Vegas, Baby!

Okay, so I feel a bit strange coming back from my month+ of blog silence and starting with this post.  First of all, so sorry to all of you who sit by your computers every day waiting for me to post something life-changing.  I have three reasons why I have been incommunicado as of late:

1. When I started blogging, I was in serious need of an outlet for the thoughts that were keeping me up at night, and I had A LOT of time on my hands.  Since we moved to OK, I have no time on my hands because if I am not on an excursion with my children to the science museum, the zoo, or one of many friends’ pools, I am grabbing dinner or drinks with friends, seeing real live adult movies (movies for adults, not movies with naked people), or dominating the OKC metro area in trivia smackdowns.  In other words, I’m doing all the things people do when they live near their family.  And it has been beyond revivifying.  (I just wanted to use the word revivifying.)
2. When I am not out doing all of the aforementioned activities, I have become obsessed with a few ridiculous things that are complete wastes of time on some level, but then again, I believe any time enjoyed is not wasted.  (I’m sure someone wise said this once.)  I will probably blog about these fantastictimewasters another time.
3. I actually felt like I needed a little break from blogging.  Just as clergy, professors, and other professionals who are shaping the minds of society, bloggers need to take a break every now and then to reflect, relax, and remember that no one really cares that much about what we have to say.

So, that said.  This post is going to be everything that is wrong with me, all of the parts that I need to fix, all the dirtiest, most shameful parts because it’s about Las Vegas--sin city, people!  My husband just completed a 5 1/2 month course during which we did not see him and barely communicated even via Skype and phone.  The end of the course resulted in a graduation ceremony held at The Flamingo on the Vegas strip.  Here are the six wives who begrudgingly accepted roses from some guy we had never met thanking us for our sacrifice:

I started out trying to create some sort of narrative structure, a story about our time in Vegas, but it just wasn’t coming together at all, so I have just compiled some snippets about my experience (I’m a Vegas virgin, BTW).  I’m not going to apologize for anything I’m about to say--underneath the lovely exterior that is Leia lurks a judgmental, hateful beast that has never dined more exquisitely than it did on the fleshy, delicious feast that is Las Vegas.

In the limo on the way to graduation!

We arrived in Vegas on Wednesday to find that some jackhole had stolen one of my purses out of my suitcase, and it happened to be the one with all my jewelry.  When I say “my jewelry,” I really mean a few pairs of my earrings and a bunch of my mom’s jewelry that I had borrowed.  Oh, the purse was hers, too.  Luckily most of it was costume jewelry, but I am mourning the loss of  one of my favorite silver necklaces--one that was given to me by my 7th grade boyfriend, Ryan Strong.  (He also gave me a lovely candy bouquet, and I broke up with him like three days later to go out with Victor Tobin, but I digress.)  My good friend, Jamie, whose husband also went through this awful AF “experience,” was nice enough to loan me earrings and a necklace for the formal event.  You can read her take on this Las Vegas experience HERE.

Our room at New York New York was big enough for a family of eighteen, but there wasn’t much furniture, so it was just wide open space with a view of the roller coaster.  I guess all the extra space was for the coolers of beer we so classily purchased to avoid spending $12 on a Bud Light and to support our day drinking habit.  Also, there was plenty of room for a tiger and a naked Asian man if need be.  (Consider obligatory Hangover reference fulfilled.)

Vegas was exactly what I expected on some level--sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll, an homage to all that is dirty and wrong in the world.  So, imagine my surprise when there were children everywhere we went--in the casinos at one in the morning, lounging at the pool among the surgically altered and tattooed trainwrecks, and walking down the porn-littered sidewalks.  (Okay, technically those little cards that clickclickclicked at us weren’t porn, but if the only thing between me and a pair of G-cup gazongas are tiny white stars covering the nips, it’s close enough.)  What is wrong with these people?  Take your kids to Six Flags for the sake of all things holy, and save Vegas for your girls’ weekend away.

Just me and the girls hanging out!

