Being a Mother is Exhausting Sometimes!

So here we are, two days before Halloween, and I am hurrying to finish sewing my son's costume.

Wait- did she say sewing? Yes, I did.

One of the constant battles between my mainstream hubby and I is the Sew-or-Buy Costume debate. Every year in September, Halloween is mentioned. I bring up a cute costume idea I could sew... and Habibi jumps in about how it's easier to buy a costume. After weeks of my husband telling me we were going to buy a costume, before and after our move, here I sit... sewing a costume. A couple of days ago Habibi finally "felt like" (ugh, such a man thing) going out to search the city for a costume shop, which ultimately led to what we knew would happen; they'd be out of the costume he wanted. So then we looked for alternate costumes, finally find one our demanding four-year-old would deem acceptable... and quickly discover another problem.

Ohhh the joys of having an awkwardly sized child. Though Chuugie is only four years old, he has a long torso. So long, in fact, that we buy him size 7 shirts. When looking through costumes, we realized something quite infuriating!

Small 4-6
Medium 8-10

WHERE is the size 7!? Of course the size small was too small! And the size medium was definitely too large.

Habibi decides to buy the medium anyway, hoping that maybe I could take the seams in and shorten the sleeves and pant legs. Unfortunately, after getting home and trying the costume on the kiddo, we realized that it wouldn't be possible to do the fixes we had hoped. The costume is a one-piece black jumpsuit with bones stitched all over in the traditional skeletal fashion. When we pulled the costume on Chuug, we realized the bones were too long as well.

At first, I felt defeated. All of the costumes were sized this way and it would be impossible to find one just a few days before Halloween that would not only fit appropriately but appease the kiddo. It wasn't until we were in Wal Mart (suffering another Hiccup in the food department between the hubby and I) that the thought occurred to me to buy a pair of black sweatpants and a black sweatshirt.

Once home, I began the tedious task of unstitching the bones from the cheap black jumpsuit (that somehow cost an arm and a leg) and finally began the even more tedious (and at some points infuriating and painful) stitching of the bones to the sweatsuit. I had to cut some of the larger bones in half and shorten them down, which is just adding to the pile of work!

I'm hoping I can finish this in time, so I need to stop typing and get back to it.

Oh, the thing we do for our kids. Being a mother is so exhausting.

The Hiccup

So one of the major disadvantages to PCSing is the Hiccup. Yes, the Hiccup. The personal upset from your daily routine; physical exercise, diet and just plain old stress. Ever since we got here to El Paso, I have not power walked, belly danced, or participated in any of my abdominal or arm strength routines. I had hoped to at least stick to my wonderful diet, but even that proved to be too hard to do between the 18 hour car ride, lack of an organic whole foods store and my hubby. Oh yes, I will blame my hubby. My fried-food-eating, MSG-munching, processed-food-mealing, midnight-snacking, sugar-loving, chocoholic, pre-packaged-hungry-man-freezer-meal-stocking husband, who was away in training during the months that I converted our household into an organic and whole food friendly kitchen in an attempt to regain control of my health. It's been hard shopping since he's returned home to us.

Many people find it quite easy to flow back into a routine without missing a beat. I, unfortunately, am not so graceful. I can't seem to find any energy. Moving is just exhausting! I'm sure after ten years of this, I'll learn to roll with it and not miss a beat. But for now, I'm just a big hot mess!

More PCS PMS!

As you can imagine, I jumped up and did a little happy dance when the movers called the husband to tell him they'd be "bringing our house" (as the kiddo said) on Monday. First thought? BED. I could not wait to be able to curl up in my bed again. Our air mattress had already sprung several leaks and was gradually deflating each night while we slept. Throw in some serious pain I woke up in from our mountain climbing excursion and you see where I'm coming from!

Monday morning I woke up at the crack of dawn, rolled up the air mattress (while whistling a happy tune) and... waited. And waited. And waited. Ugh. When were these guys coming? Maybe waking up early (even if it was out of pure excitement) wasn't such a bright idea. Eventually, around 9:30am, Habibi called to tell me the movers were on their way. So I waited. And waited. And waited! An hour later, they arrives and got right to work unloading. They armed me with the inventory list and called out the sticker numbers to cross off as they brought the boxes and furniture in, all while stepping around the kiddo, who was determined to be up everyone's butt since he wasn't allowed to help the movers carry anything in. Eventually cartoons caught his eye and he curled up in front of the TV wrapped burrito-style in his blanket.

