"did we say you were going? because you're not...."

.....yet.

Mhmmm.  That's right.  It's like the military wants to give me material to blog about.

Ok seriously.  Mark got an email.  Don't worry, his trip is still on.  But not yet.  Does that make any sense?  Wednesday our plans have changed.  His orders still start as if he were leaving, but instead of me taking him and dropping him off, he'll go up on his own, do a couple things for a couple days with the group, then come home and sit around waiting (for a week or two maybe) for the "get up here in the next 24 hours we're leaving" announcement.

Oh, boy.  A girl only has so many emotions, and they can only ride on so many rollercoasters before they vomit.  It's a good thing my medicine for that is Jesus.

So now, we wait (and get paid for it.  Hey!!  There's a plus!).

And we laugh.  Because really, there's not much else to do at this point but laugh.

down to the wire

So we're here.  We've arrived at the week that Mark will leave to go to such-and-such-a place for this amount of time.  (It's not all that pertinent to give that info out online.)

He'll be somewhere, and it will be for a period of time.

And it stinks.  Like rotting trash that an animal crawled inside of to eat and ended up dying and baking in the sun.  I only say that because it's been a while since we've been able to make a dump run so our outside trash can is overflowing and kinda smells like that.  It's gross, I know, but at least I'm not making you come over here to smell it.  And we should be able to take care of that Tuesday.  Yay!

I digress.  It's definitely no fun to think about Mark being gone.  A number of factors play into this situation that haven't been present in the past.

First, Roscoe.  The kid is on the outside now.  It was difficult for Mark to leave me for a military trip when I was 8 months pregnant, but that wasn't very challenging on my end.  Let's be honest.  I slept away those 6 weeks.  But this time, there's an 11.5 month old living with us.  And he loves his daddy.  About day 3 or 4 of Mark being gone--every trip--Roscoe starts climbing the "what is mommy's limit" ladder.  And I'm dyyyying for Mark's drill to be over so he can once again establish his presence in the home.  But it's also difficult on Mark's end.  He'll miss Roscoe's first birthday and all the nostalgia that comes with it (and there's a loooot of birthing nostalgia oozing out of the walls of this house).  And he'll miss a big period of developmental milestones in Roscoe's life.  When he comes back, Roscoe will most likely be walking and generally appearing like a different kid altogether.

Second, it's odd because we both feel like he's already gone.  He has been working like c.r.a.z.y.  And I'll be the first to back him up for it.  He hasn't been working because he wants to be away from home.  This is really just due to factors beyond his control.  7 days a week: he gets up in the morning, brings Roscoe to me, showers, feeds the pigs, grabs a cup of coffee to go, and heads out the door, usually by 8-8:30 am.  And IF we're lucky, he makes it home by 8 before Roscoe goes to bed.  But the majority of the time he's in around 9-10 pm, some days as late as 1 am.  So we kind of feel like he's already away on his trip, he just gets to come home to crash at night.  I really hate it for him.  He's had no down time in months.  And he's about to have to be working 7 days a week in a totally different environment.  But in a way (from my perspective), this has helped the transition period before his trip.  It would be much harder if we were to have to transition from spending every evening together to spending none together.  At least this way, the days and evenings won't feel much different for me.  I just won't have bedtime to look forward to when I'd hear his keys in the door.

Third, the communication will be challenging.  It will be difficult not to pick up the phone and call him whenever I want, even if just to leave a voicemail (or just to hear his voice on the voicemail....which I do more often than I leave messages).  No facetime/skyping/etc.  We'll be able to talk (I assume occasionally), but our speech will be delayed, somewhat like this: "hello?...................................................... Hey, how are you?.......................................................... I'm good, you?........................................................"  that kind of thing.

So, it all starts Wednesday morning.  Mom will be watching Roscoe for us so I can take Mark to WV, where I'll leave him Thursday morning to come home.  And he'll fly out to his destination a few days later I guess.  I don't really know the schedule.

Yes, prayers appreciated.  Behind my facade of strength is a girl who is prone to fear and anxiety and creating terribly frightening hypothetical situations.  Those things aren't the "these things" that Philippians 4:8 refers to.  God's got Mark.  God's got me.  God's got Roscoe.  That's truth.

Also, please don't give any "well I know it's not as hard as your situation" disclaimers if your husband has to spend time away from home, even if it's one night.  There was a time when I may have thought sheesh, you wouldn't last a month in my world, but those thoughts vanished very quickly after I had them.  Whether gone for 1 night, or 1 year, (in my opinion) a husband away from home is a husband away from home.  And it's not easy, no matter the circumstances.  But thankfully God gives each of us the grace to make it through each of our situations.  I'm not relying on the grace I got last month when Mark was at drill to carry me through this upcoming trip.  Just like I have yet to need the grace that carries me through a year of my husband's absence (like my Mom has tapped into).  I need some fresh each morning.  And thankfully God has never failed me in that area.  I am blessed.