We established a Vegas drinking game (which seems utterly redundant) while lounging at the pool one day.  Here are the rules (and this is where that dark side of me comes out--this is a no holds barred judgement):

1. Tramp stamp on a girl--take a drink.
2. Tramp stamp on a guy--take two drinks.
3. Breast implant scars visible because of inappropriate bikini--take two drinks.
4. Faux hawk--take a drink.
5. Obvious steroid back acne visible through tribal tattoos--take two drinks.
6. Bee sting lips--take a drink.
7. Inappropriate displays of public affection to include: ass-grabbing, boob-honking, or crotch-fondling while standing in a pool surrounded by people--take two drinks and get the hell out of the pool.
8. 60+ gold-blinged man accompanied by modelesque 20-year-old--take two drinks and shudder.
9. Wet t-shirt contest and/or booty-shaking contest with at least one contestant clearly too intoxicated to stand, let alone dance--take three drinks.
10. Wheelchair-bound, oxygen-toting, penny-slots-playing grandma--take two drinks (make it three if she is smoking Capri menthols).

Everyone knows the Vegas motto: what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas (unless you blog about it).  I decided to come up with some alternates:


**Vegas: STDs for Everyone!
**Vegas: Watch Out for Falling Boob Jobs!
**Vegas: Where It's Okay to Wear Sequins to Breakfast
**Vegas: Your One Stop Shop for All Your White Trash Needs
**Vegas: Like An Ashtray Full of Rotten Beef and Prostitute Vomit Sitting in the Sun


That last one might be too long, but it has a certain je ne sais quoi.


One thing I will say about Vegas that I enjoyed was the food.  At the end of the five days of eating, we DID have to take out a second mortgage on our house, but at least it was yummy.

The Blue Meanies are among my favorite fictional characters of all time.   I didn't care if people were staring at me while I posed with a giant stuffed meanie.  If I'd had a bigger purse, I would have carried him out with me.

The highlight of the trip for me was seeing Cirque du Soleil’s Love.  Raised an avid Beatles fan, I was in pure entertainment heaven.  I spent an hour and forty-five minutes holding back tears each time a new song came on, and I’m glad there weren’t cameras on me because I’m pretty sure I looked something like this the whole time:

Overall, I can’t say I was that impressed with Vegas.  I mean, maybe it’s just that I’ve traveled extensively and can think about a million other places I’d rather spend my time (i. e. the real NYC, the west coast of Africa, the middle of nowhere, Scott’s grandmother’s nursing home).  Maybe it’s because I’m too old and boring.  I just kept thinking “Why did all my friends love going to Vegas so much?”  And then I remembered all my friends were either drunk or high half the time when we were younger, and I had a Vegas epiphany: this WOULD be fun IF I was completely wasted.  Which I was not.

So, I can check that box and move on with life.  I did have a fantastic time catching up with friends from all over the country, and it didn’t suck to see my husband for the first time in 5 1/2 months either.

Basking in the post-Love glow in front of the Bellagio fountains!

When we found out a wedding would cost $188, and they wouldn't let us take pictures, we just found a trellis and snapped some pretend wedding pictures.  Josh was an excellent officiant.

Thanks for reading, and hopefully this post marks my getting back on the blog wagon!

Somebody's Mama

I have started a "mommy blog" of sorts.  You can find it here.  In honor of Mother's Day, our non-profit, His Healing Helping Hands International Ministries (4 H. I. M.) is launching a project.  Read below for more information about how you can be involved: 

If you are receiving this message, you’ve got a mama.  A lot of you already are mamas, and many of you hope to be one day.  I am excited to announce a new project of 4 H. I. M. called “Somebody’s Mama.”  I hope you’ll want to be a part!

The concept behind the project is this: women all over the world are dealing with complex issues such as lack of education or proper healthcare.  These issues often lead to more complex issues like cyclical poverty and human trafficking.  Anyone who works in the world of humanitarian aid will tell you that the best way to find a solution to these problems is to empower women.  In developing nations, women are marginalized yet remain the backbones of family and community structures.  

With “Somebody’s Mama,” we want:

1) To bring awareness to issues affecting women across the globe.

2) To create a community of people who care deeply about finding real solutions.

3) To turn ideas into action.

Most of you know me well enough to know that I have been involved in worldwide humanitarian work for most of my life.  During this season of my life (the one where I take care of small children full-time), I am not able to actually GO and DO the hands-on work involved in improving the more marginalized communities in the world.  I decided it was better to turn the frustration into inspiration.

Because of my background, I’ve got a lot of connections with non-profits and ministries that are already doing tremendous work both locally and globally.  There will never be a lack of need.

