Metamorphosis

For the past 3 years Blue has received a "Cup O' Caterpillars Grow Your Own Butterfly Kit" for his birthday, which is in August. This has always been an amazing, thoughtful gift that took into consideration Blue's equal parts passion for science and animals. But we could never get started right away because I felt it was too hot for the butterflies. Then, once fall finally arrived, I feared it would get too cold for them at night. By the time I remembered to do it the following spring, day time temperatures were already soaring into the 90's. I don't really know what optimum butterfly temps are, but I feel like I may have been a butterfly in a former life and I prefer something in the mid-70's. Too cold in April, too hot in May. Too hot in August, too cold in September. It just never seemed like the right time.

And that, in a nutshell, has been the story of my life.

Not that the "wrong time" has prevented me just plowing through, especially as an Army wife and a mom. If I've learned anything since starting this blog 9 years ago, it's that sometimes you just gotta tuck and roll. And we've almost always managed to land on something soft.

It helps to have a steadfast, laid-back partner in crime; one who will support you unconditionally, as long as you are happy. I've asked a lot of Neal in the past 13 years and he has never failed to deliver...even on Blue's first day of first grade (when I incorrectly accused him of forgetting to take pictures while I was volunteering on base). He comes through every time and usually exceeds every expectation I may have had. So, our timing has never been perfect, but that hasn't kept us from growing, learning and evolving.

I will turn 40 in a couple of weeks and that has given me cause to re-evaluate some things. Like how much I obsess over some mysterious new spot on my body and how much time I spend around negative people and what I want from this blog. My first post was published right after Neal returned from his second deployment and I was looking for some way to establish my presence in this world. Then we lost a child, Neal lost his job, he was given the chance to go Active Duty, he deployed again, we had another child and then we started moving. A lot. Six times in 8 years. On my very first day of blogging I had to choose a name for my little space on the Internet. I looked out the window at our front yard, at the magnolia tree that hugged the corner of the house. I swirled my glass, my Sunday morning breakfast drink. Magnolias & Mimosas. It was a succinct description of my life in that moment...and how I thought my life would remain. I couldn't foresee anything past the relief of a recent homecoming and falling back into the routine of being married without kids.

That feels like a lifetime ago.

I was 31 and naive about so much. I had traveled but only to destinations detailed by Frommer's and Rick Steves.  I believed what people told me, trusted what I saw with my own eyes and judged everyone by what they said and did.

I changed the name of my blog. I started a new blog when Neal deployed a 3rd time. I changed the name of the first blog again and then again. I spent most of my 30's trying to find where I fit in, what I believed, who I was. We had 2 sons and I learned about grief, joy, patience, malleability, unconditional love and forgiveness.  I am not the same person as I was 9 years ago.

I am better.

I have never understood why people lament birthdays. Why they hide from them, downplay or even ignore them. They have always been a cause for celebration for me because, as the cliche goes, what's the alternative? As I look at where I've been, how far I've come in almost every way, I think it's time to start fresh. A new blog with a new purpose. I don't plan to dismantle this one. It's a recorded history of the miles I've traveled, the people I've met, the incredible adventures we've had along the way. But I'm ready to emerge from my chrysalis, stretch my wings, take to the sky and, if you're game, take you with me.

I've started a new blog titled, The NeighborGood, inspired by a street market of the same name in South Africa. It was featured on an episode during the first season of Anthony Bourdain's Parts Unknown. I see a lot of myself in Mr. Bourdain, minus the hopeless despair that washed over him. I see a man who didn't just stumble upon, but actively sought out, the good in this world. He traveled to Mississippi and Los Angeles, but also to Bhutan and Myanmar. He found the good food, the good people with the good stories. And then he shared it with us.

Many of my friends have commented on how well I can blend in with my surroundings, whether we are milking cows on a dairy farm in Paradise, Pennsylvania or shopping the Goodwill on Cary Street in Richmond, Virginia or marketing our church's Christkindlmarkt in the Country Club area of Kansas City. One of my closest friends compared me to a chameleon. I'm not sure I'll ever lose my Kentucky twang, but I do take a certain amount of pride in the fact that we can find a home wherever the Army sends us. It may take 3 months and a fair amount of grumbling, but we do eventually settle in. And then we get to enjoy seeing America as few others do, from the inside, out. There is good in Lititz, Pennsylvania and Petersburg, Virginia and Winterset, Iowa and Perry, Georgia and yes...in Los Angeles County, California. There is good in every holler, corner store, suburb, public park and food truck in between...from sea to shining sea. We have always sought out these places and the people who make them good and I've always shared our experiences with you. Now that will be my focus as I ride this train to 40, blowing the whistle all the way. It's not the end of the line, just a different track.

