 |
| The stegosaurus is known for its small brain, the size of a walnut. We have a lot in common sometimes. |
However I will say it would break some others. Like a really nervous pet?
I have learned that getting my nails done and buying things like a $20 pink Himalayan salt lamp — which the kids and their friends would later dare each other to lick during sleepovers — helps me be less of a wreck. Something about some new, mood-adjusting piece of cheap decor or little tech gadget, or a refreshing health shot in a glass bottle, or the best nail art example I could find on the internet, makes renting furniture or eating off a paper towel standing up just fine.
If I'm being honest, often it's a glass of wine too. Or two. Maybe an IPA.
Other times it's a movie seemingly made just for me. Or the silliest show for the youth of today, but they can't watch it because they have homework. An indulgent book. A bunch of charcuterie items with no one to share them with. Or a new alpha generation slang term I get to use around the kids to see what they do. Perhaps including a new accent I'm trying out.
It's saying no to things that make me miserable, while saying yes to things like olive oil lattes and yes, I'll plan the date night so I get to have it.
It also helps to write down the stressful things, see the humor, try to make someone else feel better.
It's been seven moves in 15 years. Sometimes every two years. Same goes for jobs, and at times more often because lay-offs, pregnancies and a pandemic can happen. Same goes for homes, schools, doctors, haircuts and haunts.
Same goes for commutes where I'm flying down a highway I don't know how to keep up with, hitting pot holes I didn't know were there, and wondering if I should carpool with these confident speedsters to get myself to work quicker in the heart of the city.
Same goes for threats of a snap deployment that leaves me single again. (The Navy uses other phrasing, but that takes more words to explain and nobody cares.)
At one point it hit me. Being a military spouse and parent really has become my identity. Oof. Why do I feel this way? Everyone has an identity and it's not always what they intended. No person has only one layer, yet there's an outer one we maybe can't help but fight as it takes over. Like that weird "cover the Earth" Sherwin Williams paint ad. I crave in equal parts adventure and normalcy and achievement. Often a tough three-legged stool to build. I teeter quite a bit.
But we're also explorers and Gumbies.
We've lived longer elsewhere and on-the-go than in our hometowns.
What else would we really be doing?
Ha! Sometimes I'm so mad I scream into the void. Then it's one breath, one task, one joy, one challenge charged through clumsily, one unexpected win. And I see him out of context. Passing each other on the drive home with a wave I actually see, or reuniting after splitting up the kids for different things at another foreign-to-us local event. And I know it's because I'm happy. The kids we take care of together are happy, running towards me from somewhere else.
The grass is a little yellow everywhere.
 |
| Bamahenge |
