Julie's Blog
January 2010
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Julie's Blog
Julie's Island Adventure
If someone would have told me I would book a destination wedding within my first year in business, I would have laughed, scoffed and denied.
But it happened.
Late last year, I was contacted by Sarah and Ariel, who wanted me to do an engagement session with them. Then, they asked if I'd travel to the Dominican Republic for their wedding.
I said yes and went to go shake off the good, ol' passport, which has been neglected for way too long.
I left last Thursday, after about two feet of snow fell on Washington DC.
I left on the last day of relatively good weather, because the next day, another 24 inches fell on our house with Martin, the girls, Patches and our two cats inside.
So, while they are looking at this ....
I am looking at this.
... and this...
The wedding was on Friday and it was gorgeous, fun and amazing. You can see the photos HERE.
... and this...
My plan was to stay one additional day and fly back today (on Sunday), but alas, that snow in Washington D.C. closed down both airports. Nobody is leaving the nation's capital. And nobody is flying in, which means I'm stuck here on this Caribbean island until Monday.
But really, is 'stuck' the right word?
I think not.
It just means more time reclining in the sun, watching the families around me have a good time. Thinking about Martin, Claire and Laura and wishing they were here with me to play in the sand and laugh in the waves. Wondering if I would ever be brave enough to go topless like so many of the other women on the beach. Maybe I would if Martin was here, and we spoke German the whole time so nobody would know I'm American -- Ha! Who am I kidding?
I get to eat more good food while sitting next to the water and drinking piña coladas.
As far as Gwen, my personal trainer, is concerned, this is what every meal has looked like....
But sometimes, my meals look like this, too...
These Dominicans are so aggressive when it comes to their desserts and specialty drinks. They come over with these big, bright smiles and they just hand the menu card to you, asking, "Would you like?" and who am I to start an international incidence by declining the dessert menu? Seriously.
And they make it even worse by playing UB40 songs, too. It's torture.
But alas, somebody has to do this job.
I'm so glad it's me.
It just means more time reclining in the sun, watching the families around me have a good time. Thinking about Martin, Claire and Laura and wishing they were here with me to play in the sand and laugh in the waves. Wondering if I would ever be brave enough to go topless like so many of the other women on the beach. Maybe I would if Martin was here, and we spoke German the whole time so nobody would know I'm American -- Ha! Who am I kidding?
I get to eat more good food while sitting next to the water and drinking piña coladas.
As far as Gwen, my personal trainer, is concerned, this is what every meal has looked like....
But sometimes, my meals look like this, too...
These Dominicans are so aggressive when it comes to their desserts and specialty drinks. They come over with these big, bright smiles and they just hand the menu card to you, asking, "Would you like?" and who am I to start an international incidence by declining the dessert menu? Seriously.
And they make it even worse by playing UB40 songs, too. It's torture.
But alas, somebody has to do this job.
I'm so glad it's me.
Little Tots/Big Ideas
I got featured in a mom blog today.
You can check out the blog entry HERE.
A few weeks ago, I was hanging out in blog world and Tina, the writer of Little Tots/Big Ideas, found me through an entry I posted in a blog forum.
She contacted me and asked if I'd share my story of being a military mom.
For my long-time readers, you already know the story, of course.
But it was nice to share it again with a new audience. I represent the MANY mothers who serve in uniform, who do so with honor and pride all in an effort to make the world a better place for their children.
That's what ALL we moms do, right?
Even though it's not easy. At all.
By the way, have you noticed that military moms are starting to get noticed more and more in the mainstream media? Check out the :40 mark in this insurance commercial.
I like that the Dad has black hair and is wearing a plaid shirt.
Martin used to wear plaid shirts ALL THE TIME as a stay-at-home dad.
It kind of makes me feel like this, though ...
You can check out the blog entry HERE.
A few weeks ago, I was hanging out in blog world and Tina, the writer of Little Tots/Big Ideas, found me through an entry I posted in a blog forum.
She contacted me and asked if I'd share my story of being a military mom.
For my long-time readers, you already know the story, of course.
But it was nice to share it again with a new audience. I represent the MANY mothers who serve in uniform, who do so with honor and pride all in an effort to make the world a better place for their children.
That's what ALL we moms do, right?
Even though it's not easy. At all.
By the way, have you noticed that military moms are starting to get noticed more and more in the mainstream media? Check out the :40 mark in this insurance commercial.
I like that the Dad has black hair and is wearing a plaid shirt.
Martin used to wear plaid shirts ALL THE TIME as a stay-at-home dad.
It kind of makes me feel like this, though ...
Puppy Love
Can you tell we love this dog?
It's been about a month since Patches joined our family and things are going so well.
Of course, it took some effort. As anyone who has adopted an older dog knows, there is an adjustment period, especially since we can't be entirely sure about her background. She's had an incredible experience this past year, though. We know she started out with an owner and another dog. She even had another name. We know that her owner passed away about a year ago and Patches was taken to a dog shelter. Shortly before she was scheduled to be put down, a local dog and cat rescue plucked her from that place and put her on their rescue ranch, which wasn't really a home, but it was a lot better than the dog shelter. Then she was moved to a foster family, in a home with bed and couches and blankets. Her foster mom, Heather, who is a long-time family friend of ours, fell in love with her and posted some pictures on Facebook.