The delivery was going well and as we were nearing the last of the boxes, they began to bring in the long, flat FRAGILE boxes that contained my precious paintings. I began to tear them open one by one and pull them out to air, feeling so relieved. I hadn't wanted them to move them and had tried desperately to find a way to fit them into our already-packed SUV to no avail. So to chill me out, the movers had bubble-wrapped each painting, then newspaper-wrapped, then boxed and then boxed THAT box into another box and lebeled each one FRAGILE. Still, I was anxiously awaiting their unpacking.

I was feeling relieved and happy and smiling... and then I turned around to see one of the movers walking through my sliding glass door with a crushed box. A crushed... flat.. FRAGILE... painting box. "OH MY GOD!" I screamed and grabbed the box from him. Not only was it the sight of the crushed box, but knowing exactly which painting was crushed inside; my favourite painting that I had spent an entire day non-stop (no eating, not even bathroom breaks painting and then suffered a week of shoulder, wrist and finger pains for. I tore open that box, pulled out the painting, and screamed. I mean SCREAMED. And then I sat down on the floor, running my fingers over the stretched, warped and frame-dented canvas... and cried. Another mover stood behind me and told me he had a Damage/Loss Claims form I could fill out and be reimbursed for the painting "so I could go out and buy another one, good as new." I felt so angry. "There is no other one! I painted this!" Silence. They walked outside. I called my husband and cried into the phone until he calmed me down.

Looking back on it now, I know the movers just didn't understand. I've been making works of art my whole life and to see one of my most prided pieces mishandled and damaged was just completely disheartening and soul crushing. But to them, I'm sure they figured I'd get over it. In truth, I could take the canvas off of the wooden frame and restretch it... but that's a gamble that could likely damage or crack the paint. I also don't have any of the tools to do it myself. Habibi, bless him, still wants to hang the painting above our bed where it belongs, damage or no damage. But every time I look at it my heart drops.

After I set the painting aside in a safe place (and gave the movers my evil eye of Kimmee doom) we continues with the unloading of the remaining boxes. After all was said and done, we had damaged (crushed) laundry baskets, my damaged painting, cracked/broken pieces and missing support beams to the kiddo's brand new bed, the front plate of his bicycle was broken off and cracked, and my husband's Olympic weight bar and weights had completely vanished off of the truck. Needless to say, the movers were not tipped. Also, while they did put together our bedroom set, they did not attempt to put together the kiddo's bed, nor did they attempt to put together our dining table set or unpack any of the boxes as was stated in the contract that they were supposed to do. Whatever. I'm totally content to unpack myself, thanks. Plus, hey! Free boxes and packing material. We cut the tape off, folded them down and stuffed them all into our storage closet. By the time everything was unloaded, I just wanted the movers gone. And so they went.

For the record, I wanted to DITY. Just saying.

Kimmee, meet Franklin... Mountains!

So our first exploration of El Paso led us to the Franklin Mountains. We rode around in the car first until we came to the Aztec Caves trail, where we got out to walk around. A quarter of the way up the trail we were hurting, out of breath and second guessing. I could see the mouth of the caves when I zoomed in with my camera and I wanted so badly to make it up there, but there was just nooo freakin' way!

Firstly, I was wearing a pair of thin ballet flats and it was a miracle I had even made it up the trail as far as I did, especially at the incline! Secondly, we had no water and thirdly, the boys were both wearing shorts (and Texas is notorious for spurs and burrs on every plant and bush that grows). So we turned around and headed back down the trail with the promise of going back the next morning. I made a promise out loud that I would make it up to those caves.


The next morning- take two- we woke up early, pulled on our best hiking clothes (I, in particular, donned my favourite Wonder Woman tee shirt for inspiration), the husband filled up a backpack with water and we were off. The first quarter of the trail seemed much, much longer than it had the day before. I don't know why, but it did. We ended up stopping at every possible rock, bench, tree, whathaveyou to breathe and take a drink. I kept pausing with the excuse of wanting to take a picture- but in reality my thighs were screaming OHHHHMYYYYYYGOOOOOOOOD! I'm sure Habibi could tell. I did get some pretty awesome pictures, though.


