tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85753302024-03-13T20:13:22.045-05:00UNCLE SAM ATE MY BABYAn Army Mom's Thoughts on Her Soldier Son's Time in Service to His Country.StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.comBlogger235125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-26597345432030141802022-12-02T08:53:00.000-06:002022-12-02T08:53:39.074-06:00Josh Groban - Bring Him Home [Official Music Video]<iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/fXnRf3TQcpk" width="480"></iframe><div><br /></div><div>God has lead me to post this final post for any parent with a child serving in the military. Sometimes we don't know how to pray for them. This song from Les Miserables might help.</div>StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-31325480208740163162010-02-20T11:44:00.004-06:002010-02-20T15:57:59.334-06:00Blogging Again<a href="http://www.calivalleygirl.blogspot.com/">CaliValleyGirl</a> posted a comment to my last posting from back in June so I have decided to revive this dead blog. Heck, who knew anybody was still reading? As my header states, I am supposed to be chronicling my sons enlistment...well...I did okay for a while. He is due to get out of the Army later this year, so I guess I am still obligated to blog. So here I am again.<br /><br />Let's see - what excitement have I had in the past few months. Not much really. Thanks to Uncle Sam and the brand new "Stop-Loss" rules that went into effect on January 1st of this year, Sprout has been spared another deployment. His group is set to return to Iraq very soon but he will not be with them. He has already begun his out-processing and as far as I am concerned, he cannot out-process fast enough. Six years of serving your country is nothing to spit at and I continue to tell him how proud he should be. And he is proud of his service. But I worry that he may have some hesitation about not deploying with his unit this time. The Army has a way of making soldiers feel guilty. But he has served his country well, having deployed to Korea for a year and Iraq for more than a year, so I would say he has paid his dues. No one can say that he has not done his required duty. And as I tell him often, he has done a heck of a lot more than most in this country have done. The pride of his service to his country is something he has earned through his own hard work and he will carry that with him always. And rightly so. As this chapter comes to a close, I have learned a new meaning of the word "pride"...this mother's heart swells with it.<br /><br />IN OTHER NEWS: In the past two weeks, I have had somewhat of a connection to the space program. The sister of a friend that I graduated from high school with is currently on the space shuttle, about to return from spending the last two weeks on the International Space Station. How cool it that? She was part of the mission to install a new room "with a view" on the space station. It's called "Tranquility" and includes the coolest seven-window cupola that now gives the astronauts a totally awesome view of Earth. I have been addicted to NASA tv for the past few nights following all the excitement and I have learned so much about space and the space station and zero-gravity and all kinds of stuff. Did you know astronauts don't wear shoes on the space station, they float around in their socks. Why? I don't know. So they don't accidentally bop each other in the teeth with their shoes, I guess. Anyway, it's worth checking out at the <a href="http://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/shuttle/shuttlemissions/sts130/multimedia/gallery/gallery-index.html">NASA image gallery</a>. Too-o-o cool.StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-27385163250969317242010-01-02T18:00:00.002-06:002010-02-20T15:36:52.008-06:00SOMETHING ELSE IN MY DRAFT FILE<strong>WELCOME NEW YEAR</strong><br /><br /><div>Well, one of my new year resolutions is to blog again. I don't know why...it just is. Anyway, here I am again and life is good. Sprout and Sproutette were home for Christmas and my quiver was full. We had seven warm bodies waking up here on Christmas morning. I love a full house. The grandkids were here and Cousin Pedro and I am still grinning from the joy.</div>StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-30816233096276644362009-06-30T18:07:00.005-05:002010-02-20T15:34:29.811-06:00THINGS IN MY DRAFT FILEHere are things I started to post but for some reason never did. Go figure.<br /><br /><strong>STOP GROWING!!!</strong><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitnTc0lw2-iSoIPffpgliSnIPdQhHHF5xSaKAPnpG3p-luu-uFYAduDAqJKwyuYNhyphenhyphenxOHxisVNeb4lKXc_nKvgopHUw_RW0JgEkhzYs9edwnhWJrPwIoS0JJFy7JVgEhSTstC1cQ/s1600-h/P1010003.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440441129599659266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitnTc0lw2-iSoIPffpgliSnIPdQhHHF5xSaKAPnpG3p-luu-uFYAduDAqJKwyuYNhyphenhyphenxOHxisVNeb4lKXc_nKvgopHUw_RW0JgEkhzYs9edwnhWJrPwIoS0JJFy7JVgEhSTstC1cQ/s320/P1010003.