You can find me here. And if you give me a day or 2, that silly default journey (that word should be taken out to a field and used for target practice) post will be replaced by what we found at The Grove last weekend.

Ally & the Israelites

The first week of school always has me like

simultaneously...all week. Mountains of paperwork...and we only have one kid. But blissful peace and quiet for 6 hours everyday. The hurry and scurry routine of breakfast (Throw away your trash, please), brushing teeth (I don't believe you, let me smell your mouth. No, go do it again.) and getting shoes on (they go on the other feet). But blissful peace and quiet for 6 hours everyday.

Wait. Did I say that already?

Blue talks a lot. And at one point over the summer if he said, "Hey MOM" one more time, my head was going to shatter into a million tiny pieces all over the driveway.

So, yes. Peace and quiet. At the Commissary. At the dentist. While I write blog posts.

I miss him a little. But mostly I'm super excited to see him at the end of school everyday, which makes me feel like a better Mom. And less like my entire body is burning after being peppered with the same questions all day.

But at the same time I feel like the summer flew by. Like flew. I do usually feel that way after a summer when we move, but we arrived in May. There's no reason I should feel like we were shorted a summer. And yet the barely touched bucket list says otherwise. What the hell did we do all summer? I don't even know.

I think, maybe, I've spent a lot of time complaining.

Have you ever sat through a sermon on Sunday morning and thought, "Well, that was uncomfortably relevant to my life right now?" I don't know if that's a God thing or if pastors are taught to preach on wide-ranging topics that could apply to 90% of their congregation on any given Sunday, but that happened to me this week. We weren't going to go, but we had skipped 2 Sunday mornings in a row and I was feeling guilty. So, I dropped Blue in child care and found a seat in the middle of the middle.

I like our pastor. He reminds me of Nadia Bolz-Weber. On our first Sunday his sermon included a reference to wham bam thank you ma'am and while I was sort of appalled at first, I decided that his preaching style is a mix of relaxed Californian with the filter switched off. I think he's the type of person who is honest and sincere, if not always totally politically correct, and I'm good with that for the next 2 years.

Anyway, this week he talked about the Israelites...and how they loved to complain; in Exodus 5 (when they blamed Moses for how Pharaoh was treating them), in Exodus 16 and 17 (when they were hungry and thirsty), in Numbers 14 (when entering the Promise Land looked too hard) and then more about no water, Moses sucks as a leader, etc, etc, etc. Our pastor encouraged us to trust God and to trust the journey. He suggested we stop grumbling and start living.

I think I've been grumbling. If not on here, at least to everyone around me. It's hard to imagine a more drastic change than from the fertile fields of Dutch Amish Pennsylvania to the concrete jungle of Los Angeles. And we had ranked this duty station somewhere near the bottom because I've never had any desire to live in L.A. Visit? Absolutely! But I hate crowds. I consistently choose national parks over Disney World because...crowds. For the love of all things Amish, please don't make me move to L.A.

And yet...here we be.

So, yes...there has been some (or a lot of) grumbling. The traffic. The cost of dining out. The crappy service we've gotten every time we've eaten out. The wall-to-wall people regardless of where you go and when. The homeless on every corner and everywhere in between. The trash on freeways, in yards, in parking lots, on the sidewalks. The cost of gas. The high crime. The "all-about-me" attitudes of the natives in this area. The air quality. The water quality. The quality of life.

Grumble. Grumble. Grumble. Grumble. I am an Israelite.

In my spiritual life I do believe that God has a plan for me. Sure there is some free will, but for the most part, there is a reason why things happen. Lately, I have spent entirely too much time fighting when I should be following. Neal will tell you I've always had trust issues. He would probably be the least surprised by this sudden lack of faith in the future. God brought us here for a reason. We are going to the Promise Land, but we are going to be "hungry", we are going to be "thirsty" and there are going to be challenges. For the record, I have no idea what the Promise Land looks like. If it's just a bunch of milk and honey, I will probably complain about that, too. I would like some sweetened almond milk with a dash of locally sourced honey, please. But maybe it's retirement with a higher rank pay, maybe it's living in a historical home in a historical city. Maybe it's simply being able to look at Neal and know that we did the best we could with what we had and we tried to help others along the way. Whatever it is, God is taking us there. I just need to stop complaining about the trip.

