and asked him, "would you give your life to protect me?"
his eyes stared through me.
unsure of his look, not sure how to proceed- i glanced away...
my green eyes landed on the dog tags hanging off the lamp.
and i remember why i fell in love with the man who once wore a uniform...

civil

2012-11-26T22:04:00.001-06:00

For as long as I've known my husband, he's been a soldier.

In some ways, he will always be a soldier.
Just like, in some ways, we'll always be a military family.

It's in us.
It will never leave.

But today, 26 November 2012, he's officially a civilian.

:sigh of relief:

But what I haven't wanted to say out loud...

He only has 7 years of service.
He's obligated to 8 years.
Which means, in the next nine months, the Army can call him back should they need him...

Let's pray the Army doesn't need him...
both for our country, and for our family...

on roots, and dreams...

2012-11-17T21:04:00.000-06:00

I wake in the middle of the night and don't really know where I am.
I've dreamt of our apartment, on the fourth floor, in Germany.

In my dream, I walk down the stairs; my steps echo into the basement.
I see the cold, damp foundation, dug deep into the black German dirt.

The roots, creep their way through old cracks, looking for water to drink up.
The water travels through the roots, to the trunk- stronger than the wind.
There's a hole in the tree, not unlike the cracks in the foundation- wear and tear.
The trunk gives way to limbs, thick enough to climb on.
Then sticks, twigs, and bright green leaves...

The leaves reach for the sky, for the sun- stretched out for warmth.
I press my face to the cold glass and glare at the tree from the fourth floor.
I'm struck with the idea that it's all connected.

Something stirs me awake.
I blink through the dark and notice the red-clay-stained shoes on the floor.
My heart grows heavy, because I'm not where I think I should be...

None of it makes sense, I know that... But somehow, it does.
I left Alabama all those years ago, scared I wouldn't fit in, scared I'd cry for home.
And I did- fit in and cry for home.
Slowly, Germany creeped into the heart that Alabama never left.
There's room for both. There's room for more. Heartache leads to healing...

Figure it out. That's what He's telling me...
He has a plan.
It'll be ok.
He's telling me that, too.

(the pictures in this post are the last pictures i took in germany. be still my heart.)

take a ride with me...

2012-10-03T17:45:00.001-05:00

If I close my eyes tight, I can see the streets and I can feel the sun and I can smell the bakery.
I hope I never forget.

what comes next

2012-09-17T16:17:00.000-05:00

Afghanistan homecoming, 2012

Everybody wants to know what comes next.
Since we've been home, I've been asked that question at once a week.

We don't know what comes next,
only that something does.

Something always comes next.
One door closes, another opens, right?

He comes home this week.
That comes next.

From there?
We're trusting that we'll figure out.

The future, our future, is wide-ass open.
The world is at our feet.

Did you see/hear/read/get that?
We lived in Germany for 7 years,
have now moved back home to small town, Alabama...
And the world is at our feet!
Truth.

We've discussed every option we can think of, and then some...
But when you've spent 7 years doing everything someone else has told you to do,
it's hard figuring out what it is that you really want to do...

It brings tears to my eyes to think about it.
He fought for freedom and for safety.
He went into that war zone we're all terrified of.
And now? He gets to experience that freedom.
He gets to live it.

But, again, what comes next?
Something...
Anything...

Everything.

hope

2012-09-08T11:02:00.003-05:00

"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,

And never stops at all..."

Emily Dickinson, Hope

Auf Wiedersehen Deutschland!

2012-07-15T02:30:00.000-05:00

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go, my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

ich trage dein herz bei mir. (ich trage es in meinem herzen.)

-e.e. cummings

By the time this posts, the boys and I will be headed back to our roots.

We'll be somewhere over England, probably.

With only suitcases in our possession.

I pray for quiet travels.

Today is the day one of the rest of our lives...

stress-filled craziness

2012-06-29T04:27:00.001-05:00

~~I can't write.~~ I'm having a hard time writing.

I come here and I start writing and get an introduction out and then my entire mind just goes blank and I can't figure out how to transition into the body of the article, much less figure out what the body should be...
So I save the unfinished post and walk away thinking I'll work on it later, but when I come back to write again, I give up and open a new draft and the entire process starts over...
There are currently about 12 posts in draft from the last week.

But, I wanted to say, I'm here.
And I'm trying to write...

I want to remember this country, our life here.
I don't want to forget a thing...
The balance of actually living it and living to remember it is exhausting...

