Well, Hello there! I have missed you. Now is not the most opportune time to begin blogging again but I have the need. Mine has been a crazy life for the past year or so and it isn't likely to calm down anytime soon. Writing, however, is cathartic. And I need something, anything to clear my head space.
So, here I am.
There is so much I want to tell you. So many opinions to share, good and bad ones. So many stories. I've bottled it all up just for you. But there is no time. None. And I'll tell you why.
Right now there are boxes piled around me. My belongings, hastily wrapped by two young men with no affection whatsoever. A military move feels like that. Strangers come in and wrap everything in paper and pack it in boxes. Everything. If you aren't careful, the overly-efficient (or unbelievably careless, you decide) movers will wrap your Fisher Price people. Or pack your garbage. In the can. I made sure my garbage was safely out of reach before they could get their hands on it. They've quit for the day, in fact, the two young men were here for a whopping two and a half hours before they bailed. To be fair, today is only the pre-pack. Non-essentials. Tomorrow there will be more packers and they'll mean business, anything not tied down will be fair game. I've put the things we need to take with us in the dining room in an obvious "not for packing" pile. I've stuck post-its on the things that stay with the house. The kids have been warned to stay out of arms reach and the animals are going to the kennel.
The Sprites are moving!
At the behest of the Canadian Military we are moving to a very North, semi-isolated posting, farther west than I have ever been. We are soon (so very soon) to become residents of the rodeo-ing, cowboy hat wearing, line dancing province of Alberta. Obviously, my knowledge of Alberta is lacking. I'm sure there's more to the province than cattle ranches. I'll let you know when we get there.
Our new house in Alberta is not as big as this one. Real estate is ridiculously expensive there so we've opted for military housing for a year or so. In an effort to make this house fit into that one (we've lost a garage and a couple hundred feet of living space), I have been throwing things out left and right. "I haven't seen that in months! What in the hell do I need it for? Filed under 'G'." And into the trash it goes. While cleaning out the bathroom my husband primarily uses, I came across a number of things that caused me to ask "What in the hell does he need that for?". Namely? 4 different electric razors. Knowing him as I do and being a good little wife, I didn't dare throw anything out without discussing it with him first. So I called him in. One razor is brand new, a no brainer, so I didn't bother with that one. But the other 3 baffled me. Especially because I know he just bought one, so why have the others still. Well, one he will use when he travels. Ugh! But okay. One is busted. Alright, this is better, let's chuck it. The last one? The last one doesn't work here, in Canada, but works really well overseas. He's keeping it just in case he goes overseas. I'm trying to be fair so I should tell you that, as a military member is isn't impossible for him to travel overseas. But because he's a Sergeant and mostly sits at a desk now he is unlikely to travel. Let alone overseas*. But God Forbid he should find himself in a foreign hotel with a mediocre razor. Or on native soil but away from home with the same razor he would use at home**. For shame! How dare I even suggest such a thing?
Alright-y folks, duty calls. I have still more things to prepare before the packers get their paws on them. Wish me luck! Did I mention we're driving? Oh no? Oh yes! Five thousand kilometers, 10 days, in my tiny car and his jalopy. With two kids. You are envious, no?
* And now, he will be deployed to the other side of the planet for ridiculous length of time.
**Do you think his 3 razors are sufficient evidence of his excess when I buy another pair of shoes?
Showing posts with label military. Show all posts
Showing posts with label military. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Almost There
Well, my other half has been gone for two months. Tomorrow, he returns. I'm here to tell you, it's a good thing.
I'm not an incompetent person. Military life is what it is and I have adjusted accordingly. I'd be lying if I didn't say that the deployments are, on occasion, a relief. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that. I wish I could say that simply missing my husband and the comfort of a complete family unit are my chief complaints when he is away. It's not the case, though. And this particular deployment has been trying in the extreme. It wasn't all bad, I can't say that. There were some definite high points, but my limits have been tested. When life shows her teeth, I withdraw. It may not be healthy, but it's a fact.
And that's my excuse. The reason for my absence. I'm not quite comfortable enough to relay the events that have been so cataclysmic, but they were such that even my need for social interaction was severely crippled. I have however, in my way, dealt. Am dealing. And tomorrow, Mr. Sprite will return. The world is once again tilted at approximately 23.5 degrees and has resumed orbiting the sun. Tad bit melodramatic, aren't I?
Let me tell you about the good stuff.
I am no longer in the employ of Narcissus. I was recommended for a position (something that has never happened to me before and was an incredible boost to my ego) at a local ophthalmologist's office. I emailed a resume, met with the office manager and the HR manager and was hired in short order. So now, I am officially a Ophthalmologists Medical Assistant (in training). This job is awesome! My co-workers are, so far, fantastic.