So, beginning next week, I will be reviewing some of the activities we've done so far. I will focus more on the positives with a sprinkling of keepin it real for good measure (y'all should know that something is only 5 miles away but it will take you 30 minutes to get there and you're going to have arm wrestle some guy named Bobo to get a parking space). I'm done grumbling. I'm ready to trust.

Champagne Friday: A Toast to Our Military Kid

Because April is, among many other things, the Month of the Military Child, tomorrow afternoon our unit will gather to recognize and celebrate our military children. I've spent this week preparing gifts and buying the ice cream for our little party. But even as we don our purple (the chosen color to represent military kids as it is a combination of the colors from each branch of service) and dish out the treats, somehow it still doesn't feel like enough. As I tossed and turned until 2 AM on Wednesday night, I thought about what life has been like for the past 6 years. This doesn't describe every military kid, but it does tell the story of ours.

Sweet boy, since your first day here,
this life is all you've known.
Though we may live far and wide,
we'll make this place your home.

As a baby when you napped,
the jets crossed overhead.
And at night when they played Taps,
we snuggled you in bed.

Your first steps were on a battlefield,
where men laid down their lives.
You squealed with joy as Daddy kneeled,
teetering, tottering, then a nosedive.

You've reached for a stranger's desert boots,
and tried on Daddy's dog tags for size.
You've stopped during Retreat to salute,
as pride welled up in our eyes.

You've moved five times in five years,
said goodbye to everyone you knew.
Acknowledged then faced all your fears,
You're brave even when you feel blue. 

You never signed up for this,
it was something you were born into.
We talk about the friends that we'll miss,
and the new ones we know we'll meet, too.

There's much to be learned from a mil-kid;
our "dandelions", they're considered.
Teaching us to bloom like they did,
resilient and hardy, not withered.

Today we packed up his toys,
his stuffies, games and the books.
We made some notes for his teachers,
took the coats down off of the hooks.

We're checking each box off the list,
taking pictures to help us remember.
Squeezing in the things we've missed,
Wishing we had until September.

On the hard days he still stops to ask,
When can we not move anymore?
When can this be the last?
Can we live in the woods by the shore?

Then I distract him with stories
of generations who came before him.
Soldiers who fought for Old Glory,
a family tree of honorable men.

When it's all said and done he will know,
he will have more than a thought or a clue.
That we are all in this together,
because he has served honorably, too.

To all of our military children, who serve involuntarily in an all-volunteer force, we love you!

Breakfast of Champions

I don't know who started it, probably my maternal grandmother considering her insatiable appetite for sweets at any time of the day, but cake & coffee (or chocolate milk in my decaffeinated days) has always been an acceptable breakfast. Pie is a decent substitute but there was always more cake than pie when I was growing up. Whenever our family gathered for a birthday (which seemed to happen about 3 times a year as the birthdays were unintentionally clustered into March, September and October), you could bet that everyone would finish the cake the morning after the party.

I think my husband was justifiably appalled by this when he married into the family, especially considering our family dies from diabetes and cardiovascular disease. You would think we would always have veggie omelettes and turkey bacon, but no...the sweet tooth gene is alive and well (and has been passed down yet again).

It has been awhile since I had cake & coffee for breakfast, but this is a special cake from some truly exceptional folks.

Yesterday afternoon, a group of families from our children's missions group at church gave us a going away party, complete with yummy food (I may have declared to Blue at one point, "THIS is dinner! Eat it or starve later!"), thoughtful gifts and delightful conversation. For 4 hours we gathered, shared a meal and swapped stories about our children, home ownership and how we came to be Moravians. The kids, being hearty Pennsylvanian stock (our own son could now pass for a native) played outside, although the wind chill had to be below freezing. And the littlest of our crew toddled around our feet or sat in laps while we chatted.

It was the warmest I've felt since the last days of summer.

When Neal was assigned to a National Guard post with no on-post housing and very few active duty families nearby, I...well...I had what my friend, Carrie, calls a complete come-apart. I came unglued, unhinged, consumed by the idea that I wasn't going to make any friends because we were going into a place where everyone had known each other for a hundred years and one new, transient face was never going to break through the ice.

And for about 6 months, I wasn't wrong.

But it had everything to do with my attitude.

I assumed these people would have no interest in me, so I had no interest in them. Consequently, they had no interest in me. But I was lonely and Blue was, too. We had gone from being completely immersed in Army life and engaging daily (sometimes multiple times a day) with our neighbors and friends as we passed each other on the street or chatted at the playground or met for coffee after our morning workout to a civilian suburban life where we would see 1 or 2 kids on bikes after school and a parent or 2 checking the mail before closing the garage door behind them.  In Kansas, we lived in barracks that had been renovated into spacious apartments so, we were, literally, on top of each other. We sometimes disagreed and there was occasional drama, but we had become a tribe, more than that...a family. We all cried when it was time to leave. We had become completely enmeshed in each other's lives.