The boys and I have plane tickets.
We have a few more weeks here and then we'll take our suitcases to the airport and hop on a plane.

I'm struggling with the fact that we won't be here when the movers pack our things.
Leaving with suitcases feels so... temporary. And this move is anything but temporary.

David is still fighting for his terminal leave. What the finance office says he has and what we say he has is not the same... It's par for the course and it'll either work out or it won't...
Either way, he'll be back in Alabama in late September or early October and officially out of the Army sometime in November.

What happens from there?
We have. no. idea.
We've tossed around ideas about him going to school on the G.I. Bill and which companies and job fields he'd like to work for.
Truthfully, we won't know anything until he gets home and can actually start interviewing, or the G.I. Bill paperwork works out and a good school opportunity falls into place.
It's stressful. This decision is stressful and we've had many arguments over the past few weeks about the lack of a plan.

The one thing I get comfort from is that, even though the "easy" answer would be to stay in the Army, neither one of us have suggested that.
What lies ahead is going to be rough and hard and stressful and we're going to be flat. broke. for a long time... But, all of that will be better than continuing on with deployments and the stress-filled craziness this military life brings with it.

Here's to non-military stress-filled craziness...

David's ETS orders

two lists for one summer...

2012-06-21T04:44:00.002-05:00

two lists for one summer.

many firsts and lasts

on opposite sides of the world.
goodbye to one side,
hello again to the other.

cramming it all in,

drinking it all up,

breathing it in,

yelling it out,

remembering it all forever.

other dreams

2012-06-19T10:11:00.000-05:00

---

more times than i can count, he's told me, "i have to go. i don't have a choice," as he tossed a green army duffel over his shoulder.

our babies have cried and reached for him. he's kissed their heads and turned their arms back to me.

he's wiped tears from his eyes, taken a deep breath, and turned on his heels to walk away from us.

i've driven home in the middle of the night, crawled into an empty bed, and called my mom without saying a word, just sobbing...

those goodbyes?

they hurt.

they stab you deep in your chest.

they pull the life right out of you...

and somehow, you have to grab it and shove it back inside...

---
in a few months time, we'll get a fresh start.

we're choosing to leave a stable job with great benefits.
we're choosing to say no to the chance to see the world, experience new things, live a grand adventure.

because this army life? it is just that...a grand adventure.
and we're choosing to not live it.
we're choosing to chase other dreams.

---
there's a chance that there just might be, could be a year long opportunity for him in florida.
he'd get a decent start at a dream of his...

the part of me that's lived in a foreign country for five years and endured deployments without the respite of a sleepover at grandmomma's house wants to cling to family and hometown, alabama...

he could go.
we would stay.
we'd meet in the middle when we could.
and at the end of that year, we'd head off to chase the job that would come...

---

and then i cried.

and my heart sank...

tears poured down my face as i remembered those goodbyes...

"we have a choice this time.

why would i choose to let you go?"

---
and then i caught my breath,
and i hinted at a smile...

this time we get to choose.
we get a say.
we have a choice.

we.
have.
a.
choice.

[[this is just write.]]

almost home...

2012-06-18T14:39:00.003-05:00

He said,"I just climbed out of a cottonwood tree.

I was runnin' from some honey bees.

Drip dryin' in the summer breeze

After jumpin' into Calico creek.

I was walkin' down an old dirt road,

Past a field of hay that had just been mowed.

Man, I wish you'd just left me alone,

'Cause I was almost home..."

-Craig Morgan, Almost Home

This tree sits outside our living room window. We pass it every day on our walk to and from school. It reminds me of the crepe myrtles back home... snowing petals, or in this case, cotton, all over the yard and road.

It reminds me of home.
Because Germany is home...
Because the South is home...
Because these two places aren't really all that much different...
They both hold my heart.

I blinked...

2012-06-07T07:56:00.005-05:00

and we were walking home from Austin's last day of preschool.

Hello, Summer.

lederhosen

2012-06-05T06:17:00.003-05:00

Guten Tag!

Memorial Day 2012

2012-05-28T10:15:00.002-05:00

It's the middle of the night and something scratches my arm.

I'm awake and rubbing the sting.

I remember...

His bracelets.

The black ones.

The ones etched with the birth and death dates of fellow soldiers.

It's the middle of the night, and I wonder which bracelet he's wearing.

Whose name is carved into it.

But it's the middle of the night, so I roll over and wrap my arms around him.

