I Am A Military Mom

I cannot remember a time when old war movies were not the favorite at our house.  If it was about war or if it starred John Wayne, it had to be watched no matter how many times we had seen it before.  If it was about war AND John Wayne was in it, we MUST own it.  Soon costumes were included and the local army surplus store became a favorite place to spend allowance and birthday money.  I started to think that maybe all these black and white, bloodless movies might be giving the wrong impression.  I decided that what my sons needed was a big dose of reality.  I knew just the ticket.  At some ridiculously young age we took them to see Saving Private Ryan.  I knew this would sober them up and they would now think of war in a much more serious way and not be so enamored by it.  Nope. 

As they grew up and Little League was replaced by competitive debate, their interest in war expanded to public policy, both domestic and foreign, and a new interest was sparked.  Civic duty.  It started to seem like their interest was not a mere interest but a calling.  Joseph started working hard in school to be able to receive an appointment to the US Naval Academy and Andrew, compelled by the loss of a childhood friend killed in Iraq, enlisted in the Marines.

In the fall of 2005, we sent both boys off to get ready for their life in the military.  We dropped Joseph off at a prep school to further his chances at an Academy appointment and we put Andrew on a bus headed to San Diego for Marine basic training.  My life has not been the same since.  I was pushed into the deep end of a culture I knew nothing about. I learned quickly.  I went from constant communication and contact with my boys to nothing. Nada. Zilch.  The military does not care that you miss them.  The military does not care you sleep with your phone in case they call.  The military does not care that you missed the call and so does not give them another chance to call.  The military cares about one thing.  They care about preparing them so they can do a job and hopefully stay alive doing it.  It did not take long before this was the only thing I cared about also.

December 2005 we went to pick up our boys, but men had replaced them.  Joseph now had experiences he needed to enter the Academy and be able to make it through the next four rigorous years.  Andrew stood lean, erect, and proud to have made it through the toughest boot camp of the US armed forces and was ready to join a special Marine unit call FAST Company.  They were ready and so was I.

Moms often say to me, “Oh, I couldn’t do it!”  The fact is I didn’t have a choice.  I went from homeschool mom, who was with them 24/7, to military mom over night.  Their calling had to became mine, their duty had to became mine, but their honor and pride became mine also.  There are no words that can express the honor I feel in being able to have raised those boys and you have only to look upon my face to see the pride of the men they have become.

To those of you who have served or are serving, and for the moms of those who "gave their last full measure of devotion," I salute you on this Memorial Day, 2011.

Trust Trumps Love

I had an epiphany this week. I am not really sure what an epiphany is but I am pretty sure I had one. I realized that it is okay that I have never felt unloved by God. I actually don’t really get it when people say they have never felt loved, not even by God. What makes them so much more unworthy than the rest of us that God would not love them? So what part of me grasps onto God for dear life and causes me to cry out “Abba Father” if it is not the part that needs to be loved?

(Here is where the epiphany comes in)

It is the part that needs to trust. I have never doubted that I am loved by the people around me. But these same people have hurt me deeply because they were not trustworthy at some point or another. When addiction is a part of your life there may be love but there is little trust. There is an old recovery joke that says how do you know when an addict is lying…when their lips are moving. When I finally realized God was the trustworthy One, I could finally rest and turn control of my life over to Him.

It is trust that I crave and truth breeds trust and God is Truth. He is the best kind of truth. Not the harsh kind of truth that I tend to dish out. Not the “good parts only” kind of truth that flatters and is usually used to further an agenda, but the best kind of truth. The kind that helps me see my strengths and how they can be used and gently points out my sin and character flaws in order to correct them. Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful for God’s love but if I had to choose, I would choose trust. In the Rochambeau game of life, trust trumps love every time in my book.

I am unworthy and 100% untrustworthy but God keeps his promises to me anyway. I am unlovable for sure and still God has my whole life planned out and under control. I love Truth and I am certain, with every fiber of my being, that He loves me.

Memoirs of a Model.

I used to be a high fashion, magazine model. Well, ok… I modeled for Teen magazine…once. I’d like to tell you that I hated it so much that I never did it again. Truth is they never called me back so I never got a chance to tell them I never wanted to do it again. We were all on the same page about my modeling career I think. I sucked at being a model; the people at Teen thought so and so did I. Sucking at something…not fun.