And then we scattered...to Korea, Texas, Louisiana, Germany, Florida and Pennsylvania. It was devastating and I wanted to quit all of this. It was too hard, too emotionally draining. I can deal with finding a new dentist, new doctor, new school, new everything every 24 months. But finding new friends was too much to ask. I almost asked Neal if we could just be done.

But if I had, we would have never found our Pennsylvania family. And I can't imagine my life without these people in it. Not just our church family, but our neighbors and friends we've met along the way. I think about the night of my birthday last year when we gathered with neighbors in the backyard for a potluck dinner and to watch Captain Underpants (I let Blue pick my birthday movie. I'll know better for next year.) on the big screen. And driving a carload of kids to the Farm Show every January to see the chicks hatch in front of our eyes and the just-born calves struggle to their feet for the first time. And to drink our weight in PA Dairy Association milkshakes. And the epic pre-trick-or-treating party our neighbors throw every Halloween night. Last year they had 3 tables full of food and inflatable party decorations.

And I think about all of the mission work we've been able to participate in through the children's missions program at the church: decorating pumpkins and passing out valentines at the nursing home, crafting gifts for the Father's Day worship service, gathering and packing supplies to send to Soldiers deployed overseas, preparing the Lenten meal for a Wednesday night service. These children are learning from their parents and their church how to serve others and I feel lucky and blessed that we've been a part of that. What if I had given up after Kansas? Look at all we would have missed.

Palm Sunday. We had obviously temporarily lost our minds when we sat down with all of the kids between us. I mean...what could go wrong? 

This is just a few from the hoards of photos I have from the past 2 years...favorite teachers, city parades (PA loves a good parade), church services on the front lawn, trick-or-treating in the neighborhood and a little of what makes our church unique. And not a single person in these photos is in the military. They were just living their lives, going to church and soccer games and swim lessons. And then we showed up. Strangers. Gypsies. Temporary. They loved us anyway. 

They knew we couldn't stay. They loved us anyway.

They knew the goodbyes would be hard. They loved us anyway.

They didn't know our story, where we came from, what kind of friends we would be. They loved us anyway. 

They knew nothing about military families or what our lives are like. They loved us anyway. 

They don't know if we'll ever be back. (We will.) They loved us anyway. 

Whenever I meet a new military spouse, I tell him/her, "You will get out of it exactly what you put into it." That's true for most things in life. But taking the time to engage with your community and its culture can seem like an unnecessary burden when you are always the new family. What's the point? And it's easy to assume that they are thinking the same thing. But what if they aren't? What if you enrich each other's lives; you help them to understand the sacrifices that a military family makes and they help you to understand what makes their community so vibrant and distinct? What if you are looking for a church and end up finding a family? It is often said that it takes a village and we must not be afraid to ask our neighbors and our friends to be our village when we have moved so far from family. Every military spouse knows that finding your tribe when you live on post or on base happens fairly easily and quickly. But finding them in a civilian setting feels overwhelming and pointless. I'm here to tell you it can happen and that it's worth trying. 

And to everyone who has taken us in, shared a meal with us, come over for a chat or welcomed us into their circle, thank you. Thank you for loving us anyway. It is, by far, the best way to support military families. And it makes us want to continue doing what we're doing. Even though we have to say good-bye, we are grateful for every memory and the chance that when we meet again, it is as friends instead of strangers. Until next time....

Wednesday Review: Antique Automobile Club of America Museum

First let me say that if you are still with me after such a riveting title of a blog post, congratulations. You are just as nerdy as we are. Embrace your nerdiness. It will serve you well in life.

The Antique Automobile Club of America Museum (AACA) has been on our (read: specifically my) Pennsylvania bucket list since we moved here (although it's possible that I spent some time thinking it detailed the membership and activities of the AAA). It's in Hershey and although we have enjoyed the many sweet offerings of Hershey, including...

riding the roller coasters at Hersheypark

taking the free Chocolate Factory "tour" (complete with a complimentary piece of chocolate at the end...free + free = sugar rush)

 

creating custom chocolate bars in the Chocolate Lab

 participating in a chocolate tasting where we try to identify different "notes" in the chocolate. As it turns out, I do not have a very discerning palate. 

exploring the children's garden, the butterfly garden, the rose gardens and the Pumpkin Glow at Hershey's Gardens

attending the Hershey Halloween Parade (at which point I had to explain to Blue why the kid leading the marching band was wearing a polka-dotted dress. #parentingfail)

and just, in general, stalking the KissMobile and taking selfies with it whenever possible.