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8-dxdVfk41NMRhH9zL0UG3h1L_zDSse26Qh6LHBvG20APlGCYNASn-iEGjlf9VK0BwLNBgZXP_YkqCUMxb8aOH88-wCajacRbg6nSvczKa4k8C3scfX10SwiViW0FqzKReewciQ/s1600-h/P1010008.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440440859565307298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8-dxdVfk41NMRhH9zL0UG3h1L_zDSse26Qh6LHBvG20APlGCYNASn-iEGjlf9VK0BwLNBgZXP_YkqCUMxb8aOH88-wCajacRbg6nSvczKa4k8C3scfX10SwiViW0FqzKReewciQ/s320/P1010008.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div>Here are my grandkids, dressed for a cousins wedding and looking so grown up. Sgt. York is going to be a lady-killer, I can tell...broken hearts just waiting to happen. The Little General is all girl. She prefers pink fluffy, dangly stuff over anything else. What am I going to do when they are all grown up? </div></div>StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-67677072633581297082009-06-14T21:20:00.005-05:002009-06-14T21:38:13.878-05:00ORDINARINESSI had a long call from Sprout the other night. He just called to say "Hey" and to catch up on all the latest gossip. It was a good, ordinary call and it was good to hear him laugh. I need to stop taking ordinary for granted and be thankful for dull days. Ordinary is good. We need more ordinariness.<br /><br />Okay, I've dwelled on that long enough. Here is something a little out of the ordinary. This is a picture of two little girls wearing one dress - fifty years apart. The little girls are my sister and her first grandchild. The first picture is faded with age so the dresses look different colors, but I assure you, it is the same dress. Kind of neat, huh?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMeY6fKN6wVQa1fsXRo6b8vKHBHWJbZ0GdhJVPp8W_DQb3ZA0IQgRN0D6I88os7fTscEkCtBw5VXdR6yA8zPGLu1q7Oh2_z-yOr3bL9_Vw3K-uAYMZNnH8-XS2hV8E9yts2eaUaQ/s1600-h/Bridget+%26+Sarah-2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347376734541801474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 317px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMeY6fKN6wVQa1fsXRo6b8vKHBHWJbZ0GdhJVPp8W_DQb3ZA0IQgRN0D6I88os7fTscEkCtBw5VXdR6yA8zPGLu1q7Oh2_z-yOr3bL9_Vw3K-uAYMZNnH8-XS2hV8E9yts2eaUaQ/s400/Bridget+%26+Sarah-2.JPG" border="0" /></a>StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-21588154187545317112009-06-12T08:13:00.004-05:002009-06-12T08:55:19.321-05:00The Absent BloggerSorry it's been six months since I have blogged but I just have not been in the mood. And a whole lot of nothing is going on around here. Sprout is home safely from Iraq and I am able to breath again and incoming oxygen is a wonderful thing. I just haven't wanted to do anything else but inhale and exhale. My oxygen level is finally back to normal.<br /><br />Sprout's time in the war zone was spent well - or rather he accomplished a lot. He worked hard, they didn't lose any soldiers and he earned a promotion. He went before the promotion board in Iraq and he started the new year with a new rank. And you can call him <em><strong>Sergeant Sprout</strong></em>. He is most certainly not the boy he was when he joined the Army in 2004. In some ways I wish that he still was. He is more serious now, more intense, quieter. When we saw him in December, just after he redeployed, I only saw him smile once or twice. His wife told me that the holiday bustle made him a little nervous at first, the crowds and everything. Since then, when I talk to him on the phone, he is usually tired from working long hours and work distracts him a lot. Now that he has soldiers that he is responsible for, he is working harder than ever to make sure they have what they need and that they learn what is important. He likes being an NCO but it is not as easy as it looks. He especially likes the respect he has earned. And while he has changed so much, I do still hear the pre-Army Sprout on occasion when he is relaxed and rested. He does still have laughter in there somewhere and it is slowly creeping back up to the surface.<br /><br />Unfortunately, another possible deployment looms in the near future and his mind is constantly on that. It must be hard to go back and forth from <em>battle-ready mode</em> to <em>every-day work mode </em>without losing your grip. I'll be glad when he can let it all go and get to living a normal life.<br /><br />In the meantime, my grandkids are growing like weeds. What is happening here? Sir Duke gave me some of the sweetest grand-children on Earth but they are growing up waaaaay too fast...he must be using Miracle-Grow. <br /><br />The Little General<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj07KjF_4iT03lTFDIKwpqzJ2-BCTqNe5yjxuv4TBRQH9EF2bqIot_FIyBiNtVB2CxvSGG9-4_U6_2TmWF2-I5sR33T27I9ck1MANoRvc2vklnQcqLG7V8_nXo_A9NDgBy8LtVg1A/s1600-h/Abbey-2nd+Grade.