I saw them one night and sent a message. And that's what started the whole adoption process.
Heather was able to provide some insight into the dog's personality, which was helpful. We knew, and could sense, that Patches is a good dog.
But given her history, she came with some baggage.
During our first introduction, she absolutely did not care for Martin. At all. She tolerated Claire, but growled at Laura. She took to me right away, though. As long as I was around, she didn't make a sound. But if she thought any of the three were coming into her space, she let them know.
It was classic wolf-pack behavior, establishing dominance in the pack and all. All things that can be trained and managed. So we took the dog for a weekend, under the guise of 'pet-sitting' so Claire wouldn't suspect, to see how things changed over a few days, and they did. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to convince us that she could join our family. In fact, that's when we came up with the name Patches for her. Her old name was a very old-fashioned girl name and she never responded to it. Heather didn't like it either, so while we had her over, Claire and I offered to come up with a new one. We decided that Patches would be a good name for her given the colors on her coat. We tried it out during one of our walks, and not only did Patches stop when she heard us call for her, but she actually ran back to us. It was as if she'd always been called that name.
So, the adoption was finalized and Patches joined us Christmas Day.
She and Martin bonded that first week, when the girls and I were visiting family out West. By the time we returned home, Martin couldn't go anywhere in the house with Patches following.
And while there were moments Patches growled at the girls, and even nipped Claire in the nose when she tried to hold a staring contest with the dog, there's been none of that now.
It's love.
Puppy love.
Photos by Claire
Claire has a 'real' camera now.
It's my 2004 Canon Rebel: my first digital SLR camera body. She's always thought SLR cameras are more real than a point-and-shoot and she's long since admired the Rebel. She got it as part of a bribe. While we were visiting our Western relatives earlier this month, she got introduced to The Bear, which is an authentic bear-skin rug at my grandparents' house in Texas.
My grandfather, simply known as Pa, shot the bear sometime in the early 1980s, when I was still a little kid. The bear ended up on their living room floor and nearly every grandkid has had their picture taken on it, even though every grandkid has been initially terrified of that thing.
Claire was no different. Despite her age and despite her knowledge that The Bear wasn't alive anymore, that it wouldn't hurt her, she just couldn't bring herself to get near it. She was freaked.
In a selfish effort for me to convince her to sit on The Bear to ease her fears (and to get that requisite photo), I tapped into her greatest desire; to own a 'real' camera. So I pulled the Rebel from my camera case and waved it in front of her.
"It's yours, if you sit on The Bear."
She looked at the Rebel. Then she looked at The Bear. I had thought her reaction would be immediate. But it wasn't. She planted herself on the couch between the Rebel and The Bear and stared at the two for a good hour, at least. I was in the back bedroom when I finally heard my mother laugh and say, "I guess you really wanted that camera!"
A quick peek around the corner revealed Claire sitting on The Bear, holding her new camera.
True to my word, I officially bequeathed the camera to Claire by holding a intensive training session with her. I also got her a little camera bag and a new strap. I put on one of my older, smaller lenses for her, and satisfied she was going to take her new responsibility seriously, I set her off to take photos.
I didn't download them until today. I'm so proud of her. The other day, she said she wanted to do what I do when she grows up. I think she's got the chops.
Here are some of Claire's photos from our trip out West.
I think she did good.
The mesquite trees of North Texas.
A dog with flying ears.
Me, staring out of my grandparents' SUV while driving along under the Texas sun.
My mother, Claire's Nona.
Our little cousin, McKensie.
The old-fashioned wallpaper in Ken's Chicken and Fish. It's been there for decades; I remember seeing it as a kid and later thinking Subway ripped off the decorating idea.
Me and Laura, on the plane on the way home to Daddy
View from Claire's window seat on the airplane ride home to Daddy
The following are some of my remaining photos from that trip, too. These are the photos from our visit to my grandparents' home in North Texas.
Claire and our cousin McKensie on The Bear.
Laura wasn't scared of The Bear.
I realize I look completely goofy in this picture. I was tickling both girls at the same time to get those laughs.
There is nothing good for me on this plate from Ken's Chicken and Fish. But it WAS good.
Small town courthouse in North Texas.
Small town main street in North Texas.
Cows hanging out near my grandparents' house.
Claire and McKensie hanging out in my grandparents' SUV.
The lake behind my grandparents' house in North Texas.
The Tooth
I am currently away from my family.
Just a few days after returning from Oklahoma and Texas, I got on an airplane and headed back to Ohio to fulfill some of my Air Force Reserve obligation.
It's nice to return to the uniform, to be around other Airmen and be creative with a variety of media in that type of environment.
But it stinks being away from the family and missing those moments I so adore with my kids.
Today was a very big day.
Claire lost her first tooth.
Martin called my Dad in his office, which is right down the hall from mine, since he works full-time in the same building on the base. I was at my desk when my Dad brought his cell-phone down to me.
"Well, it happened," said Martin after we greeted each other. Uh-oh. What happened? A car wreck? A meteor through the roof? The house is on fire?
