Thursday, December 28, 2023

Florida Boy

Sticking with my new theme of one blog post per calendar year, I'll resume where I left off in the nick of time.

When Cary got back from deployment we proceeded to live in harmony for 90 days, followed by 90 days of stress as we navigated the squadron closing. We assessed another move that hopefully this, this, THIS time would ring true. So we scrambled once again to continue giving our jobs our all and our kids ridiculous opportunities.

We went life-hunting, seeing who would take us and returning to Pensacola plus a fixer-upper. I moved to another wonderful workplace, while Cary is thrilled to teach flight. We were lucky enough to get another sunny, beach-riddled setting; this one cheaper yet richer in wildlife and natural disasters which can destroy you. Plus renovation. Which can and will also destroy you.

When Cary got off the plane after six months away in Asia, I had pretended to be falling apart with a guacamole face mask, sweats, the kids haphazard with giant snacks in tow, my rolling suitcase apparently packed.

"What happened to you?" he said with a laugh as the three of us rushed him.

The square complete, as my friend would say.

We all got a feather in our hats which no one can take away.

Not long after, I had to miss a great work event because Cary was doing something called ground turns. On the ground. An aircraft just driving around. The moral of the story is you can't do this life without a wicked sense of humor. Laughing out loud at yourself. Music played louder. Dancing or singing in front of the kids. Forcing self care. These things are like shots of water in a stretch of Sahara like a deployment or a move. Plus the little moments written down for me to absorb months later are like more shots. *whispers: shots, shots, shots*

Jules thinks glimmering pale mint toothpaste is the most beautiful color in the world.

Cole could win an Oscar for how he method-acts animals.

I learned the word bailiwick in my 40th year.

Hearing Cary talk about teaching aviation students. (Also asking ourselves, were we ever that fresh-faced?)

Meeting a military spouse in my shoes years ago and seeing her killing it at her career planning.

Finding stickers on my hair dryer and Kindle.

Not removing them.

The stranger kindnesses.

The inside jokes.

Missing people. Then talking to them on the phone and feeling like it's still the same.

Cracking up with siblings.

When your parents make you feel important.

Text messages and emails from previous colleagues with compliments and GIFs.

GIFs.

More and more of Jules' baby teeth are getting pushed out, her softness continuing to turn sharp while Cole still feels rounded at every edge; though his hair is now cropped short and I don't even know who he is anymore. *wink*

We show the kids, while chuckling, how to run in a zig-zag if an alligator comes at them. How to avoid snakes. How to deal with bad insect bites. (Our Google history must've been extra-funny after we arrived.) They grow tougher as they go through it. As Jules struggles to catch her breath with newfound asthma and hives, and Cole struggles to behave how people want. We argue about hurricane preparedness and the expense of everything.

I recall Jules being achingly bad at ballet and blissfully unaware, now determined and excelling at karate.

Cary and I talk about Cole seeming like either a Navy SEAL, a PETA warrior, or a beach bum who pontificates about dinosaurs.

We get forgotten and make new impressions, which takes more effort than we think. I try to take up less space then more, then less. Talk more. Talk less. The right name doesn't matter, if it's Amy or Alt. What Cary flies doesn't matter. The world doesn't revolve around us nor do we it.

Right is a small box invented by people who are afraid. I barely understood Everything Everywhere All at Once but I loved that.

And when you reach a point in life where your stomach lurches at the sound of children's voices in the night, but then realize it was just your stomach – you've arrived. At older age. Not always wiser but something. Achier? More seasoned? Less able to handle seasoning?

I lay in bed – now wide awake – and think about the leftover fish I ate.

We've all technically become Florida people but especially Cole, who sticks his belly on an ant hill on a dare, has learned air quotes, and fights back against anything that bites him.

He talks confidently to strangers at church.

While I was nervous about a presentation at work a while back, it still seemed to go OK. But the best part was when I sat down and things ended, the woman in front of me turned around and said, "Your hair is amazing." I guess I'll take it.

The kids are alright and so are we.