I want to invite you to celebrate Mother’s Day this year by helping Somebody’s Mama.  We (4 H. I. M.) are collaborating with the Bushenyi Alliance for Rural Health & Development (BARHD) to help some mamas in Uganda.

Recently, BARHD built the first maternity ward in Kyeibanga, a village in southwest Uganda.  They are attempting to build latrines and a “placenta pit” for the maternity ward.  We can all appreciate the importance of having sanitary latrines at a hospital, I’m sure, but you may be wondering like I did what a placenta pit is.  In Uganda (and in many places in the world), blood-born diseases exist at staggering, sometimes pandemic, rates.  The pit is quite literally what it sounds like—a pit for the disposal of placentas where the placentas can sanitarily biodegrade.

We can provide this for the women of Uganda for $2,500.

Somebody’s mama will have a bathroom rather than a hole dug in the ground to use after giving birth for $2,500.

I have personally given $250 toward this project, and I urge all of you to think and pray about how you can be involved in the completion of the Placenta Pit Project.

There are 3 ways to give:

1. Visit www.4-him.net.  Click on “Help Now.”  Click on “Donate Now.”  Choose “New Donor.”  Fill in the appropriate information.  On the drop down menu labeled “For the benefit of,” choose “Somebody’s Mama.”  (Your information is safe, and no one is going to start spamming you!)
2. Mail a check to:

4 H. I. M.

2410 W. Memorial Drive, Suite C #133

Oklahoma City, OK 73134

3.  Facebook me, and make a coffee/breakfast/lunch/Jamba/dinner/play date with me, and bring the funds with you!  I am always up for some girl chat and fundraising.

PLEASE let me know if you have any comments, questions, or suggestions.  This project is new, but the problems aren’t.

Thanks in advance for all that we’re going to do together!

Happy Mother’s Day!

Leia J.

Why There Should Be a Dating Site for Houses

If this is your first time to my blog, welcome!  Secondly, you should know that I am slightly consumed right now by my cross-country move.  We are transitioning from Charleston Air Force Base in SC to McChord Air Force Base in WA.  This change could not be any more drastic...I mean, unless we moved out of the country.  Or to the moon.

I’ve made a little chart comparing and contrasting Charleston, SC and Tacoma, WA:

Charleston, SC	Tacoma, WA
Sunny 10 months out of the year	Rainy 10 months out of the year
Sweet tea	Coffee
Beaches	Mountains
As RED as red can be	As BLUE as blue can be
Nicknamed the “Holy City”	Least “evangelized” state in the U. S.
Black people	Asian people
Everything comes fried	Everything comes rolled
Hootie and the Blowfish	Nirvana

So, see?  It’s different.  And, friends, different is good.  It’s not that I didn’t like living in Charleston--I really did, but I’ve got a threadbare gypsy soul, and squatting in one place for six years has been tiresome.  Where’s the adventure?  Where’s the NEW?

Now that we have our assignment and report-no-later-than date of August 15th, I have been scouring the internet for houses all over the Olympia and Tacoma areas.  I’ve seen new construction and gentrified turn-of-the-centuries.  I’ve seen sprawling five-bedroom monsters and down-sizing bungalows.  I’ve looked at houses, condos, townhouses, and even apartments (if someone doesn’t buy our house in SC, we may end up in a studio to avoid the poor house).  I have left no real estate stone unturned.

And this is what I’ve learned.

Buying a new house is a little like dating.  In the beginning, this is what my dream house looked like:

• At least 4 bedrooms
• At least 2 bathrooms
• 2-car garage
• Playroom 
• Breakfast nook/eat-in with window seat and view 
• Fenced, landscaped backyard
• Landscaped frontyard
• Security system
• Master suite with his/her closets and sitting room and/or library
• Master bath jacuzzi tub and separate shower, dual sinks
• Laundry shoot
• Finished basement and/or attic
• Updated kitchen with stainless steel appliances
• Hardwood floors, carpeted bedrooms
• Close to highly rated elementary school
• Close to Target, Jamba Juice, restaurants, concert venues, and the public library
• Close to a county park, dog park, water, and mountains
• Close to friends who already live in WA

Much like what my dream man (if I was still in the dating world) would look like:

• Has a stable, secure job
• Has a good relationship with his family
• Has similar belief system: politics, religion
• Can articulate short-term and long-term personal goals
• Is comfortable with silence
• Is comfortable in a group of people he doesn’t know
• Is 6’ or taller
• Has dark skin, light eyes, straight teeth
• Is fit--healthy and muscular, but not so chiseled as to make me feel insecure
• Has good taste in music and movies, but not a hipster
• Loves to read--books, not just magazines
• Plays well with other people’s children
• Is well traveled
• Is open to living abroad
• Cooks, cleans, and doesn’t care if I don’t
• Doesn’t snore or sleepwalk
• Doesn’t use excessive amounts of tongue when kissing
• Doesn’t have flat feet
• Has strong, callused hands
• Doesn’t wear girl jeans
• Is a Yankees fan, or is open to becoming one
• Doesn’t like Nascar
• Can spell receive without using spellcheck

And just for fun:

Shut up.  He's my age in real life.

Okay, but there are rules.  You can only be Batman.  If you break character and Christian Bale starts talking to me, you're out.  Got it?

Every time.  Every single time.

Okay, fine.  But you've got the same rules as Christian.  Don't open your yapper.

Yes.

Sure, why not?

Now, I have several friends who are in or nearing their mid-thirties who are completely fine with being single, and that is great--and kind of rare in the middle of the country, but I also have a lot of friends whose ovaries are screaming at them, “PLEASE USE ME BEFORE I SHRIVEL!” and their lists have dwindled with time to:

• Breathes
• Has a job
• Doesn’t stink

Much like my house list has dwindled to:

• Has walls
• No dead bodies
• In Washington

Looking for houses was immensely thrilling when it was all theoretical, but now that I’m going to actually have to pick one--I am baffled.  I mean, it’s a good problem to have--there are SO many choices that I’m having a hard time figuring out exactly what I want.  

I have two friends, Sarah and Ali, who are both scouring their respective neighborhoods for the perfect house for us.  I kind of wish they would just pick one for me.  It could be like Extreme Makeover: Washington Air Force Edition, and I would just show up, and everything would be perfect (except I would probably reorganize the books on the shelves and take away a few of the extraneous knick-knacks, but other than that, PERFECT!).

What makes it harder is the doing it on my own part, and I keep having dreams that we get to our new house and major things are wrong--like there isn’t a kitchen or there’s someone else already living in it.  In these dreams, Scott looks at me with a furrowed brow that says, “No kitchen?  Really, Leia?  You didn’t think of that before we paid $4 million dollars for this townhouse?”

In all seriousness, I am ecstatic to be moving and looking forward to the stress of it all.  Now, who wants to help drive the U-haul across the country?  Anyone?

New Kind of Normal

Let me give you some examples of what happens when you google images for "normal":

You can thank me for not posting all the venereal disease pictures.  You're welcome.

Our living situation is, by suburban American middle class standards, slightly strange.  I mean, if we were living in a developing nation, the fact that we have three generations living under one roof including extended family members would be completely normal.  Of course, if we were living in a developing nation, it would be strange that we have three bedrooms, indoor plumbing, and a room that solely exists to hold our cars--so strange is relative, I guess.

When I made the decision to come back to OK for a few months, there were several factors:

1. We were putting our house on the market, and I thought it would be easier to show if there weren’t three people and a dog mucking it up all the time.
2. We had several events--weddings, fundraising dinners, birthday celebrations, births of children--that I didn’t want to miss, and I didn’t see the point in traveling back and forth several times in a few months.
3. Due to my husband’s six-month TDY and the stress of our impending (details withheld from us) move, I was going what could accurately be termed “batshit crazy,” and I thought it was best for my sanity and the safety of my children that we be around other people.

So, we packed up most of what we needed (I left all my winter shoes, stupidly thinking we were close enough to summer to need them...oh, how I miss my boots...) and headed west.  We’ve been in OK for a full month now, and I can say wholeheartedly that this was the BESTIDEAEVER.

Our trip coincided with my aunt’s move to OK.  Before I told my parents we were moving in, my parents had gladly welcomed her into their guest bedroom to help her while she transitioned to a new state--you know, to help her get on her feet while she looked for a job and “started over” in a new place.

So, here we are now.  My parents cleaned out closets and shifted furniture.  They made space on the pantry shelves and bought extra laundry detergent.  They are tucked away in the master suite.  Lyn is in the small extra bedroom, and the boys and I (and our three beds) are in the front bedroom.  It’s kind of like living in a sorority house.  Except I can’t really share clothes with anyone else.

Sometimes it feels like this.