"Claire got in the car after school and asked me to ask her to smile. So I did. And ... her tooth is gone," he said.
The split second he said that, my heart both leaped with joy and plummeted with disappointment. Her tooth fell out! And I missed it.
You see, Claire's been waiting for this tooth to fall for at least a year and a half. I even wrote about her desire to lose her teeth back after Halloween 2008, which you can read about HERE. It was my mother who noticed that Claire's tooth was loose during our trip after Christmas.
At the time, there was just a tiny little wiggle.
But it was enough for Claire, who worked on that sucker every day. Wiggle. Wiggle. Wiggle. It became the family past-time. How was it going to fall out? Would Dad have to pull it? Tie a string on it and attach that to a door to slam shut? Would it just fall out in her sleep?
When I realized I may miss the actual moment because of my Reserve duty, I begged Claire to hold off on the wiggling so that I could be there when the moment arrived.
At the very least, I asked if she'd at least record the event with a video camera or a picture.
After all, I remember when those teeth were first busting through those gums. I was there to photograph it.
I thought about this picture from 2004 as Claire got on the phone to tell me the story. According to her, she was sitting in the lunchroom with her classmates, eating her lunch and watching all the kids compare their loose teeth. She showed off her wiggly tooth and someone dared her to just go ahead and pull it. So, she grabbed one of those mass-produced brown napkins that feels like sandpaper, and gave her tooth a yank.
And out it popped.
Which grossed everyone out.
Because it started to bleed.
Which meant she had to go straight to the nurse's office, which is a pretty big deal when you are in the first grade.
And it's an even bigger deal when the nurse gives you a darling little tooth container that looks like a little pink treasure chest -- perfect for the Tooth Fairy.
I was so genuinely excited for her, and I told her so. The Selfish Mommy in me felt better knowing the tooth fell out at school; I wouldn't have been there anyway. But as I listened to her talk about leaving the tooth under her pillow that evening, I felt that twinge. That little ping of sadness that I wasn't there to help her with it, and to give her a hug.
"Don't worry, Mom," she said, as if sensing my disappointment. "I'll write a note, asking the Tooth Fairy not to take my tooth just yet. Maybe she'll come back after you get home, so you can see my tooth, too."
I love this kid.
Remembering in Oklahoma City
Claire and I visited the Oklahoma City National Memorial Museum today. It took about three hours to drive there from my grandparents house in north Texas, where we visited for the weekend. We left later than planned and I was so anxious about getting there before it closed, but fortunately, we didn't run into any traffic and got there with about an hour and a half to spare.
I did my best to explain to Claire what we were going to see inside the museum before we got there, but I wasn't even sure what to expect. I'd visited the memorial's web site before our visit, and I felt comfortable enough to take Claire inside with me. Just this past September, she and I sat down with one of my photo books about September 11, 2001, and we had a good, age-appropriate conversation about the events of that day. She was very receptive, so I felt it was also important for her to learn about the events of April 19, 1995.
It was important for me to visit, too.
I was in the eighth grade and home sick from school that day. I was home alone, since I was old enough to care for myself, but it wasn't much fun. I was getting over a really bad stomach virus, still weak with no appetite, so I planted myself on our living room couch, buried under blankets and surrounded by Gatorade, soup and a bucket (just in case). The only highlight of my day was being able to watch Regis and Kathy Lee, beginning at 9 a.m., followed by Family Feud, followed by The Price is Right - all shows I enjoyed from the summer, but never got to watch during the school year.
That was supposed to be the line-up, anyway.
Around 9:30 a.m., a special report news bulletin interrupted Regis and Kathy Lee, showing that now-infamous image of the Alfred P. Murrah building with half a facade. At first, I was annoyed. I was missing my shows. In that first half-hour of coverage, all that appeared on the screen was a blown-up building with the anchorman trying to describe what was happening. There was speculation of a gas leak. I grew antsy. Where was the return to scheduled programming? Why would a gas-leak explosion make the news like this?
But as time passed, and the news continued broadcasting, the first images of survivors coming out of the building aired and it became obvious that this was something way more sinister than a gas-leak explosion. I was transfixed. I didn't get up from the couch until around 2 p.m., which was when I called my mother in tears. I remember asking her how could anyone do such a thing, and her calming me down. What she didn't tell me was that earlier in the day, her office in Cincinnati had been evacuated since it was located across the street from a federal building, which had been cleared in case it was a target, too. She knew that would have really freaked me out. I was upset enough by the images on my television and the loss of life playing out on live television.
So, I'd always wanted to visit the memorial and pay my respects.
The first thing we saw were the black gates of time on both sides of the memorial, which takes up the entire city block the building once occupied. For those who aren't familiar with the layout, the gates represent the minutes before and after the explosion, which happened at 9:02 a.m. that day. Claire, Trev (my mother's boyfriend) and I walked through the 9:01 gate, where we saw the reflecting pond and the chairs lined up on our left.
It had snowed the days before our visit, and while most of it had melted, patches of it remained. Each chair was decorated with a Christmas wreath and red bow. We were the only ones walking along the path at that time and even though we were in the middle of the city, it was very quiet and still.