I whisper a prayer and drift to sleep...

safe.

protected.

loved.

and free...

SPC Ja'mel A. Bryant

HHC 40th CSD

12 May 1986- 27 September 2008

Operation Iraqi Freedom

CPT Michael Newton

SVC Battery 1-84 Field Artillery

11 June 2011

Operation Enduring Freedom, Afghanistan

"Let us not mourn for the men who have died fighting, but rather let us be glad that such heroes have lived.” -General George S. Patton

stronger than the Army...

2012-05-23T04:02:00.000-05:00

There are moments in your life that you'll never forget.

I remember the day I met her- mom of two boys, a toddler and a little still-nursing babe in her arms.
I was a mom of one, almost two... my belly, still growing Cade.

She was a calm, loving mama of two boys, and had it all together.

I was run ragged, and wondering how I'd ever survive.

The seasons changed, babies were born, and deployment happened.

We celebrated homecomings, trudged through cloudy, gray days, and enjoyed sunshine at castles.

I learned her life was just as crazy-wild as mine, and ~~somehow, I survived~~ we survived together.

As I pulled away from her house for the last time earlier this week, she raised her hand- thumb out, two middle fingers folded down... sign language, for I love you.

I signed back and waved... averted my eyes to the road ahead.

I choked back tears, because my mom signs I love you to me, something I don't think I'd ever mentioned...

five years, five kids between us.
six, five, four, three, two.

strong husbands, by our sides.

friendships, stronger than the Army. (cheesy, yes. truth, absolutely.)

tschüß, dear friend.

can't wait to hug you in the u.s. of a.

leaving here

2012-05-16T09:27:00.002-05:00

David called asking for information for our ERD (Early Return of Dependents) paperwork.

My heart sank. This is all really happening.

The moving home this summer...

The ETSing (Expiration, Term of Service) from the military this fall...

The unknowns that follow that- job? roof? where?

He called again, said he needed a date. I asked what kind of date.

He said, a tentative fly date. "What's your preferred timeline?"

I blurted out a date in the middle of the summer.

I really wanted to say, never.

It's not the going home that's hard.
It's not the ETS that's hard.

It's the leaving here.

I know what going home means... It means family. It means familiar roads and laws, southern accents. It means hometowns, and cherry limeades, and no more international flights.

I know what ETSing means... It means no more Army bullshit, no more deployments, no more rank.

And while all of that will be nothing short of amazing...

I don't know what leaving here means.

This place, this post, this country has held my heart and my hand for a little more than half a decade.
This dirt holds our blood, our sweat, our tears.
These trees have seen our laughs and these walls have heard our anger.
My heart breaks here (deployments), but it also mends here (homecomings).
Our youngest was born here.
Our oldest has the perfect scar in the back of his head, sewn up by German hands.

I want to rip the paint off the wall and take it with us.
I want to dig up the dirt, the grass, the weeds and pack it in a neat little box and mail it back to Alabama.
I want to burn this fourth floor view into my eyes, so it'll never fade from my memory.

That Christmas my parent's visited, and my dad said this place was a different color green. I'd never said it out loud, because I thought it was a crazy thought... But I thought that, all those years ago when I first came to just visit...

I'm panicked. I'm heartbroken. I'm torn.
Our weeks here are numbered.

I want to drink it in, and not waste a drop.
I want to see and hold and touch.
I want to clutch this place in my arms and squeeze until it shatters...

I think, really...
It's just that...
In the future, a year or two, maybe ten, down the road...
If someone asks, "If you could be anywhere but here..."
There was a time, my answer would be, "Hawaii! Australia! ... London! Paris! Rome!"
I fear my answer will be, "Baumholder, Germany."

**I've tried for the better part of the afternoon, to find the words worthy enough... Our roots are in the South, naturally, that's home for us. But this place? It's magic. How do you leave magic?**

i promise they love each other

2012-05-14T10:08:00.001-05:00

from a few weeks ago, when they hid under the table, telling secrets

Austin climbs in a kitchen cabinet.

Cade closes the door on him.

Austin tries to open the door.
Cade pushes back with all his might.

The little kid is actually quite strong for a 3 year old.

The big kid screams, "Let me out! It's not funny! It's not funny, Cade!"

There are tears involved...

Then... Wham! The cabinet door hits the wall.

Austin caught Cade, distracted and weakened.

Cade flies across the kitchen and lands on his butt...

Austin climbs out laughing.
Cade cries, "It's not funny, Bubba!"