I am sure there are some really fun things about being a model. Unfortunately I don’t know what they are. I did not find one thing about it fun. My mom and I had to get up really early to be in downtown L.A. on a weekday morning from Orange County. Driving in L.A traffic…not fun. Once everyone arrived at the meeting place, we all crammed in the back of a Toyota Chinook. Remember those? Riding in the back of a Chinook in L.A. traffic…not fun. Once we got to the photo shoot location we were given our outfits and were told to change in the back of the Chinook. Changing in the back of a Chinook with 4 other people while L.A. traffic peeked in…not fun. We then spent the next five hours posing then waiting, posing then waiting until we were starving.  They finally let us eat the food that was in the photo shoot. Eating bread and cheese that has been sitting out for five hours…not fun. The posing part did not go well for me. It was obvious that I was not giving them what they wanted and they were not really giving any direction. Not being a natural at modeling and working with a rather novice photographer…not fun. The frustration level was a little high for all parties. Finally it was over and we could go home but it was now rush hour again. Again, driving in L.A. traffic…not fun.

I had almost forgotten about the whole thing when the February, 1975 issue of Teen magazine came out. I was not good in the photos. I was horrid actually. This is when I realized that I was not very photogenic and I really did suck at being a model. Seeing horrible photos of yourself in a national publication…not fun. The word started spreading at school that I was in Teen magazine. People, I did not know, would stop me and ask if I was the one in the magazine and then stand there staring for about 30 seconds obviously thinking “why?” I did not blame them, I was wondering why myself actually. This was not fun.

The whole modeling experience, though not fun, was not the most miserable thing I have ever done (that would be when Kim and I replaced our own roof and wanted to kill each other over it…a post for another day). And I did learn a valuable lesson. If I needed to actually look good in photos I should hire a really great photographer and I should scratch modeling off the list of possible career choices. So, modeling…not fun. Laughing while looking at the photos now and sharing them with you…loads of fun!

10 really cool things about my mom.

• My mom does not need to go to the mall when she comes to visit and I do not have to go to the mall when I visit her. If you know me then you know why I like this so much.

• My mom is an excellent seamstress. She was the kind of mom that when you came home and said “oh yeah, I need a pirate costume tomorrow for the school play,” you not only had one but it usually was the best one.

• My mom was in the California Miss Senior America Pageant and won first runner up and Miss Congeniality. Whose mom does this??

• My mom was in the Pentagon on 9/11 and has had articles published about it.

• My mom is one of only two people I know who get as excited as I do to see figure skating in person.

• My mom took us to church every Sunday when I was growing up.  We never missed.

• My mom water-skied, snow skied, and camped as I was growing up. Later, she took up tap dancing, cycling, golf, and public speaking.

• My mom has almost as many pieces of clothing that say Naval Academy as I do.

• My mom was one of my kids’ biggest fans and sat through countless boring baseball games and debate rounds.

• My mom always let us bring home stray people and animals. She still lets us do this. Everyone is welcome at my mom’s house. She is a very cool mom!  Happy Mother's Day Mom!

Being 50 vs Turning 50.

Sunday I attended the 50th birthday party of a friend. It was a very nice event planned by her husband with no black balloons or snarky comments about being over the hill. I was not as fortunate when I turned 50. Not only did I get the over the hill balloon and coordinating black birthday party decorations, but also a big round over the hill button to wear. Lucky me. This, coupled with a snarky joke by a friend about burning the house down with all the candles, made me hate turning 50. I did not mind being 50, I hated turning 50. I could not wait until it was over.

Why is it okay for people old enough to be your parents to call you old? Wait…my parents did call me old. Why is that okay? I guess I should not be surprised since when I was about 40 my mother told me that I was too old for long hair and I was getting a double chin. I have heard that if you want honesty, ask your kids. My kids know better.

My husband kept making sure I knew he had nothing to do with the party. He was running a little scared but I have nothing against celebrating. I think 50 is a great milestone and I am happy to be over 50 and proud to be a grandmother. But my idea of celebrating this milestone would have been everyone telling me how great I look not how old I am, even if a little stretching of the truth was necessary.

I did fair better than my husband’s grandmother, however. Evidently her husband bought her a hearing aid for her birthday once. My husband learned from this little faux pas and bought me a gift (see below) that says “Baby, you’re not getting older, you’re getting better!” My husband is a very smart man.