The Home Front

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So I watched President Obama’s address the other night - about Afghanistan and increasing troops and the strategy for the conflict.

Now, not to worry I’m not going to get too political here. In truth, I think I’d make a lousy politician – or at least a lousy partisan politician because I would be the ultimate wishy-washy-flip-flopper candidate. There are just a lot of issues I can see both sides of. And this conflict is one of them.

But, as I said, politics isn’t really what’s on my mind today. I’ve actually been thinking about war.

Take our country’s original war for example. The Declaration of Independence stands out as quite a polite method of announcing rebellion. Never has a war been so courteously declared. These thoughtful men almost seem regretful in their rebellion outlining a host of reasons and list of chastisements for their ruler, which led them, after much deliberation and debate to this regrettable conclusion: We, the undersigned respectfully resign from the British Empire and invite King George to…well, stick it if you please.

Boy, the rules of war sure have changed since 1776.

We are in an age where the world seems to be fighting scores of technically undeclared conflicts punctuated by exploding pizza parlors and roadside bombs. We can become so numb to the day to day violence that it’s hard to see through the noisy haze of the 24-hour news cycle to who exactly is paying for our fights – who has skin in the game if you will.

During WWII it was easier to tell. Almost everyone had a family member in the service. But more than that - the nation was at war and there wasn’t a single person that was unaffected by it. There were rubber drives and rationing, bond drives and blackouts. The whole nation shouldered the responsibility of shoring up the servicemen and women who were doing the fighting and dying overseas.

My brother is currently serving his second tour of duty in Iraq. He was originally there for a year, came home for about a year and a half and has been called up again for active duty for another year and a half. Bro is a reservist. He signed up for the Army Reserve after high school as a way to help him pay for college. He did his one weekend a month and two weeks a year for 25 years before he was called up for active duty. Now you can kind of do the math yourself there. He enlisted after high school, which is coming up on almost 30 years ago now. So he’s not one of the young whippersnappers running behind a tank or anything. He is support staff for the troops and helping with transportation and Human Resources. But he still had to leave his wife and his life to fly half way around the world to a country where much of the population would happily be willing to blow him and his friends up to do his duty. Not to mention that he is self employed and had to leave his business, which ceased to exist because of course he wasn’t there to run it. So, when he came back after his first tour, he started up another business which he had to leave again to go and serve his country. My Bro knew what he was signing up for. It’s what he trained for and he’s willing, perhaps not eager, but willing to fulfill his responsibility even though it’s coming at some pretty significant personal cost.

How many of us have been personally touched by the war? I guess I can count myself because of my brother. But besides emails, a few packages and worrying about him being in Baghdad I haven’t had to make a lot of sacrifices. I still have gas in my tank and no ration card. I don’t hear air raid sirens outside at night or have blackout curtains on my windows. I haven’t had to give up nylons or sugar or beef.

I’m not trying to initialize a debate about whether we should be fighting in the Middle East. Nor to I want to go back to the good-old-days of rationing. But like it or not, our nation is at war and when I think about my brother and so many of the other soldiers, I can’t help but feel like the burden of the war isn’t evenly spread. Not like the conflicts of the past. We have a volunteer military, so those who are serving chose to serve. And the thought of reinstating the draft scares me to death because my boys would be right in the middle of that.

I guess my argument today is simply that we need more opportunities for the rest of us to serve as well – a Home Front. As a nation we celebrate and we mourn together. Our defeats are softened and our victories are sweeter if we do them together. As a nation we should share the responsibility to win together because we will lose together.

A Magical 8-Ball, Please

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My youngest son is pure entertainment these days. At 18 months old, a few of the more discernible things he says to us are 'yeah' and 'no' and 'huh?', so the kids have taken to asking him questions to determine their fate. It's sort of like having our own real-life Magic 8 Ball.

Wouldn't it be awesome if those things really worked? For people like myself who struggle to make decisions a truly magical Magic 8 Ball would be welcomed. One which could answer questions beyond the limits of yes/no answers would be at the top of my Christmas list.