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346436299535528514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 296px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj07KjF_4iT03lTFDIKwpqzJ2-BCTqNe5yjxuv4TBRQH9EF2bqIot_FIyBiNtVB2CxvSGG9-4_U6_2TmWF2-I5sR33T27I9ck1MANoRvc2vklnQcqLG7V8_nXo_A9NDgBy8LtVg1A/s400/Abbey-2nd+Grade.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Sgt. York, 3rd Grade Stud-Muffin<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnBQiRkOlbniUDEcAl-diSdhvr3BHC9URLjNgzjeKSfAyuj150xLzqYJPmUrxpxOlJyK6Z5Ypfwnz_tZ8H_0hjhZ05n6e73hbEWWsUppe3quVTh5W1imZDymgtwpNdwETkspiNzw/s1600-h/Dominic-3rd+Grade.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346436952344887074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 282px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnBQiRkOlbniUDEcAl-diSdhvr3BHC9URLjNgzjeKSfAyuj150xLzqYJPmUrxpxOlJyK6Z5Ypfwnz_tZ8H_0hjhZ05n6e73hbEWWsUppe3quVTh5W1imZDymgtwpNdwETkspiNzw/s400/Dominic-3rd+Grade.jpg" border="0" /></a>StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-48129472733437738812008-12-31T14:57:00.009-06:002009-06-14T21:37:15.911-05:00GOODBYE, 2008. DON'T LET THE DOOR HIT YOU IN THE BUTT!So much to write, so few words. First of all, THANK GOD THIS YEAR IS OVER. Sprout is home and safe and adjusting well. But yesterday, his Dad did hear these words escape his lips: "I sort of miss Iraq". SAY WHAT? Actually, I think I understand what he means. Life in the US is boring compared to where he has been and it will take some time to settle back into a comfortable routine. Once he gets back to working regular hours after the holidays, I'm sure things will get more normal for him. For me, I am just glad to have him back.
<br />
<br />We spent Christmas with him and his wife's family. My daughter-in-law went above and beyond the call of duty, cooking meals for several days for 10 people, even cooking Christmas breakfast AND dinner. AND making stockings full of homemade candy for all of us. I don't know how she did it but it sure was nice. Meanwhile, Christmas here at home was hit and miss. We put up the tree and hung the wreath but that was about it. I missed being at home for Christmas. This was my first time ever being away from home on Christmas day it felt strange but we had a great time.
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOSZ0I9zXg4JaWF3ISnl-3CDanorBAwjYvCMUYBvh0F1q39510aVzznkeFmjSGYZLmo4lhnIL460Etb9fc4SLNlNWur9iQGrFqy0l7ian7eGh2yjPLypAd0ZvRlyCa62-Y8wa0ew/s1600-h/P1011949.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286071133270191394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOSZ0I9zXg4JaWF3ISnl-3CDanorBAwjYvCMUYBvh0F1q39510aVzznkeFmjSGYZLmo4lhnIL460Etb9fc4SLNlNWur9iQGrFqy0l7ian7eGh2yjPLypAd0ZvRlyCa62-Y8wa0ew/s320/P1011949.JPG" border="0" /></a>
<br />
<br />Sprout has become a hunter since leaving Iraq and killed his first deer the week he got home. He was so excited. For Christmas he got guns and knives and camping gear. I guess living with a loaded weapon at your side for fifteen months makes you feel kind of naked without one. Well, he shouldn't feel naked now. The man is armed and then some.
<br />
<br />Holding up the St. Louis Arch
<br />
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif5D6Gb3eAJwAjhCux0XBGJqITEUuV8Edjj63OG8LmmlzI923bQw0w4TxRoplFFMKA2DKrKTp7-qchvjh5u4flhAdRo2S714rWCvQjbYMXBIyxfjShyogAPV52Ie9Rk9-3b_HJlQ/s1600-h/P1011908.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286071583845453746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif5D6Gb3eAJwAjhCux0XBGJqITEUuV8Edjj63OG8LmmlzI923bQw0w4TxRoplFFMKA2DKrKTp7-qchvjh5u4flhAdRo2S714rWCvQjbYMXBIyxfjShyogAPV52Ie9Rk9-3b_HJlQ/s320/P1011908.JPG" border="0" /></a>
<br />We took Sgt. York and the Little General with us across the country and Santa followed right behind us. They traveled very well and we only had to get on to them once or twice. They got to see snow for the first time and that was way cool. But it is hard for children to be away from their parents at Christmas. By Christmas day they were ready to come home. So was I. I like to travel but I love to come home again. One touching moment happened on Christmas eve as we were driving around looking at the Christmas lights while killing time until supper was ready. Their dad called on the cell phone and I put it on speaker so that they could both talk to him. He asked how they were and if they were ready for Santa to come and he reminded them that Santa was still watching. Then he asked them if they wanted him to read "The Night Before Christmas". They did and after reminding the Little General not to talk while he read, he read the story to them while they both sat quietly, not saying a word. I wish I had a recording of that, he read it perfectly and I had to turn toward the window and blink my eyes a little to keep from crying. He was missing them as much as they were missing him. Anyway, we are home now and everybody is happy.
