Duex: The Movers

I Don't Like To Move it, Move it.

Step one: Grow some thicker skin.

      Not only do I dislike delays the people that move my stuff don't like them either. My very first military move was fraught with delays upon delays. Mostly do to communication errors however I will admit to being a novice for moving across the country and some were my fault. Apparently, I should have specifically told the movers to pull items from dresser drawers and pack them in boxes especially if that dresser is going into storage. I'll claim this as my fault. It makes complete sense. Noted for the next move. 

My three children and I were moving from a house to an apartment that only my husband had seen and while I knew of some items going to storage I didn't know everything. This ticks movers off and causes them to get a bit lippy especially when our apartment is a third floor walk up. A tote and a small TV stand were carried back down the stairs. I'd say for my first time not bad but the mover will "inform the military about this move". Whatever the hell that means. I decided not to comment and focus on my children mostly to keep myself from crying. I hate inconveniencing people. I worked retail for too many years to ever want to be rude to anyone in the service industry but I tried to tell him everything ahead of time. I forgot about a TV stand and tote. I'm sorry. I will now over stress myself with my next move to never forget anything again. I'm sure psychologically this has something to do with my childhood but dammit I'd never make someone do more work on purpose. I'm not like that but he doesn't know me anymore than I know him. So obviously I need to grow some thicker skin.

Step two: My children have more toys than necessary.

I love my children. I love giving my children things and I know their grandparents, aunts and uncles do too. However, the numerous boxes filled with toys tells me we need to cut some major toys. Especially because my kids were happy for a whole two weeks on the few toys I stuffed in the car. They don't need 8 boxes of toys.  

Step three: I hate clutter with an undying passion.

If moving has taught me anything (chiefly with another move on the horizon) we have way too much stuff. Period. I'm going to attempt to be ruthless and only keep what actually has a purpose. Everything else is getting donated. I was even told about Airmen's Attic today so I have a place to donate stuff too. Yay!

Step four: I love my husband.

He's my sanity and anchor in so much. He puts up and manages my PPD self with such ease. I even love that he offers to get me chocolate at 9:30pm after being at work and unloading boxes all evening. I hit the jackpot.

One. Uno. Un. Eins. Een.

Winging it

Severely winging it

Breaking it down....why the in heck am I starting a blog? I don't necessarily do well putting my stuff out there; the good; the bad; the oh so ugly. However, I need a space beyond my few lines of facebook to "get my emotions" out and honestly not everything I feel needs a fb reaction. I'm wanting to be open and honest as convey my struggles, triumphs, and laughter with life. 


My family is brand spanking new to military life. Brrrrrrraaaaaand new. My husband graduated OTS(that's officer training school for those not in the many acronym-ed lingo of the military...rather like me) the end of October '16 all of a week after my infant daughter underwent surgery for the tumor growing on the outside of her heart. That's a whole post in and of itself so I'll eventually get around to talking-or I suppose blogging about it. In my head I say anything remotely about blogging as heavily sarcastic. I still cannot believe I'm doing this. Blogging is for people that actually have something interesting to say or can write well or who knows something about anything. Not for little old (30 HA!) weirdo me. 

I'm a stay at home mom with 3 kids, my two youngest with my husband, my oldest I had as a teen with someone else. I have two fur babies Loki, our 5 year old lab mix with a heart of gold and tail of steel, and Perry (Hey! Where's Perry?) a classic persnickety cat that loves to sleep on someone and greets people at the door like a dog but don't change his food or litter. He'll go on an obnoxious meow strike at three o'clock in the morning. My youngest human baby is Katie, 10 months. Followed by Joshua, 5 years. Bradley is the oldest at 12. 

He's actually the main reason for starting this blog. He and I clash, butt, verbally sling garbage constantly at one another. We're probably too similar but bottom line is I struggle parenting him. He's diagnosed ADHD, high anxiety with precursors to depression. He struggles with everything. Seriously, we had an hour long meltdown about him putting on a fitted sheet. If he had life his way he would be catered to 100% of the time with little spurts of magnanimous behavior he should be over applauded for months after it happened. That's me being mostly sarcastic and of course I feel mean saying it but he really struggles with the most basic tasks. I'm also trying to back off from doing everything for him because honestly it was just easier. That entire meltdown about a fitted sheet could have been avoided if I had just done it but he's 12. It's past time. Way past time (for so many reasons I don't feel like explaining right now). 

So here is me. Showing my ugly and my struggles. Blog post 1: done. And only mostly terribly written-ly.