Just the other day my 5-year-old boy was asking some questions of our little 18-month-old magic ball of knowledge and the answers (amidst much giggling) were remarkably accurate.

Am I a boy? Yeah.

Is mom a girl? Yeah.

Do you wear diapers? Yeah.

(giggling) Does mom wear diapers? No.

Is mom a crazy cuckoo? Yeah.

You see what I mean? It's uncanny how accurate his answers are. But when I try asking him things everything seems to go awry...

Which store has the best price on milk right now? Huh?

What should I make for dinner tonight? No.

Where did you hide my keys? (quizzical look)

As cute as our little ball of answers is, he is definitely not the solution to remedy my lack of decision-making ability. So if anyone happens upon a truly Magical 8-Ball in the course of their holiday shopping, can you pick me up an extra?

I'll even pay the shipping...

(I'd love to hear what's at the top of YOUR Christmas list this year!)

Perspective

Pin It I’ve come to realize that life is all about perspective. The direction by which we look at a situation can make all of the difference in how we respond to that circumstance.

“If you fail this test, you’ll probably need to retake the entire class.”

News? Horrible.

“You failed, it turns out that you’ll need to retake the test again.”

News? Fabulous.

What is it which makes this fantastic news instead of awful?

Well, like I said earlier, it really all depends on the perspective by which we see it; the proverbial side of the situation we’re getting it from.

“You might have a tumor.”

Devastating.

“It turns out that you have chronic headaches, and will need to take medication for the rest of your life to combat it.”

Suddenly, it’s the best news I’ve ever heard.

I am—even now—becoming convinced that perhaps we should always be shaken with the worst-case scenario in all situations. That way, when we hear the true outcome of events we will feel grateful for the results, instead of grunt reproachfully and cry out that life simply isn’t fair.

Sometimes it helps us to feel gratitude when we realize that it could have been far worse.

Case in point:

I was driving on the freeway recently when—after operating with no previous problems—steam blew out from under the hood in all directions like a splay from Old Faithful in Yellowstone National Park.

I pulled to the off ramp, noticing my ‘heat’ gage immediately shooting up to maximum capacity, burying itself in the top corner of my instrumental panel.

I fought the rush-hour traffic and pulled aside, switching off the ignition. I popped the hood and looked at the engine. A hose going to the radiator had completely exploded, coating the underside of the hood with a milky-looking liquid. This did not fare well, and I felt a crushing blow to my stomach like a punch from Mike Tyson.

I snatched up my cell phone and dialed my mechanic.

He said that I might have blown the head gasket.

The extreme heat might even have cracked the engine block itself.

With both of these horrific scenarios spiraling though my mind, I groaned inwardly envisioning a dozen or so winged hundred dollar bills zooming out of my already destitute bank account.

The tow truck came. My car went. I was vehicleless…what a sad and sorry place to be.

Like an anxious relative awaiting results at the hospital, I waited for the final prognosis from the mechanic the next day. I checked my phone periodically. Then, in the mid-afternoon, the prognosis came.

The radiator was cracked.

Under normal situations I’d have been somewhere between ‘holy crap’ and serious blunt force trauma; however, I was euphoric. Only a cracked radiator which would need replacing?

Brilliant.

After a few measly hundred bucks (compared to the alternative), I found myself driving from the repair shop in a car which purred like a kitten.

Life; it’s all about perspective, isn’t it? Truly, how we see the situation can indeed make all the difference in the world.

Reversals

Pin It What is the measure of a man? Of a woman, for that matter?

I had an opportunity recently to ponder these questions when my daughter had a sleepover with a friend she doesn't get to spend a lot of time with a few nights ago. In the course of picking her up in the morning and exchanging the usual idle chitchat, I became aware of some changes in her friend's family's circumstances.

Her mother announced, a sad twist to her lips, that they would probably be putting their house on the market in the next few months. "You know. Just to pay the bills." She was trying to make light of the situation, but it's not easy to cover something as heavy as financial stress with humor. I was startled--we'd been in a different school system last year, had been somewhat on the fringes of things, and I genuinely had no idea that they were suffering any reversals.