<br />
<br />Here are a few pictures of our tree and our trip. Life is good and 2009 is already looking to be better than 2008, at least for me.
<br />
<br />Looky what Santa Claus bought me. I'm a clock freak.
<br />
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihtXB-xtpJS9WBr972W5L_-YCSJfaME3DV-LazR3_rY0abiMoZnlQEC97VUhyMHOddds66Z967_Q7ET-pqNYLdUrW7iBAkw0E_sfa1KhOqnB0eZ5fXEpSzLvQsAw-Y3RPrpmJ4cg/s1600-h/P1010007.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286072527358054530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihtXB-xtpJS9WBr972W5L_-YCSJfaME3DV-LazR3_rY0abiMoZnlQEC97VUhyMHOddds66Z967_Q7ET-pqNYLdUrW7iBAkw0E_sfa1KhOqnB0eZ5fXEpSzLvQsAw-Y3RPrpmJ4cg/s320/P1010007.JPG" border="0" /></a>
<br />
<br />Since I wasn't home to put baby Jesus in the manger on Christmas day, I left the job up to our older son who was cat-sitting. I forgot to tell him where to find Jesus, so he made do the best he could.
<br />
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLLhRvaiJf-6fu-ajE0loNWqWUJt25MTaa59s86p0I5gdO9yEAWawcHVy-NUkqxwwtQqqGl1nhc5RJRm6Xa3rnGTLOksc1vkynqEKJTLncSQXH_01TPkCLbVWRB86vz8WMXb-Ymg/s1600-h/P1010011.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286072390176755746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLLhRvaiJf-6fu-ajE0loNWqWUJt25MTaa59s86p0I5gdO9yEAWawcHVy-NUkqxwwtQqqGl1nhc5RJRm6Xa3rnGTLOksc1vkynqEKJTLncSQXH_01TPkCLbVWRB86vz8WMXb-Ymg/s320/P1010011.JPG" border="0" /></a>
<br />
<br />Sgt York and the Little General enjoy the snow
<br />
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzAUxml5-Y7_txK2sDJd0l8zf515wYLx1GnRqLmIzzeZUMoPGOQsWS3RK96oocXkHO5FJvcmGXH3vVvsicDHqXD3BNI8AFF6Zr44vYbwFb1JMLUZGYu6rKweYXCHT9vivzJQi4UA/s1600-h/P1011927.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286072191803174018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzAUxml5-Y7_txK2sDJd0l8zf515wYLx1GnRqLmIzzeZUMoPGOQsWS3RK96oocXkHO5FJvcmGXH3vVvsicDHqXD3BNI8AFF6Zr44vYbwFb1JMLUZGYu6rKweYXCHT9vivzJQi4UA/s320/P1011927.JPG" border="0" /></a>
<br />
<br />Our tree
<br />
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzT_6BKm6d8FnX0RSBbFL_Aa1WPZWoFoFQsEb63Goqm9OZJ8jFhrZl3R2NaxW3TuJhtgzX6mxiAJKv9JUCR0VU_gizlnJ379U8e7LaOixyURAihuesrBiGg9PN8w6-TGO2OgVKcQ/s1600-h/P1010004.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286072040067223554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzT_6BKm6d8FnX0RSBbFL_Aa1WPZWoFoFQsEb63Goqm9OZJ8jFhrZl3R2NaxW3TuJhtgzX6mxiAJKv9JUCR0VU_gizlnJ379U8e7LaOixyURAihuesrBiGg9PN8w6-TGO2OgVKcQ/s320/P1010004.JPG" border="0" /></a>
<br />
<br />The Mantle
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9rKvx4HJWeAHl3XopzgvwjIMDp8JXeBhIX-qvxtCh6oYDYHPVtlAs3MR6OuJPW8YlKNkeas-8_jYNbD0VcehzwX8ezqIuxgbIhYcFseTi4k1Y-6dVeXisbtuQ4KkFqN_yZX1zQ/s1600-h/P1010005.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286074845622752098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9rKvx4HJWeAHl3XopzgvwjIMDp8JXeBhIX-qvxtCh6oYDYHPVtlAs3MR6OuJPW8YlKNkeas-8_jYNbD0VcehzwX8ezqIuxgbIhYcFseTi4k1Y-6dVeXisbtuQ4KkFqN_yZX1zQ/s320/P1010005.JPG" border="0" /></a>
<br />
<br />More snow pictures
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqSodZ7BfjM0LLBrTfOb-PiBuAGanzz7-mGWysZb2NIYt-nqJgywYWuOS_n2UlOk-4wwsOdmcESNf5PS4u4Is7Io7N5CH7wPuL_lLYPWQtcLdiSZF5TBqNcUzMtgEUvlXuS9VdHg/s1600-h/P1011919.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqSodZ7BfjM0LLBrTfOb-PiBuAGanzz7-mGWysZb2NIYt-nqJgywYWuOS_n2UlOk-4wwsOdmcESNf5PS4u4Is7Io7N5CH7wPuL_lLYPWQtcLdiSZF5TBqNcUzMtgEUvlXuS9VdHg/s320/P1011919.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286075643409389346" /></a>