The trip is on.... for real this time

And just like that, with a single email, Mark's trip is a go.  We've been back and forth since Friday, jerked between "you're going" and "you're not going."  Honestly, even though I would love to have him here, it's nice to finally have a set answer.  It's hard to prepare yourself for something when you don't know what to prepare for.

So thanks for the prayers that have been offered so far, please don't stop them. 

Mark needs to finish a few jobs that he's trying to wrap up for people.  And he desperately needs some down time before he has be working every day for 2 straight months (not like that's any different than what he's been doing, but still).

I need to place my thoughts on things that I know are true, and not give in to my fears or anxiety.  And (as if on cue), when we found out that Mark is going it was like a light switch got flipped in Roscoe and he started being fussy.  Yes, that could be coincidental.  But he was being so good the past few days.  Can't we just keep that up, until....you know... April or something?

Roscoe speed eating

If we had to choose 1, and only 1 video from Roscoe's first year of life to save, I'm almost certain it would be this one.

Thanks, mom, for the work you put into it :)

A slow discovery

There has been a lot coming to the surface lately about my mind/heart.  And I'm realizing how ugly it really is. 

Just over 3 years ago (has it really only been that long?) when Mark and I started attending North Hills Community Church, we were hearing all this talk about how each one of us is a severely messed up individual.  That none of us are above the need for God's grace, or that none of us are good enough to measure up to God's standard of righteousness.  And this was coming at me after a lifetime of believing that I had to follow a set of rules or look/act a certain way--THAT determined my righteous standing with God.

Then that world crumbled when I realized that the WHOLE POINT of Christ coming to die for me was to free me from that Pharisaical mentality.  It was a hard transition, but I was eager and willing to learn more.  The problem was that I didn't see how bad I was.  One of the first nights Mark and I attended North Hills, we went over to my brother Andy's house afterwards (who knew, 3 years later, that that would have grown into such a vital community every Sunday night.)  As we sat out on the porch with Andy and Beth, they were revealing themselves to us in the middle of their "crisis," as infidelity had manifested itself in their marriage.  They both hit rock bottom, desperately realizing their need for God's grace.  I looked at Andy and said something to the effect of "That's great and all, but I haven't done anything like that.  I'm a good person."

I'm a good person.  I don't see my need for God's grace. 

As I remember those words now I cringe.  No one is righteous.  My best attempts at righteousness in the past would be like presenting Christ with a gift of bloody tampons.

But still, I knew those things in my head but couldn't (or wouldn't) dig deep enough in my heart to find out how filthy I was.

Through many circumstances and lots of begging God to show me my messed up-ness, He has done just that.  A lot.  In the past month specifically.  I'm learning that sinfulness doesn't just manifest itself in the externals.  Just to give 1 example: I struggle with issues of anxiety.  If Mark is away from home for a weekend and I send him a text at 9 pm and hear nothing back until midnight, those 3 hours are spent drudging up "worst case scenarios" about what has happened to him.  Instead of stopping it when it starts and choosing to think on what I know is true (God controls it all, even if the outcome is sorrowful, so in that promise, I can rejoice), many times I feed those anxious thoughts and end up in almost full-blown, burst into tears hysterics... Over a hypothetical situation!   Yes, it's always a possibility that one of those scenarios could come to pass (let's face it, Mark's civilian and military jobs don't always include him doing the safest things), but my choosing to think on the wrong thing is a sin.  Not resting in God is a sin.  Putting my faith in anything other than Him is a sin.  And I do this.  Every.  Day.

Yesterday my facebook status said "resting in the arms of the one who controls all.  trusting, resting." 

Mark and I have been preparing ourselves for him to be away from home for a decent period of time.  A week from right now he's supposed to be gone.  Friday he got an email that the trip was/is up in the air.  He was supposed to find out Monday whether he was going or not.  All he found out was that he would find out Tuesday (today), so we're preparing ourselves to find out if he's going to find out today or tomorrow or maybe next week when I'm on my way to take him to his flight.

I'm not gonna lie:  one of the things I've hated most about the way things are handled in the military is the "on again off again" scheduling.  It's just the way things are.  I understand that.  But, oh, does it toy with a girl's emotions.  Despite my tendencies toward anxiety, I can handle it if Mark's going to be gone for 2 weeks, 1 month, 6 weeks, 2 months.... Whatever!  But just give me warning so I have time to put on my big girl panties and deal with it.  But this "you're going".... "oh wait, just kidding"..... "oh did we say you weren't going?  Because you are"......... "but not really" thing really gets under my skin. 

But I'm thankful that this time, I can honestly say that God has given me just the right amount of grace to accept this.  I realize, for the first time, that if Mark has to go, God is in control.  And he is good.  And if Mark gets to stay home, God is in control.  And he is good.

So beautiful and refreshing that God doesn't change when I am characterized by fickleness.  Whether (perceived) good or bad things come,

He.  Is.  Good.

Here's the song I've been claiming for the past couple days.  Every word is my prayer.  May God's name be great.