My daughter plays hockey. Her team this year was not a good one. They won only one game and tied another. The end of the season tournament was designed in such a way that even my daughters team could win a medal. I'm not sure how that works, haven't tried to figure it out. It's not the sport I enjoy, it's watching my kid have a blast doing it. Anyway, after putting a little more than 800 kilometers on my car over 3 days of the Easter weekend with my son and my father (who visited for a week, one of the highlights) in tow, the last game was a welcome sight. Strangely, our girls were to play a team that had beat us 15-0 at the beginning of the year. We took our seats in the stands to bear witness to the trouncing that was about to take place. But our girls rallied! 3 periods passed and no one scored. Everyone played well, but our goalie and defense played their asses off (my daughter plays defense. Surprised? I think not). Officials decided the two teams would play a 3 on 3, 10 minute overtime period. My daughters defense duo was chosen to play the second lineup (is that what it's called? I'm not concerned enough to research it; you get what I'm saying). I was proud. And so they played the overtime period and still no one scored! The officials then decided a shootout was in order. Each team picked 5 girls with the best shot and my little girl (not so little, she'll be 14 in a month) was chosen! I was bubbling over with pride at this point. And my father, who was happy just to be able to see her play, had a perma-grin from ear to ear. I should also point out that the tension in the arena was palpable. Our team, a team that had done so poorly all season, played hard that day. Harder than they'd ever played and the cheers in the stands for our girls was deafening. The game they had played so far was vindication enough, victory wasn't even necessary. But our hope was renewed and we shouted every encouragement we could. Ten girls were lined up against the boards waiting for their turn to shoot the winning goal. The opposing team got the first shot. It was evident that the players knew the stakes; formerly sure footed and quick skaters looked like it was their first time on skates; the best puck handlers were rarely able to control the puck (one of best forwards took a shot that went about 10 foot wide of her mark). Our third shooter scored! The crowd literally went wild! But the other team still had a chance. Then, with my daughter at center ice and them with one more shot, my daughter pushed off. I will be honest and say the following description contains it's fair share of parental pride, but it doesn't make it any less accurate. She handled the stick and puck like they were God given appendages, she skated like she had been born to do it. She took the shot and I marveled at how picturesque she looked with one foot slightly off the ice and the stick held out in front of her. I looked at the net. Did it go in? The force of the puck hitting the back of the net over the goalies right shoulder told me it had! My girl skated around the back of the net and came out with her stick high above her head, cheering when her team mates piled on top of her. The weight of 16 girls confirming she had just secured the bronze metal for them. And in the stands I was surrounded by parents who were jumping and hugging. I screamed cheers so loud I could barely talk the next day. My father looked like the cat that caught the canary. Even my son, who abhors hockey, jumped and shouted. It was truly amazing.
Like I said there were some high points.
I'm not an incompetent person. Military life is what it is and I have adjusted accordingly. I'd be lying if I didn't say that the deployments are, on occasion, a relief. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that. I wish I could say that simply missing my husband and the comfort of a complete family unit are my chief complaints when he is away. It's not the case, though. And this particular deployment has been trying in the extreme. It wasn't all bad, I can't say that. There were some definite high points, but my limits have been tested. When life shows her teeth, I withdraw. It may not be healthy, but it's a fact.
And that's my excuse. The reason for my absence. I'm not quite comfortable enough to relay the events that have been so cataclysmic, but they were such that even my need for social interaction was severely crippled. I have however, in my way, dealt. Am dealing. And tomorrow, Mr. Sprite will return. The world is once again tilted at approximately 23.5 degrees and has resumed orbiting the sun. Tad bit melodramatic, aren't I?
Let me tell you about the good stuff.
I am no longer in the employ of Narcissus. I was recommended for a position (something that has never happened to me before and was an incredible boost to my ego) at a local ophthalmologist's office. I emailed a resume, met with the office manager and the HR manager and was hired in short order. So now, I am officially a Ophthalmologists Medical Assistant (in training). This job is awesome! My co-workers are, so far, fantastic.
My daughter plays hockey. Her team this year was not a good one. They won only one game and tied another. The end of the season tournament was designed in such a way that even my daughters team could win a medal. I'm not sure how that works, haven't tried to figure it out. It's not the sport I enjoy, it's watching my kid have a blast doing it. Anyway, after putting a little more than 800 kilometers on my car over 3 days of the Easter weekend with my son and my father (who visited for a week, one of the highlights) in tow, the last game was a welcome sight. Strangely, our girls were to play a team that had beat us 15-0 at the beginning of the year. We took our seats in the stands to bear witness to the trouncing that was about to take place. But our girls rallied! 3 periods passed and no one scored. Everyone played well, but our goalie and defense played their asses off (my daughter plays defense. Surprised? I think not). Officials decided the two teams would play a 3 on 3, 10 minute overtime period. My daughters defense duo was chosen to play the second lineup (is that what it's called? I'm not concerned enough to research it; you get what I'm saying). I was proud. And so they played the overtime period and still no one scored! The officials then decided a shootout was in order. Each team picked 5 girls with the best shot and my little girl (not so little, she'll be 14 in a month) was chosen! I was bubbling over with pride at this point. And my father, who was happy just to be able to see her play, had a perma-grin from ear to ear. I should also point out that the tension in the arena was palpable. Our team, a team that had done so poorly all season, played hard that day. Harder than they'd ever played and the cheers in the stands for our girls was deafening. The game they had played so far was vindication enough, victory wasn't even necessary. But our hope was renewed and we shouted every encouragement we could. Ten girls were lined up against the boards waiting for their turn to shoot the winning goal. The opposing team got the first shot. It was evident that the players knew the stakes; formerly sure footed and quick skaters looked like it was their first time on skates; the best puck handlers were rarely able to control the puck (one of best forwards took a shot that went about 10 foot wide of her mark). Our third shooter scored! The crowd literally went wild! But the other team still had a chance. Then, with my daughter at center ice and them with one more shot, my daughter pushed off. I will be honest and say the following description contains it's fair share of parental pride, but it doesn't make it any less accurate. She handled the stick and puck like they were God given appendages, she skated like she had been born to do it. She took the shot and I marveled at how picturesque she looked with one foot slightly off the ice and the stick held out in front of her. I looked at the net. Did it go in? The force of the puck hitting the back of the net over the goalies right shoulder told me it had! My girl skated around the back of the net and came out with her stick high above her head, cheering when her team mates piled on top of her. The weight of 16 girls confirming she had just secured the bronze metal for them. And in the stands I was surrounded by parents who were jumping and hugging. I screamed cheers so loud I could barely talk the next day. My father looked like the cat that caught the canary. Even my son, who abhors hockey, jumped and shouted. It was truly amazing.
Like I said there were some high points.
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