The museum is located in the building that was across from the Murrah building, with the entrance next to the 9:03 gate, so we made our way around the reflecting pond to go inside.
No photos are allowed inside the museum, so I put my camera aside and spent the time walking through it with Claire. It's designed as a sequence of events, with the top floor dedicated to showing life in the building before the attack. Then, we entered a room set up to look like a small courtroom which was across the street from the Murrah building. A hearing was being held that day, and it was recorded on audio tape, which captured the sound of the explosion. A museum volunteer explained that as soon as we entered the room, the recording would begin and two minutes later, we would hear the explosion. Claire heard this, and as soon as we took our seats in the room, she buried her face in my coat and covered her ears.
Uh, oh, I thought. Was I about to totally scar her for life?
As indicated, the sound of the explosion blasted through the room and the lights were turned off as the sound of people yelling followed as the recording continued. A split second later, photos of the victims flashed up on the screen in front of us and then the lights came back on. A door slid open on the side, allowing us to enter the part of the museum showcasing the initial response.
There were television sets throughout, showing the very first news clips broadcasted about the bombing, including the first helicopter images. Rubble from the blast was on display, as well as office equipment and personal effects. I was torn: I wanted to stop and look at everything, to read every text block, but I also didn't want to linger if it upset Claire. So I took her hand and tried to lead her out of that first room. But she hesitated, her eyes transfixed on one of the television screens.
"No, Mom," she said. "I want to watch this."
So, we stayed in that room, looking at all the destruction. Then we silently went to the next room, which showcased the first responders. Each room had many televisions; some showed the news coverage; others showed videotaped interviews with survivors and rescuers. There were pictures of rescued people, people crying, people hugging.
I watched Claire's face as we walked along. Claire has not perfected her poker face; every single emotion she feels flickers on her face as clear as day. She looked pensive, with a faint "stiff upper lip" expression. At one point, I asked what she was thinking.
"Some babies died there," she said. "I can see their toys."
"That's right," I said. "Some babies did die."
When we came upon the famous photo of the firefighter carrying the baby, she pointed out that it looked like Laura, which isn't a stretch as Laura is the same age Bailey Almon was when she was killed. When I pointed that out, Claire just nodded and continued on.
We entered a room dedicated to all the people killed in the attack, where their individual photos were displayed along with a personal item donated by their families to represent the individual's personality. This was the most touching display, in my opinion, and the one I appreciated the most. There were a lot of Lion King toys in the children's displays, which made sense since that was the latest Disney movie at the time.
The last few rooms of the museum are dedicated to the response to the attack, with quilts, signs and cards from around the world on display. There was even a kids room, which had videos of other children explaining the event. One of the last rooms showed pictures of the 9/11 attacks, which Claire recognized, and there were even photos of military personnel in Iraq and Afghanistan, which she also recognized.
"Mom, that's what you did when you were far, far away," she said, pointing to a Soldier surrounded by kids at what I assume was a refugee camp in one of those countries. It was the perfect opportunity to explain how my deployment, like the Soldier's in the picture, was an effort to keep her and other kids safe from future attacks like the one she just witnessed in the photos and video. She seemed impressed by this.
The sun was just about set as we left the museum and walked past the fence, which is used by passersby to leave notes and items at the memorial. We entered the 9:03 gate to walk across to the 9:01 gate, where my mother was parked with Laura, waiting for us.
I snapped this photo of the 9:01 gate from the 9:03 gate.
And I had Trev snap this photo below of Claire and me at the 9:01 gate. Although some parts of the museum made me briefly doubt my decision to take Claire, ultimately, I'm glad we went together. I'm glad I was there to explain things to her and answer her questions. When we got in the vehicle with my mother, she asked Claire about the visit and Claire explained it very succinctly. She didn't seem fazed at all, and was even proud to later talk about the visit with her Dad on the phone.
I think I can safely say that our visit to the National Memorial museum and site was both sad and uplifting, emotional and moving. It's a part of our trip, and of America's history, we won't soon forget.
The Best Decade Ever - Part Two
So 2005 arrived, and we welcomed it with our family in Germany. It was bittersweet. We knew it was going to be a year of major change for us. I was scheduled to move again later that year, so we spent every opportunity traveling around Italy, Austria and Germany. We took my sister, who flew over from the States, to Bolzano to see Ötzi the Iceman. He's not the most attractive Italian (or was he Austrian?) but we visited him so often during our time in Italy. We took my Dad and stepmom Linda to Florence and Rome during their visit.
That spring, we took the train through the Brenner Pass all the way from our little town in Italy to our relatives in Nuremberg, Germany. That was awesome and so breathtaking.
Most of the time, though, we stayed near our home, enjoying our view of the Alps and driving to the beaches of the Adriatic Sea to soak up the sun. No matter where the Air Force put us next, we knew it was not going to be like our home in Italy.
This was our view from our front porch.
As summer came to an end, Martin and I grew anxious. Where would I be assigned? Word reached us that it may be Montana, Wyoming or New Mexico. When officials realized I spoke German, they decided an assignment in New Mexico would work, since the German military works alongside the American military there.
So we started looking at real estate in the West, finding the good school districts and neighborhoods. It looked nice. We could make it work.