A first time for everything

Just now as I was peeling some apples to make Roscoe's applesauce lunch, I did something that I've been working for decades to accomplish.  I peeled an apple in one piece.

This is seriously a big deal.

on changing tables (or lack thereof)

So.  Today I went to a Clemson basketball game with my dad while Mom kept Roscoe (Mom's idea.  Nana rocks!)  Dad and I had so. much. fun.  I'm so thankful for my daddy dates!

On the way to meet them, I stopped to grab a sub at Firehouse.  I really had to go to the bathroom.  And there had been a miscommunication between Mark and me, resulting in Roscoe's cloth diaper overflow (don't worry--just pee) which soaked his jeans.  So I placed my order and slipped into the ladies' bathroom only to discover!!!!!!!!:

No changing table.

CURSES ON THE DAY I WAS BORN!  SERIOUSLY?!?!?

Ugh.

See. the cool thing about public restroom baby changing stations (besides their affordability) is that they have fancy shmancy straps that allow you to fixate your child on the table should you have to use the facilities when you don't have a stroller or are out with the baby by yourself.  Usually this works if it's a single/family restroom instead of the ones with stalls, because you can entertain your baby with expressions and dumb baby talk I said I'd never do but I do anyway gestures and such.  Yes, I'm sure this would look ridiculous were I a fly on the wall, and if there's someone standing outside waiting for their turn it probably sounds funny too, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Speaking of desperate times.  I'd had a cup of coffee and a full nalgene of water (32 oz) on the drive down.  I really had to go and there was no turning out of the bathroom.  So, mommies who've been in this situation..... What do you do?  (Please forgive my candidness in this post.)  Well, you've gotta get creative with angles and really use those muscles you've been building up in your Insanity workouts and maneuver the baby in such a way that you can still.....um.....well, get into the right position to use the bathroom. Because I KNOW you're not going to put your child on the floor if he's not walking yet.  I mean seriously, Roscoe is a pro at standing and leaning and holding onto objects for stability, and I'm a veeeeery relaxed mom (I never once washed off the paci when it fell nipple down, and sometimes I give back the food to Roscoe that he threw on our kitchen floor, and I don't freak out when he does pretty much anything), but ain't no way for one second I'm putting him on the floor of the bathroom when the floors are wet and black around the edges and I don't know who or what has been in that bathroom.

So, mission accomplished.  I am now feeling much better, and use those same techniques as mentioned above to get myself put back together.  Jut the hip out, put Roscoe under my arm like I'm carrying a pillow in with my luggage to a hotel room, put that side of my body away from the sink, and manage to get both hands washed without his little octopus limbs going into the stream of water.

This is where I take a big breath and tell myself this child-rearing job is important and rewarding and God's-kingdom-building, but really, can't you just have a changing table?!

Oh, right!!!!  Changing table.  Roscoe needs to be changed.  At this point I'm very tempted to go out into the eating area and whip out the ol' diaper and plop Roscoe down on a table.  But I don't even have a pad or sheet or paper towel to lay him on, and I'm not about to spread out napkins.  The statement would be much more effective if I just laid him on the bare table.  Don't worry, I didn't.  But ooooooh, I wanted to.

YOU'RE A RESTAURANT.  MOTHERS WANT TO EAT TOO SOMETIMES.  And sometimes, those mothers are alone with their babies when their babies have soaked jeans because they peed too much in their cloth diaper because you're trying to save the planet and money and your baby's butt and all you want on the earth is a changing table so you can get your baby dry and

"To go order ready for Marie."

(Yeah, just Marie.  When I have to give my name that's what I give, because saying "Anne Marie" apparently sounds like a foreign language and takes too much conversation and communication when it was supposed to be a simple matter.  The double name throws people.  And I hate being called just Anne.  So, Marie it is.)

I grab my sub and head to the door.  It's raining.  Fantastic.  So I go out, throw my stuff inside the front of the car, and lay Roscoe down in the back seat and begin to change his diaper.  By the way, my car is a 4 door Nissan Sentra.  It's awesome.  I've been more than thankful for it, but with the carseat in the middle of the back seat, it doesn't give much room at all for baby-changing.  Oh yeah, my head is the only thing not stuck out in the rain.  And I keep bumping Roscoe's head against the plastic base of his carseat.  He's crying, I'm internally crying and swearing, and beginning to think I should've just changed him on the counter between the registers.  Finish up, put him in his seat, and go to get in the driver's seat, which, by the way, is soaked because I stupidly left the door open.

So it made for a good thing to blog about, but really......  For the sake of all mothers' sanity and everything good and holy, please, if you have a business with a public restroom, buy a baby changing station!  (Unless maybe you're a cigar shop, or a bar, because people shouldn't have a reason to take their babies there.)  Mothers and nannies and babysitters (and anyone who's ever had to change a kid in public) everywhere will be more likely to give you their business.  Because I, for one, really don't want to go back to Firehouse soon.