She explained readily enough. Over the last year or so, this family had--like many others--taken a beating by the economic downturn. Dad's job in the mortgage industry went to pot, and he was subsequently forced to take other less lucrative positions to support his family.

I left feeling slightly stunned. The financial bottom had fallen out of their world.

This couple had taken up the gauntlet thrown at them by circumstance unflinchingly, though, and had done what needed to be done. Mom had increased her hours in her own job as she was allowed. Dad was managing a local pizza joint--a step down that would be unthinkable for many that had previously held a position such as his, but one he made with good humor and the knowledge that not only was he providing in the material sense, but also in the sense of setting an example for his children. And now they were ready to sell their home to make things easier--to do, simply, whatever it took.

The bottom might have fallen out, but they were rebuilding it, one little block at a time. That, to me, spoke volumes about the measure of this man and this woman--this team. I don't think you ever truly see the measure of a person, or a team, until they hit rock bottom, and have to pick themselves up. Sometimes they lay there for a while, sluggish and disoriented, before they stagger to their feet and begin to climb. Sometimes they leap up like a runner sliding into home, carrying a trail of dust behind them. Sometimes they never rise, and thus never prove themselves.

I thought about this family a lot over the course of the last week. It was actually a very interesting week--one where tradition was upset by family illness and I ended up in a cabin in the Smokies, hoping to get all of my Christmas shopping done. Instead of a home-cooked Thanksgiving meal we ate at Cracker Barrel (gag--sorry, but their sweet potato casserole just does not measure up), and goofed off at MagiQuest and mini-golf and the movies. And then I waited until midnight, when the outlet center would open, waited for the mad rush and the jockeying for position amidst the lines and parking spaces and the shoulder to shoulder crowds.

I just couldn't do it, though. This family, and a couple of others that I'm involved with helping out for Christmas, just kept coming to mind, and I actually felt kind of guilty that I had money to spend, and the spirit to do it. The parking lot, which was full of people camping out at nine p.m., sort of bugged me. When midnight arrived, I sat down at my computer in my pjs, and did some half-hearted online special hunting for a while, then went to bed.

When I rose the next morning, I was clear-eyed. I had my list of needs for the two families I was helping with--seven children all together, four boys and three girls. It was okay that I had some money to part with...after all--here were some kids who had some needs. It was time to shop.

Those Were The Days...

Pin It GUEST BLOGGER: TRISH

Trish is the married mother of four girls and one lonely boy, but is sure it should have been the other way around as she knows nothing about being girly, growing up a tomboy herself. She is a transplanted Californian and will forever miss the ocean. The mountains in her present town are wonderful and majestic, but the beach will always be her home. Trish is a lover of road trips and all things Dr. Pepper; a volleyball mom, football mom and sometimes losing-her-mind-mom. But it's all good.

My teenage kids are going to hell (gasp)... and apparently, I am driving the bus.

Some may say I am a defacer, a vandalizer, a disrespector of shrubs and bushes... call me what you will, I take no offense. I was, once upon a time, the queen of toilet papering (with a few other queens in tow).

And it appears that the time has come to pass along the torch.

Now understand, I feel no shame in this. I actually quite relish the official-ness of it all. I take great pride in passing along my tricks of the trade, so to speak. I will even go so far as to drive the get-away car if necessary; that is, as long as I am home and tucked into bed by 9:30. Otherwise they're on their own.

No, I am not just trying to be the "cool mom"...although that does have a nice ring to it. Nor am I just trying to live vicariously through my kids (okay, that one is probably a lie). I am simply trying to teach my kids that there is more fun to be had than sitting in front of the boob tube or doing whatever else it is that kids are doing these days. And if you think about it, toilet papering is an art form, really. I guess one could say I am encouraging my kids to use their creative minds and at the same time exposing them to all things cultural.

The nostalgia of it all warms my heart. I think that this is a memory every kid should carry with them... even us big kids.

It is harmless fun, after all...

Isn't it, mom?