The day before I was supposed to receive my orders for New Mexico, though, my boss called me into his office.
"You've been selected for a special duty assignment," he said. "You are going to the Pentagon."
So, our plans changed. Fast. I had to be there in less than two months. Martin's visa to the States wasn't going to be ready for another four months, which would have been on schedule for the move to New Mexico. But the Pentagon assignment required me to be there early. It broke my heart, but we agreed that Martin and Claire would stay in Italy those final two months without me while I went to DC alone. I left the day after Claire's second birthday.
Of course, being away from them was really hard. Not only was Washington DC a much different environment than Italy, but I also had to find our house by myself, buy a car by myself, arrange our furniture by myself and attend a leadership school in Maryland by myself. All in the midst of that Washington DC traffic, too. Being so busy helped the time move fast, but one day, I felt particularly sentimental and instead of sending them a Hallmark card (which I did every other day), I decided to get a tattoo honoring Martin and my child.
I'd always wanted one, but didn't get the motivation until that September. It's my one and only tattoo - a heart with the American and German flags combined. Right on the small of my back, where I usually put my hand to support myself. So, my family is always there -- they got my back. About a year later, Claire pointed out it's in the same place as the Care Bear's heart. Nice!
They finally joined me that October. We lived in a nice little townhouse on a nice little cul-de-sac with nice, friendly neighbors. Martin quickly found a job at a local bank and Claire began attending preschool. I started work at the Pentagon, following around Air Force generals and writing and photographing events happening on Capitol Hill and DC. My commute was an hour and thirty minutes one way and I did it twice a day, five days a week.
We welcomed 2006 feeling like real adults.
With real jobs.
With real commutes.
With real cable bills. (We didn't have cable in Italy.)
Life in the states as a married couple was different from life in Europe. There was just more of everything. But we handled it well. We made a lot of new friends, especially from the fire department, where I started volunteering as their media representative.
Martin loved his new job. He loved working with numbers and money. Claire blossomed in her preschool class, making friends and learning new words and creating so many art projects, I had to buy a separate filing cabinet just to hold everything. I also tapped into my creative juices and began teaching scrapbook classes at the local hobby store in the evenings. I loved sharing ideas and techniques with my students, who created everything from baby scrapbooks to card to name-tags for gifts.
We traveled to North Carolina that summer with family and visited friends in Milwaukee that fall.
We learned to love the frantic pace of our new life in the nation's capital. It was exciting and stressful. But we wouldn't have had it any other way.
My job at the Pentagon really took off and I got noticed and awarded for my various accomplishments. It was really so neat to walk into that building every day and know I was a part of it.
I got to sign my name on the second tallest column in the new Air Force Memorial. I spent almost the whole year covering its construction and was there when it was dedicated and opened to the public.
And that August, I met then-President George W. Bush and his croonies: vice president Dick Cheny, Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, Secretary of State Condeleeza Rice and the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
Around that same time, I also got word that I would be deploying the next year. To Iraq.
Needless to say, there was a feeling of anxiousness mixed in with celebration the night we celebrated New Year's 2007. We knew this year was going to be rough, probably the toughest any of us lived. Certainly the toughest we ever faced together.
If only we knew.
A few weeks later, at the end of January, a neighbor and I went into the home of our neighbor and friend, Nancy, after a taxi driver (who had been called to the house) became concerned and began knocking on doors around our cul-de-sac.
Inside, we found our dear friend, who had ended her life after a life-long struggle with depression.
It was absolutely devastating. And heartbreaking.
I flew to Michigan to be with Nancy's family that following week, to attend her funeral and answer any questions they had for me, as Martin and I had become good friends with her during her final months on earth. It was such a sobering experience, but her family accepted me with such love and open arms. We've since become good family friends.
I didn't have much time to grieve, though, because my upcoming deployment and its preparation needed my attention.
A few weeks later, in February, I attended an Air Force conference in Orlando and took Martin and Claire with me so we could visit nearby Disney World.
It was a much-needed bright spot. We made so many wonderful memories during that trip.
A few weeks after our trip to Disney World, I packed up my military gear and headed to Ft. Dix, New Jersey, where I attended combat training for a few weeks.
In the midst of frigid winter temperatures and even a three-day blizzard, I learned how to prepare for my deployment to the desert. I actually had a good time. Several of my friends from around the Air Force public affairs career field were there, too, and it was sort of like a reunion. I was able to access the Internet every day, too, and I had my cell phone, so I was able to talk to Claire and Martin, which was great.
I learned how to command a convoy and drive a Humvee and how to sit in a swing as the gunner. I practiced with an M-16 and carried around all my gear. My mind was set for a deployment, where magazines are not People or Reader's Digest, but the ammo that could save your life.
During on the classes, though, I was pulled out of the room by one of the deployment managers. "You are no longer going to Iraq," he said. "I'm putting you on our combat news team. You'll be going everywhere."
And just like that, my plans were changed. I wouldn't be staying at one location in Iraq. Instead, I'd be going outside the wire and traveling throughout Iraq and Afghanistan, to the front lines to cover the Air Force missions and Airmen working out there.
Nice.