BUT, we had not yet made it to the AACA Museum. We were waiting for a day when Blue was in school but Neal was off work because nothing says relaxing tour of an antique automobile museum like saying "Don't touch that" for 2 solid hours. Also, our time here is dwindling.

Such an opportunity presented itself on a chilly Friday earlier this month. The school bus pulled away and we hopped on 322, headed for Hershey.

Did I mention it was also raining? Anyway, this is the entrance to the museum, which is kind of like a mansion on a hill. When Neal saw this car from the parking lot, he said, "Oh wow. They even have one for the kids to play in." When we peered through the busted glass of the windshield, we saw rusted pipes, torn interior and an overall feeling that we were being watched by something hiding under the seat. So no,  I can't recommend you let your kids play in here. But bonus points for the unexpected sighting of the KissMobile!

Let me just say that the staff is very friendly, even by southern standards (which is sometimes hard to come by north of the Mason Dixon line). Although it was a slow day and they seemed glad to see pretty much anyone, I think they still would have been just as helpful during the height of tourist season. Most of the cars are housed chronologically so, oldest to "newest" (which is still, obviously, old to me).

Mama Virgo saw this picture and immediately launched into stories of her youth and her neighbor who owned an Edsel but never drove it. Something about it being notoriously unreliable.

This milk truck was missing a seat. I don't know if it was removed or milk men in those days drove standing up. Standing while driving seems just as dangerous as driving while texting.

At this point, although we still had half of the first floor left to explore, we took the steps downstairs to see the lower level because they happened to be where we were standing. I'm not sure if this was an intentional design decision, but it worked out for us. The lower level of this museum is probably the most charming. Rows upon rows of buses, including the one from (or maybe identical to, it was hard to determine) Speed. (Fun fact, When Speed came out in 1994, I was a junior in high school. I wanted to be Annie. Not Sandra Bullock. Annie.)

I'm gonna speed it up. #foreverKeanu

Also, the bus from Forest Gump. At this point, I feel like our lives have sort of come full circle. Our first duty station was in Macon, Georgia and our first stop was a walking tour of Savannah with a cameo by a Forest Gump impersonator.

AND right beside the Forest Gump bus is Whitney Houston's limousine, complete with TV/VCR combo, crystal decanter and armrest phone.

This corner of the museum made the price of admission worth every penny (I mean, for me, anyway. If you need to stop and Spotify some I'm Every Woman or perhaps I Wanna Dance With Somebody right now, I completely understand.)

In the other corner of the museum is a delightful diner that, I assume, was the prototype for today's food truck. It could be completely folded up and carted to the next destination. Then it unfolded to a mini-restaurant with a full kitchen and a juke box at each seat.

This is a 40-second video that I took after Neal discovered that the 10-cent juke boxes actually work. Pick your song, drop your dime in the slot and dance the afternoon away in an antique automobile museum. It ends with Neal dashing to the door of the diner to tell the only other visitor at the museum that he "had to see this!"

I took this picture not because it's the banana truck (although honestly, Chiquita, I would eat more of your bananas if they came in a truck like this), but because look at the phone number. As a child of the 80's, I am not familiar with a time when calling someone required less than 7 numbers. How do I teach my child when I still have so much to learn?

I will leave you with this one because A) I still have a magazine deadline to meet and B) I want you all to flood the AACA this summer and discover the beauty of this museum on your own. Again, I have never known a time when Trailways existed or when Greyhound was anything other than the cheapest (and possibly slowest, stinkiest) way to travel. The idea of crossing a red carpet to board a bus and giving attendants my drink order feels like pure fiction. And it makes me a little sad that I wasn't born 40 years earlier, even with the Cold War drills and lead paint.

Active duty are free to enter this museum and although it sticks a little in my craw that dependents must pay, it's still worth it. (I believe they participate in the Blue Star Moms Museums every summer so that's another option for military families to visit for free.) And it is more kid-friendly than we expected. Although there are rules about touching, the museum has an entire children's area where kids are encouraged to touch. There's a miniature town with a train and about 10 buttons to push, which do things like raise the bridge, open the firehouse doors and turn on the lights in a house. And within the current Tucker exhibit, there are areas for kids to explore, as well. We have every intention of bringing Blue before we move.

There is quite a bit of joy to be found within these 4 walls and I hope that this helps to show people that just because "antique" is in the name, it doesn't mean it's devoid of new finds.