A lot has changed since I had two kids we somehow named after minerals but spelled differently.
As Jules would say adoringly, in that "tiny town" I had many jobs – more jobs than usual for a military spouse.
I was a reporter before leaving that beloved paper (which taught me a lot) to take advantage of paid maternity leave and a marketing environment. I was laid off because that's how start-ups can go at first. So then I got a new gig out of Carson City that allowed me to work remotely mostly – and kindly continued to do so when our family was being stationed indefinitely in San Diego.
It's nice when the 9-5 is a grind – or when a kid gets sick or Cary has to go be a hero.
Yet then I see people in the flesh, and I throw myself into a rabid conversation of relatable laughing points and stories, AP style discussions or plans for lunch. I also start rambling about all the shows and movies I've watched or stuff read when work is slow or Cary is gone. Sometimes I feel bad for the listener.
I'm sad to change hometowns again. Wherever you learn a lot it feels like home.
I learned I'm bad at being a ballet mom. I would show up in not enough time to get her hair up tight, sweating and having forgotten again to glue her decorative laces so they wouldn't come undone three times during class. She would get kicked out anyway for doing things like playing with the giant stuffed animals they were supposed to be leaping over gracefully.
I learned, in living color, your second child is different from the first. Cole falls asleep on the ground, demands to be read to, leaps off stairs and furniture with his sister, became surprisingly coordinated at a riding scooter early on – and he will sit in Jules' battery-powered truck inside the closed garage, long after the battery dies. He'll study wheels for minutes on end.
I learned I'm still struggling with writing for enjoyment versus writing for pay, or working with a family to take care of when the other caregiver can't be there. More money for my family or that rewarding feeling that oftentimes comes without much compensation or with more snuggles, laughs and memories. Sometimes you do get a bit of everything. But not all at once usually. It may be a never-ending tightrope walk, carefully weighing the stage of life and adjusting your quality of life.
I learned home is where my family is. This one I chose, the one I share a roof with – whether a hotel room, a camper or a home we rent, own or live in on a military base.
I learned when one kid poops in the bath and you have another, both get a lot dirtier. We all do.
I learned being happy is to be grateful. And that I have no good reason not to be.* (Thank you, Downton Abbey.) I've also learned that me letting Cary accept his new position makes me essentially the biggest badass I know. Or the biggest dumbass.
And San Diego? It's like the book Hatchet, only instead of returning to grocery stores I'm faced with an abundance of Targets, ramen shops and dry bars.
*Most of the time.
As Jules would say adoringly, in that "tiny town" I had many jobs – more jobs than usual for a military spouse.I was a reporter before leaving that beloved paper (which taught me a lot) to take advantage of paid maternity leave and a marketing environment. I was laid off because that's how start-ups can go at first. So then I got a new gig out of Carson City that allowed me to work remotely mostly – and kindly continued to do so when our family was being stationed indefinitely in San Diego.
It's nice when the 9-5 is a grind – or when a kid gets sick or Cary has to go be a hero.
Yet then I see people in the flesh, and I throw myself into a rabid conversation of relatable laughing points and stories, AP style discussions or plans for lunch. I also start rambling about all the shows and movies I've watched or stuff read when work is slow or Cary is gone. Sometimes I feel bad for the listener.
I'm sad to change hometowns again. Wherever you learn a lot it feels like home.
I learned I'm bad at being a ballet mom. I would show up in not enough time to get her hair up tight, sweating and having forgotten again to glue her decorative laces so they wouldn't come undone three times during class. She would get kicked out anyway for doing things like playing with the giant stuffed animals they were supposed to be leaping over gracefully.
I learned, in living color, your second child is different from the first. Cole falls asleep on the ground, demands to be read to, leaps off stairs and furniture with his sister, became surprisingly coordinated at a riding scooter early on – and he will sit in Jules' battery-powered truck inside the closed garage, long after the battery dies. He'll study wheels for minutes on end.
I learned I'm still struggling with writing for enjoyment versus writing for pay, or working with a family to take care of when the other caregiver can't be there. More money for my family or that rewarding feeling that oftentimes comes without much compensation or with more snuggles, laughs and memories. Sometimes you do get a bit of everything. But not all at once usually. It may be a never-ending tightrope walk, carefully weighing the stage of life and adjusting your quality of life.
I learned home is where my family is. This one I chose, the one I share a roof with – whether a hotel room, a camper or a home we rent, own or live in on a military base.
I learned when one kid poops in the bath and you have another, both get a lot dirtier. We all do.
I learned being happy is to be grateful. And that I have no good reason not to be.* (Thank you, Downton Abbey.) I've also learned that me letting Cary accept his new position makes me essentially the biggest badass I know. Or the biggest dumbass.
And San Diego? It's like the book Hatchet, only instead of returning to grocery stores I'm faced with an abundance of Targets, ramen shops and dry bars.
*Most of the time.