Halfway up the trail, it started getting steeper and steeper, and I started having to use my hands to pull myself up. Several times I even had to use the hubby as a counterweight to pull myself up. Three quarters of the hike, I started to really feel the burn. My feet were hurting so badly (FYI, Reebok Easy Tones are NOT ideal for a mountain hike, but they're the only thing I own other than ballet flats and flip flops) I was tired and just wanted to stop and sit. But the caves were right there. It was so hard...

There's a point in natural childbirth where the labor is so intense and the pain is so overwhelming that the mother cries for relief or says "I can't! I can't do it anymore!" and the reality is that when she's reached that point, it means she's literally at the very peak and, if she can just hang on, it's about to be over. All downhill from that moment, like the tippy-top hill of a rollercoaster. Some women end up breaking down, some hold on and push through it. The same can apply to so many things in life (exercise, tattoos, relationships...) and right then, at that spot on the trail, I thought about it. I could tell Habibi I was done and tired and couldn't handle it anymore. We could just head back down the trail... or I could push up just that last quarter of the way and run into those caves a la Rocky and be proud of myself for doing what I had set out and promised myself I'd do for me.

I really, really wanted to stop. I mean I felt the corners of my eyes burning like I just needed to squeeze out a few tears. I reasoned with myself. The caves were right there. Right there. And if I turned back and went down right then, I'd just have to do it all over again. Plus, I'd be really disappointed in myself for not keeping the promise I made, not only to me, but in front of my husband and son. So I got up and asked Habibi to hold my hand as a counterweight while I used my other hand to hold onto the ground and continue up the trail. When we were almost to the caves, my little Chuugie started yelling "Come on, Momma! We're almost there! You can do it! Come on, Momma!" Oh man, nothing like your kiddo cheering you on to make you really push for it. When I made it up into those caves, I drank a big bottle of water and sat down with the biggest smile on my face ever and looked down the trail at the tiny little speck that was our big, monstrous SUV. I did it. I DID IT!


Man, I was so proud of myself... until the husband said "Let's climb up around the side of the caves to the very top!" ...WHAAAAAT? Ugh. Suddenly my pride and happiness became exhaustion. So there we went, trying to climb up and around the side of the caves- Chuugie and Habibi leading the way and I, suddenly very tired, dragging behind and trying hard to keep up. The side of the caves were much steeper and my shoes kept sliding around (again, Reebok Easy Tones are NOT ideal for hiking up a mountain).

I started whimpering and whining and, after a while, sat down and refused to budge. I felt very much like a toddler and was even a little ashamed of myself. Habibi looked down at me and asked me if I really couldn't do it. I felt guilty. No... I knew I could do it. The fact was that I was way too tired and my shoes were not appropriate for the steepness that the final climb was. But I stood up and started to climb again... and then I realized how hard it was going to be for me to turn around and go back down without any grips on my shoes.


I stood there frozen with my hands extended, gripping the side for several minutes, thinking... and then I shook my head and yelled that I couldn't do it anymore. As I scooted back down on my butt (the way we used to scoot down stairs as babies), I felt awful. I could have done it if I really wanted to. After all, I had really wanted to make it to the Aztec Caves and I did. But that's just it. I hadn't planned to climb all the way to the peak. I hadn't wanted to. I had only wanted the caves, and I had gotten them. There was no shame in turning back, since I had already completed my task.

The hike back down was awful. While it was much faster, as gravity tends to really yank you down when hiking downward, my feet felt horrible and my hips were so sore it was taking me forever to take downward steps and jumps. I didn't even have the energy to whine. All I could think was getting back to the car, getting in the tub and making the hubby massage my legs and feet (which he did, by the way). We were so ready to get back to the car, that we passed up every opportunity we had taken on the way up to sit down for a drink of water. I laughed to myself about that. I was focused on the car. Car, car, car, got to get back to the car...


When we made it back home, I felt gross. My hands were dirty, feet and hips were sore, head was pounding, but I kept thinking "WOW, I climbed up a mountain today..." Granted, it wasn't a HUGE mountain. I believe we were at 700 feet elevation from what the map said. But that's MAJOR for someone like me; 5'3", a size 14/16 with a need to lose about 50lbs who has never climbed anything with the exception of a rock wall once at our home heritage festival. Yeah. Suddenly 700 feet seems pretty awesome, right? Told you.