Between March and May, Martin and I did our best to prepare Claire for my departure. We hosted a sort of "Military Day" event for our cul-de-sac so that all our neighborhood friends could come over with the kids and play with my military gear and eat MREs (meals-ready-to-eat) for dinner. I had out maps of the Middle East and played a video Sesame Street made for kids about military deployments. It was really a touching night because all of them were so eager to learn about what I was doing and where I was going, and most of all, how they could help Martin and Claire while I was gone.
Then May arrived. And it was time for me to go. Both Martin and Claire dropped me off at the airport. It was the hardest goodbye I've ever experienced.
I arrived in the Middle East a few days later and my news team hit the ground running. We were immediately sent to Iraq to cover the Air Force's support of the "The Surge." We traveled around Baghdad and the surrounding areas, interviewing combat weather Airmen, joint tactical air control party and civil engineers.
We traveled via Black Hawk helicopters and convoys, hauling all of our equipment and gear with us. It was hot and sometimes we didn't shower for days. Despite the horrible conditions, I did my best to keep nice and neat.
Including my nails.
You can take the girl out of civilization, but not civilization from the girl.
We came under mortar attack nearly every other day and eventually, one mortar landed near my team and sent shrapnel into my broadcaster's legs. He got Med-Evac'ed and spent the summer at Walter Reed Medical Center, not far from Martin and Claire in Washington D.C. It was a harrowing experience.
To say the least.
My team got a new broadcaster, and then we were shipped to Afghanistan, where we flew around in even more helicopters and rode around in even more convoys. We traveled throughout the mountains near Pakistan and down to the deserts around Kandahar. It wasn't as dangerous back then as it is now, almost three years later, but it was still hot, as they say. We ended up rolling over improvised explosive devices that didn't detonate one day, and it wasn't unusual to hear small arms fire in the area.
Despite the hazards, we got to interact with the Afghan people, which I enjoyed. During one mission, my news team hiked with a bunch of Airmen and Soldiers to set up a health clinic for women and children. Kids are kids no matter where you go in the world and despite the language differences, I did my best to make a good impression on them. I could see Claire in all their little faces, and I wanted to make them laugh.
All during this time, Martin held down the homefront with Claire. He blogged about their days together, which was a great way for me to stay connected to them. He kept a routine going - work for him, preschool for Claire - sprinkled in with visits from Claire's grandparents. They traveled to Ohio for the Independence Day weekend, where she got to watch a parade. During that event, my father approached the local Congresswoman who was marching along, and he mentioned I was in Iraq and Claire was my daughter. The Congresswoman stopped the whole parade to get a picture with Claire. That was really sweet.
Claire turned four that August, while I was in Afghanistan. Thanks to modern technology, I was able to order party favors and invitations for the party. The fire department, where I volunteer, came by with one of the trucks, blaring its siren and flashing its lights. It almost made up for the fact that I wasn't there. Claire still talks about that birthday.
Finally, at the end of the summer, I was given the awesome -- yet short-notice -- news that my services were no longer needed in the Middle East and I was able to return home to my family. I barely had time to send off an email to Martin to let him know. A few days later, at nearly midnight, I walked off the plane and into the arms of my husband and daughter. I just pulled her close to me and began to sob. I was so happy!
So was Claire.
And Martin. Especially since we agreed to start trying for another baby as soon as I got home. 
As with all homecomings, there was a period of adjustment for all of us. Martin and Claire had a pretty comfortable routine going on, but it didn't include me. It took awhile before Claire stopped immediately going to her Dad before coming to me for things. She was just so used to going to her father for things, but fortunately, she never hesitated showing me affection. Most nights, she snuggled up with me on our couch until she fell asleep. I loved it.
It was during those moments I really felt home again.
By the time the leaves started to change, things were running more smoothly. I was back to work and the commute into DC. Martin was at the bank. Claire attended pre-school. We dressed as an Indian tribe that Halloween and hosted a big Halloween party with all our neighbors. Martin looked especially dashing in his Daniel Day Lewis-esque wig.
The holidays quickly followed and took 2007 with them. Which was a good thing.
We were more than ready for 2008.
There were two things we wanted to accomplish in 2008: a new house and a new baby.
We started house hunting in January, while Martin's brother, his wife and our nieces visited from Germany. Foreclosures were sweeping across the area and it became a buyers market. We looked at townhouses, new homes and older homes. Some places were just heartbreaking. We could see where people just up and left their homes, not able to pay the bills. It was sad. But at the same time, it allowed us to look at so many options. Our wish? A three-bedroom on a cul-de-sac with a yard for Claire to play. In our area near Washington DC, we knew it was going to be a tough find. But we were determined.
By the time March rolled around, we were getting a little worried. We weren't finding the house of our dreams and each month since October passed with no positive pregnancy result. As it turned out, the deployment had wrecked havoc on my body, to the point where we had to go to the doctors to get some help for it since I hadn't had a cycle in almost six months. The doctor immediately prescribed some hormones for me, the first step for fertility treatment, but there was one caveat: I had to take one more pregnancy test to ensure I wasn't pregnant.
And as it turned out, I was pregnant, despite not having had a cycle for six months. We were so excited, especially Claire who wanted a sibling for soooo long.
