15 November 2008

My kids amuse me with how they choose to play. We don't have many electronic toys in the house (they require batteries, and I enjoy things that take elbow grease), and they are not allowed to watch very much television (I'd like to cut back more). I'm going to start staying home with them after I graduate (we'll see how long that lasts - depends totally on cash flow) and this means they'll have even more educational opportunities and outside free play. As it is, they things they come up with amuse me heartily on a daily basis.

One morning I walked out into my living room and my candelabra had a car sitting on top of each squat pomegranate red candle. Each car was facing the same direction, as if they had been put very precisely in their assigned places. I think they actually had.

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I love my kids. They've changed and enhanced my life in so many ways it is uncountable. I was harsh, critical, unyielding, opinionated, and broken inside. Now I'm semi-harsh, semi-critical, semi-un... Okay. So maybe on the outside I haven't changed as much as I have on the inside. Growing up, I couldn't see a purpose. I had no idea what I was supposed to do or who I was supposed to be. Coming from a broken home, my examples were not very good. Not only had my parents divorced, but my grandparents, great-grandparents, my aunt, and family friends had gotten divorced at some point. I wasn't used to very much stability.

I decided I was going to make a purpose for myself - to jump in front of a bullet if necessary, for my country. For that person walking down the street who had no idea what my name is. Melodramatic? Maybe, but that was my reasoning. I had no family (kids, boyfriend), so why shouldn't I do it? I enlisted in the Army National Guard a month after my 17th birthday. I spent six years in, and never had to jump in front of a bullet. I had to unholster my 9mm once on security detail, and that was the only time other than practice or range fire that I'd had a loaded weapon and intended to fire it. I didn't have to, thankfully.

When I got out, upon Aaron's request and my own inability to pass the physical tests after having my children, I felt bereft. Who was I? I wasn't kicking ass and taking names anymore (or as we used to put it, kicking butts and sexin' sluts). When someone asked, "Who are you?" my first answer was always, "I'm a soldier." Who am I now? "I'm a soldier. And a mom." Yet... Yet, I'm not a soldier. I'm not in, anymore. I still dream about it. I still grab my PT shirt and wear it around the house, snuggled up in comfort and warmth. I think about Drill Sergeant Corey Jellison and Drill Sergeant Browning, and I think about the long internal and external struggles on a night when I swear to God I just couldn't march any more. I think about failing my PT test over and over again, until the day that I didn't. I think about the pride in DS Jellison's voice as another one of his recruits made it.

Then I think about how I gave up; how I quit. Who am I?

I'm just not entirely sure anymore, but I do know that I want to explore that Mommy option. I want to stay home with my children, teach them, homeschool them, play with them. I want to do the laundry, wear a sun dress, and hang it up to dry outside, barefoot, with a glass of lemonade from the full pitcher sitting on the deck. I want to plant my garden, and I want to harvest each item. Then I want to freeze or can them.

I want to make my own clothes, and eventually I want to shear a goat (is that what you do? shear?) and comb and spin the wool and knit a hat.

I want to live sustainably and happily. I want to be content with myself - not just with a role (soldier/mommy). I want to love my life simply and open heartedly.

And I want to do it all while being a kickass mother, wife, and most importantly - a kickass Jen.

Labels: marriage, mommy blogging