Unfortunately, when I took off my clothes to climb into the bathtub, I was in for a nasty surprise... It seems the fact that I wasn't wearing the appropriate shoes for the hike had caused some damage to my feet... and by damage, I mean my big toenail on my right foot had broken off. I had a toenail-less big toe. I was so upset. I'm still pretty upset. I mean... I love my toes. I have pretty toes and pretty feet and I obsessively paint my toenails every few days. I mourned the loss of my big toenail for a while, then I hijacked out first aid kit, wrapped my toe in several of my son's camouflage bandaids and promptly told my husband to "check out my camo-toe" (which sounded really dirty when I said it and caught him off guard.)

We're going back to the Aztec Caves again next Saturday (not this Saturday... I'm in WAY too much pain to even think about it)- this time with a couple of friends we made while Habibi was in AIT who also got stationed out here at Bliss. Thankfully this time I'm prepared! I'm armed with a brand new pair of hiking boots (courtesy of Habibi, who felt really, really bad about my toenail...), my "camo toe" and some serious bitchassedness. I'm going to kick that mountain's ass.


By the way, anybody know how long it's going to take to grow my poor toenail back? =( It feels wrong to paint only 9 toenails... So I think I'll wait until I can paint them all again.

El Paso: Day 1. I want my Momma.

Helloooooooo El Paso!

Well, the PCS went well... so far. The movers came bright and early on Thursday morning and got right to work. They didn't do a thing without asking me first and if I told them something made me uncomfortable, they made sure to wrap it up tight or let me do it. They came at 8am and by 12:30 they were gone. They were funny guys, cracking jokes and telling stories. They knew I was a nervous wreck, bless 'em. Despite the good job they did, I still packed most of my breakables into the back of Das Boot. (Our very old, very monstrous SUV). Sorry guys.

We ate lunch and then drove to the kiddo's school to drop him. It was very emotional for him, poor guy. He's got such a soft heart. We waited for a good twenty minutes while he hugged every one of his classmates and his teachers and told them goodbye. I feel so unbelievably guilty for putting him in this kind of situation in the first place. Originally I had wanted to wait to put him in any kind of school until after we PCS'd instead of putting him into a school for only three months back home. But at my husband's family's insistence, I enrolled him. I just keep thinking he could have been saved so much grief.

We spent the last weekend sleeping on an air mattress in our empty apartment and bright and early (actually it was more like after noon) we loaded up Das Boot and got on I-10, heading West to Texas. It was uneventful. There were no tearful goodbyes, no smothering hugs. We were there one second and gone the next.

Habibi driving us to El Paso, wearing my shades!

The first day of driving was pretty boring, save for the multiple pee-pee stops (he's a BOY! Seriously? Pull the car over and tell him to whip it out! Nooo, we HAVE to find a gas station and use their nasty toilets...) and a brief psychotic breakdown from our GPS lady, who kept telling us to get back on the road we were already on and commanding we make turns that would have sent us over the side of the highrise... We drove all the way to Junction, Texas before we finally stopped at a Best Western around 1am for the night, where I regrettably left my favourite Ninja Turtles tee shirt. (Blasphemy, I know. I'm kicking myself.)

The second day of driving around was beautiful, with mountains as far as the eye could see, surrounding us like a giant bowl. There was no horizon... just mountains and mountains and mountains...

We got to El Paso around 2-3pm-ish. We were tired (amazing how you can actually be tired from doing nothing but sitting in a car all day!) and cranky and hungry. We got the keys to our apartment, went inside, unloaded everything onto the floor and drove off to explore.

I'm not sure how I feel about El Paso yet. I like the temperature, for sure... and the mountains are just beautiful. But otherwise, I haven't quite decided. It's different. It's a whole different kind of air, trees, plant life, weather, people... I was pretty disappointed to learn that there are no Whole Foods Markets or Fresh Markets out here- one of the worries I expressed in my last entry. Where's a gal got to go to get Organic/Vegetarian/Vegan food out here!? And of course, the absolute brilliance of having a dairy allergy, moving out to an area where the local food contains nothing but butter and cheese. Eating on the road was TONS o' fun, let me tell you!

All we've got is a Wal Mart across the road from our street, which is small and doesn't seem to carry anything we have been used to back home. I'm going to have to do some more exploring in the area... There has got to be some kind of organic and whole food place somewhere out here.

Meanwhile, I really like our apartment. Not only is it on the GROUND FLOOR! It's definitely a lot more for the price! Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, 1,000 square feet, built in shelves, furnished with kitchen appliances and a fireplace! For $730 PER MONTH!? AMAZING!