We snapped this picture of her and posted it on our blog.
Within that same week, our realtor contacted about a house that was put on the market the day before. On paper, it had everything we wanted, including a fourth bedroom. And best of all, it was a single-family house. With a fenced backyard. But she was worried. It was almost too good to be true. Martin and I went to check it out anyway. And we loved it. It was on the market for less than one full day, but we made an offer immediately.
And they accepted.
We were moved in by May. I had so much fun with it, too, picking out new colors for the walls and finding a new grill for Martin and our back porch. Claire got to pick out the colors of her bedroom (pink and green). We started working on the baby's room and designated the fourth bedroom as my scrapbook room.
So, we resumed family life in our new house. Both Martin and I commuted to work while Claire went to preschool. She learned how to ride a bike that summer and Martin got promoted to assistant manager at his bank. My stomach grew with the baby and all of us were so happy to hear it was to be another little girl.
By the time fall arrived, I was huge. I got diagnosed with gestational diabetes, which really threw me for a loop. That was not a fun part of the pregnancy.
Halloween rolled around, and even though I was way too huge to actively participate, Martin and I did dress it up a bit by paying homage to the biggest bit of news to nominate the airways (and Internet) that fall: Obama and McCain and the Presidential election.
It was the first Presidential election I got to experience in the States and even though I was huge and could barely fit into a winter's jacket, I drove up to the local school to vote in a real voting booth, instead of via absentee ballot like I had to do while stationed overseas. I thought that was cool.
Less than a month later, though, our minds turned away from politics and onto the pregnancy. Due to the complications, I was scheduled for a C-section. So my parents came into town to stay with Claire while Martin and I went to the local military hospital.
Isn't that the sweetest photo of Martin with his new daughter? It's funny how much more I could love him for loving another lady. 
Martin was able to take paternity leave from his work, so the two of us were home with Laura right through the holidays. It was such a great way to end the year.
Which brings me to 2009.
Since I had saved up all my leave time from my deployment, I was able to stay home with Laura for the first three months of her life.
And I loved it.
Claire was in kindergarden, so it was just the baby and me all day. We played. We slept. She ate. A lot. I got to see her first smiles and videotape her rolling over.
I never did figure out a good way to keep on track with the laundry, but it didn't matter. I enjoyed that time with Laura.
It was hard going back to work that spring. It was a little easier knowing Laura Grace was in the same school with Claire, whose kindergarden class was right down the hall. Her teacher let Claire walk down and check on Laura throughout the day. She was a very watchful and helpful big sister.
But it wasn't the same.
And that's why I declared my intent to leave active duty Air Force.
The Pentagon is a hard assignment for so many reasons: the commute, the politics, the frantic pace. As amazing and exciting it can be, it's just as exhausting and draining. And I was there for four years. And the deployment took a lot out of me, too.
It was just time.
So, that June, my enlistment expired. I was no longer active duty.
The first thing I did was put red highlights in my hair.
Fire engine red.
I loved 'em.
But I didn't keep them past the summer. I was, after all, a Reservist. Meaning I only do the military thing part-time now. After 9.5 years, I couldn't just leave an organization I loved so much.
Being home full-time not only allowed me to focus on the kids, it also let me chase another dream: my own photography business.
For as long as I could remember, people complimented my photography. Friends asked me to shoot portraits of their kids for them. Family had me photograph special events.
So with Martin's help, I got a license, some better camera equipment and advertised online.
It really took off.
By that fall, I was photographing a wedding every weekend. Sometimes, I had two or three events per weekend. Both Martin and I were just amazed. We didn't expect things to fall in place so quickly. He had worried, of course, since my steady military paycheck was going away.
But the photography business helped us. And it was something that didn't take too much time away from the kids.
That fall, Claire started first grade at a new school. Both Martin and I walked her up there the first day, with Laura in the stroller. As much as I enjoyed having her around the house that summer, I equally enjoyed seeing her so excited about her new teacher and homework. Every morning and afternoon, I walked her to and from school with Laura.
And in November, before I could even begin to comprehend it, Laura Grace turned one year old. We celebrated with a little cupcake party.
We celebrated Christmas in our house with both girls dressed in matching pajamas. And we got them a dog. Named Patches. A welcomed addition to the family.
It was as if the past year had just flown by with a blink of an eye. It seemed to be the fastest year in the whole decade. Just one of major change for all of us.
And so that leads me to now. I'm writing this in a hotel room in Oklahoma, visiting my grandparents with the girls, while Martin stays in DC because of work and the dog. We plan to be on the phone with each other to countdown the minutes.
It's an awfully long way from that night in Paris 10 years ago.
And what a trip to get here, too!!
It goes without saying I'm glad I've had these years with Martin. It's incredible to see how far we've come. And we've gained so much -- so very much -- along the way.
I look forward to the next 10 years.
The Best Decade Ever - Part One
It's New Year's Eve and a lot of the news organizations are posting articles declaring the past ten years as the worst decade ever. They have a point. There's been terrorism, a declining economy, political scandals, war, to name a few.
But ...
In my little world ...
It's been the best decade. Ever.
I can't help but be sentimental.
It started New Year's Eve 1999. I was 18 years old. And I was standing next to Martin, who was 21.