Or this.

Or most applicably, like this.

There are, of course, some aches and pains that come with living in a house with six people.  (I know, I know--some of you are like...that’s how many people live in our house...what’s the big deal?  But you have to keep in mind that I am an only child.  The largest number of people I’ve ever lived with is FOUR--and that’s only been since Ben was born 2 1/2 years ago!)  

But I can honestly say the hiccups have been few.  At least for me, I think it helps to have healthy expectations about what it’s like to live in this new kind of normal--I’m probably not going to have as much alone time as I did when I lived in SC.  I have to be okay with sleeping on the couch if I want my own space OR living with the fact that I will end up with one or more children in my bed if I sleep in our bedroom.  I try my best to contribute--cleaning when I can, offering to do someone else’s laundry if I have a small load, and buying groceries often.

The pros of this situation FAR outweigh the cons.  Here are some examples:

1. When I was in SC, I would put the kids to bed and settle in with DVR’d TV or a good book.  This was great--I had all kinds of me time, something that a lot of moms don’t get.  But now, I have built in babysitters who can sit (or sleep) at the house giving me the option of meeting friends for a late dinner or drinks.  I can catch a Thunder game or play trivia or hang out with a hot chocolate at Barnes and Noble all by myself.  This freedom is something I don’t take for granted because it’s one of those surprising, unexpected gifts that I need to appreciate for this short time.
2. One of my best friends, Sarah, just gave birth to her third child.  Between us, this makes five kids, and this is the first time that either of us has been able to actually be at the hospital the day of the birth.  It’s a part of our friendship that was missing, and when I walked in and saw her deflating belly and tired eyes, my heart did jumping jacks.  For military families, we miss these moments.  All the time.  We get phone calls, or if we’re really lucky, we might get to Skype.  But most of the time, we miss these moments.  I feel so incredibly blessed.
3. Will and Ben are starting to get a whole new sense of what family means.  Growing up, I lived in OK, and my extended family lived in MO.  We didn’t live “close” by some standards, but we did A LOT of traveling back and forth.  I really feel like I grew up with my cousins and had good relationships with my aunts and uncles and grandparents because my parents made an effort to be with family as much as possible.  I have tried to do the same, but it’s a lot longer distance from SC to OK/MO, especially when we have been limited by the Air Force on the amount of traveling we could do.  But since we’ve been “home,” we’ve made up for lost time.  Out of curiosity, I had Will draw a picture of our family.  I gave him no instructions beyond: draw a picture of our family.  This is what he came up with:

As he got out the paper and markers, he said, “I’m going to draw a picture of our family at Halloween because I like holidays!”

The first thing I want to note is that Scott is still in the picture.  It sounds stupid, but I worried that he might forget Daddy.  This is one of those irrational fear things--that my children are going to forget their father because we never see him.  But, look!  There he is--front and center.  Dressed like the Hulk.

I am to his left--the one with the starred crown, dressed as Wonder Woman.  Will is to the left of that, dressed like Spiderman.  Ben is under us dressed as Mickey Mouse.

Now, I should say that the very first person he drew is the little pink figure to the right of our immediate family.  That’s Emma, my cousin Misty’s daughter, and she is pink and has a crown because as Will said, “My cuz LOVES Pinkalicious.”  My boys and Emma have only hung out a handful of times in their short lives, but this just proves how superduperawesome it is to have cousins.

Will also included my mom and dad in the far bottom right corner (I don’t know why they are so tiny!) dressed as a “boxing man” and “Mimi in her school suit.”  My uncle, Doug, is the one above my parents.  He was a late addition when Will realized he had forgotten to add “Captain America.”

On the far left, we have my cousins Drew, Hailey, and Claire (whom my boys ADORE in the way you do when you have totallyawesomeandcool older cousins) who are obviously dressed like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle and “girls in their swimsuits because they like to go to the beach.”

Last, he drew my aunts, Lisa and Lyn, and my cousin, Misty at the top left all in matching outfits.  When I asked him what their Halloween costumes were, he said, “They’re ballerinas.”  Naturally.

I told Will I was going to write a story about our family, and when he got home from school, he asked if he could read the story.  When I showed him this blog post, he said I got all the parts of the story right except I needed to add that “Hulk was carrying an invisible radio.”  So, that, I guess, is our story for now.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that there is nothing strange about this.  This is good.  Really, really good.