When the day was done and we blew up the air mattress and settled down... it hit me. I suddenly realized it. I'm in El Paso. My friends won't be coming over for the weekend to see my new place... We won't be driving over to the Westbank to see my Grannie and hang out with my Mom and Sister. Suddenly, I admitted to myself that I wanted my Momma. And then, of course, I felt stupid. I'm a grown woman here with my husband and child. Time to suck it up and become an El Pasoan.

Still want my Momma.

Me, my Momma and sister Tabi for Mardi Gras

PCS: The New PMS

This whole PCS business is giving me serious bitchassedness. I'm snapping all over the place! Sure, PCSing is a part of military life... usually. Though is wasn't the case for us.

Before joining the Army a few months ago, we had been adjusting to civilian life after four years as a US Navy family. The Navy never moved us... not once during the entire enlistment. Our Naval Support Activity base needed more MAs, so as soon as the husband was out of A-School, we were stationed here at home in good old N'awlins. And that was that. We didn't question it. I mean, who wants to question a good thing like that? So while the military isn't really new to us, you can imagine our sheepishness to admit that we are PCS Virgins. This whole moving-across-state-lines thing is pretty nerve-wracking.

I guess it's not so bad as far as distance; it's only El paso... one state over and 1,150 miles or so from home.

1,150 miles way from crawfish, beignets, Smoothie King, the Quarter, the Lakefront, Fresh Market with all of it's organic foods, almost daily rain... family and friends. People who get us.

That's the big fear. Being fish out of water (literally! El Paso is landlocked!) The husband is usually pretty great at making friends- he's hilarious and can blend in with any crowd. Me, however? Not so much. I'm quirky and strange- no mainstream fish. I find things funny that nobody else gets... and then I don't get what everyone else finds so funny. Things that people usually enjoy, I really don't. And things that I really enjoy, other people find a total snooze. Where am I going to go? What am I going to do? Who am I going to hang out with and talk to? AHHHH!!!

"Well why don't you join up with the FRG or something?" I'm telling you now, people are not my cup of tea (or, rather, I'm not their's). And if there's anything I've learned from being a Navy Wife, it's that everyone is up in everyone's business. Not a stab at the Navy, I just mean that it was already that way in one community- I'm sure it's the same in others. Desperate Housewives: Military Style. If you're not understood or don't fit into the Stepford cookie cutter, you're immediately under fire... It's one of the biggest reasons hubby and I decided we should try living off post.

Man, there are just so many worries flying through my mind... like the housing.

I don't know what the housing is like in El Paso. I don't know about the neighbourhoods, the building types, the utility prices- nada. I've tried asking but, of course- as always, everyone's got a different answer. The husband said he was told El Paso is in the top 3 safest cities in the US... Coming from New Orleans- one of the most dangerous cities in the US- that gives me some sort of peace, I suppose. For now.

Then there are things like... food. Organic availability, the type of food in the area... I know there is no fresh seafood and that just devastates me. I don't really eat other meats much... Fish is such a major part of my diet. PLUS I'm allergic to dairy and eggs! And mexican food is all cooked in butter and drowning in cheese and... -sigh- Please, pleeeeease, Universe, let there be Organic/Vegetarian/Vegan alternatives!

What about healthcare? Leave me to be the wife who doesn't plan to ever step foot in a military hospital. Are there Naturopaths? Herbalists? How many Chiropractors do they have practicing in the area? Is acupuncture available? Crap, what am I going to do if I can't get my remedies? Am I going to be doomed to order from crappy internet suppliers?

Movers! ACK! I can't believe we're using movers. I really, really, REALLY wanted to DITY. The only thing stopping us are the three flights of stairs we'd have to bring all of our furniture down. We don't own a lot, but our ancient TV (handed down by the in-laws) and my solid wood Hope Chest have me eyeballing the stairwell and contemplating leaving an "If I die..." note. I'm not thrilled with having big men coming into my apartment, touching our things and handling them on a long drive out west, though. I've moved around the Greater New Orleans area my entire life and I've always been the one to pack and move my own things. I'm going to end up drinking an entire bottle of wine to myself just to be able to chill. These movers are going to hate me, I can see it.

Uggggggh, just a million things flying through my head. I'm acting like a crazy person!

I just don't know... Guess we'll have to wait and see, won't we? =/