We were underneath the Eiffel Tower in Paris, France and even though we were surrounded by, oh, about a million strangers from all over the world, it really did feel like it was just the two of us. We had met only a few months before that summer when I was a foreign exchange student. I was in Europe for just another few days before flying back to the states to join the Air Force.
We didn't know what to expect. Where was the Air Force going to take me? Would we ever see each other again? Was this going to be it or something more?
We faced such uncertainty then, but that evening, there was nothing but excitement, anticipation, hope ... such an amazing energy as we all waited for midnight. For 2000. For Y2K. The end of the world or the beginning of something wonderful.
And it was wonderful.
It looked like this.
Martin and I were somewhere on the right. Can you see us?
So it was 2000. A new year. A new decade. A new life for me. That January, I joined the Air Force.
And I went through basic training and tech school and got the uniform with the funny hat.
I also got super skinny. I ran a mile well under ten minutes and could do push-ups and sit-ups all day without breaking a sweat. I was in the best shape of my life.
And I also got stationed with a two-year assignment at Ramstein Air Base, Germany. Just three hours away from Martin.
It was totally fate.
During my first month living there in Germany, Martin and I got our portraits made together.
It's one of my favorites, despite the fact he is sporting a bowl cut.
Then it was 2001. Martin was in the German Army (Bundeswehr) by then and I had an awesome little studio apartment in Kaiserslautern that had windows all along the roof. We visited each other on the weekends and traveled around to France, Austria and the Czech Republic. I also went to Bosnia, Kosovo and Macedonia for the Air Force. I was writing articles about military missions and taking photos.
I was living the life I had dreamed for myself.
I decided to ask Martin sometime that summer if he'd marry me and he admitted he was thinking of asking me the same thing.
So we got engaged.
Even then, we knew we were young. Everyone seemed to point that out. "Oh," they said, "you guys are still babies."
And they were sort of right. I was 20 years old. He was 23.
But we knew it was the real deal. Why wait?
So, the year 2002 arrived with a bunch of wedding planning. We married the first week in April, when the trees were just starting to bloom again. Our wedding day was gorgeous -- bright blue, sunny skies over Erlangen, Germany. Our American and German friends and family were so welcoming to each other and it was definitely a celebration.
Definitely one of the best days EVER.
After our wedding, Martin officially declared his intent to leave the active German Army so he could move around with me and my Air Force career. He said that even though he loved his job as a tank commander, he loves me more, and it was an easy choice.
Though I'm sure there have been times over the years when he felt otherwise! HA!
It worked out, though.
That July, we moved to Italy.
Shortly after moving there, while we were house-hunting and waiting for all our paperwork to settle, my new office mates took us out to lunch. We were sitting in an Italian restaurant, drinking some local wine while munching on some cheese, and the others were giving us the inside scoop about the area.
"Try and find a home near the mountains," they suggested. "It helps if your landlord speaks English. Telephone service is kinda of tricky to set up during the month of August because everyone goes on vacation. And beware drinking the local water. It makes you ultra-fertile. Everyone who drinks the water gets pregnant."
We laughed and scoffed at that.
But by that December, we were pregnant.
Hands down, the best thing to happen in 2003 was Claire's birth that August.
It was actually the best thing to happen EVER.
Doesn't he look so bewildered? And tired? Overwhelmed?
And so adorable, too.
That little pink hat.
Our world was never the same.
In 2003, Martin was also recruited to play American-style football for the Italian-Austrian football league. The Belluno Grifoni team needed a kicker and word got to them that Martin played soccer for years in Germany.
So I bought him the book Football for Dummies a few weeks before the season started and by the time he ran onto the field for training camp, he totally knew what he was doing.
They ended up winning their equivalent to the Super Bowl that year. And the next. And the next. Undefeated. It was the closest I ever got to being an NFL wife. And I loved it.
If you want to know what those days were like, read the book "Playing for Pizza". That book takes me back.
2004 rolled around and we took advantage of our location, traveling frequently to Germany and Austria and all around Italy with Claire, who proved to be a natural-born tourist.
I loved that she had her own passport before her first birthday. I had to wait eighteen years for mine.
We also bought our first new vehicle that year. A practical, safe family car that didn't look too nerdy. It took us all over Europe and all over America, and it has never once broken down. It's still our primary car. They no longer make Pontiac Vibes, though. I'm so sad. I don't know what I'll do when we have to replace this one...
Anyway, I got promoted early and earned several awards for my work as a newspaper editor in the Air Force that year. Martin was the part-time accountant of the military base's thrift store, which allowed for him to be home with Claire. At first, I worried that being a stay-at-home parent was going to be too much of a change for him, going from commanding a group of soldiers and a tank to being in charge of a little baby.
But he loved it. He was born to be a dad.
Life was good for us that year.
And simple.
Which meant it was just about time for the Air Force to change things up.
To be continued...
Oklahoma!
Claire, Laura and I are out where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain.<< MORE >>
The Best Christmas Gift EVER
Santa treated us well this Christmas. The girls were up around 7 a.m. and they were so excited to see that he put a bunch of presents under the Christmas tree in our family room.<< MORE >>