Swamp Thang

If at middle age I catch myself walking around work with toilet paper trailing from my waistband, I can't imagine what I'll be like at 80.

My hearing started going in high school my friends will tell you laughing.

Cary will probably have to hide my car keys sooner than I think.

In the last several years any time I eat something spicy or tart, like lemon candy or cherry tomatoes or grapefruit juice – curry or salsa – my tongue's taste buds will start shifting into a pretend map of the world. Stress or being sick too. I know what it is, relatively harmless but weird; I come from a family of oral healthcare practitioners. But in my mind, it's my body's way of telling me it's the beginning of the end.

Or I need a break. Yeah let's go with that. A chance to pay more attention and take better care. (Which we all know is good for everyone involved.)

I remember my tender tongue began after Cole was born.

When Jules was a newborn, I started having tender feet right when I got out of bed.

I became emotionally tender-headed.

We push through it. These things are almost-always-most-likely nothing or normal.

My right hip now has good days and bad.

My timed mile I won't share.

I saw somewhere if you don't take a break, at some point your body will take a break for you.

It's felt that way as we've settled into our new home that constantly shifts. A repair. Fixing up an old boat. The threat of a change in life plans. A kid getting sicker. My husband getting busier than I've ever seen him, somehow still managing to do early morning dishes and late night laundry. Somehow quietly. Setting us up for work trips with pre-built meals.

While I'm just happy to be here if I'm employed and the kids aren't ill or in trouble. Delighted when the house isn't a wreck, and I'm there at the peaceful office or bustling event with our smart, kind, funny team. They make me feel like a marketing champ. Like a liberal arts degree is as powerful as numbers. Of course then I'll make a gaff and curse my name. Miss an opportunity due to family obligations and scorch my own earth.

I heard somewhere to give yourself a thousand breaks. Then give yourself a thousand more.

Between podcasts and forcing extra sleep, early mornings on the porch creasing a borrowed book and worrying about it, and runs turned to jogs, things are better. Over a long period of time. There's no rushing it. If there was I'd be 80 sooner and worse off.

We hit the water when we can, with snacks he packs – due to a father who makes time he doesn't have. The sun, sky, fresh air and cooling off is rallying for the weeks.

Jules made a new best friend when she moved here simply because a mini bell pepper in her lunch started a conversation. Now all of us like being friends with Kitty.

Cole's friends help him not leave anything behind when we pick him up.

Not every day is easy for any of us. Anywhere.

Jules likes to hear my embarrassing stories growing up and now. There are many. She has her own. She makes me retell mine when something happens to her. Takes everything in and I see her confidence rebounding on her face. It's starting to work on Cole.

Meanwhile we all can't help but gawk at and tease Cary when he gets a horrible reaction to poison sumac, trying to save us some money by working on a hard area of the yard. We all then watch YouTube videos about sumac, poison oak and poison ivy. Cole makes Lego versions that are uncanny and giggles while rubbing them on Cary.

Even though everyone feels like a swamp thing sometimes, Swamp Thing was a DC Comics hero. And "we're all made of the same stuff."

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.