<br />StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-74452484821920422212008-11-27T21:15:00.005-06:002008-12-05T16:50:44.068-06:00Thanksgiving Indeed"Home is the sailor, home from the sea<br />And the hunter home from the wood."<br /><br /><br /><br />Sprout is home from Iraq after 15 long and hot months. He arrived just in time to eat the Thanksgiving turkey his wife has debated thawing for several days, not knowing for sure if he would make it in time for Thanksgiving. He made it.<br /><br />We are giving thanks.StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-1560440972190655682008-11-24T21:53:00.004-06:002008-11-24T22:08:16.478-06:00Free Signs for Soldiers<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3lVMfrTnlgcNw2q_2dycMtkLfIW_HyCxhYYywZuiBEsVR4lpHAK75-wcJrRHJiDKRtvTnCvWU_IUbuBgRNlwgDWxMiWoG7I1ArnFcuMuZTVWBrwIuJ8M7yRnfxpoWsPaKYpCx6w/s1600-h/Proof.png"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272441650085048194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3lVMfrTnlgcNw2q_2dycMtkLfIW_HyCxhYYywZuiBEsVR4lpHAK75-wcJrRHJiDKRtvTnCvWU_IUbuBgRNlwgDWxMiWoG7I1ArnFcuMuZTVWBrwIuJ8M7yRnfxpoWsPaKYpCx6w/s400/Proof.png" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>For anybody who has someone deployed, there is a <a href="http://www.buildasign.com/Troops">sign company</a> that is giving away 20,000 FREE welcome home signs for soldiers. On their website, you customize your sign (and can even add a picture) and they do the rest. I paid extra to get mine sent quickly and it was here in 3 days. These are high quality vinyl signs. If you have someone deployed or deploying, now would be a good time to get one of these. Hurry up, they are going fast.<br /><br />You do have to pay for shipping, but it is well worth it. I love this company.</div>StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-6141096006929649362008-11-22T14:03:00.005-06:002008-11-22T21:25:20.586-06:00VICTORY!!!Sorry this is so late, but it's been one of those days.<br /><br />The war in Iraq is over. WE WON! And my boy helped. Let the parade begin. We are a nation of good people and we choose our battles wisely and our soldiers are taught to finish the job right.<br /><br />Now there is yet ANOTHER country that owes the United States a debt of gratitude. Thanks to those mighty warriors that go to battle for us and never complain, there are mothers in Iraq whose children sleep as safely in Iraq as our children sleep in this country.<br /><br />God Bless the USA.<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/bjdwyJVGx30&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/bjdwyJVGx30&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-18676874999692625932008-11-20T21:19:00.007-06:002008-11-21T05:58:22.795-06:00A Patriotic SongThe other night, Sgt. York's school had a PTO meeting and all the 3rd grade classes were asked to perform for the parents. They did a patriotic show, which is the first patriotic show I have seen at a public school since...well, since I was in school. Just before the show started, Sgt. York was on stage and caught my eye and pointed to the back of the room. I turned and saw what he was pointing at...the Dad of one of the students, a soldier dressed in his ACU's. I think he is the only soldier for miles around. We are not a military town, but I was glad to see him there. Sgt. York can pick a soldier out of a crowd of thousands. Anyway, Sgt. York is the blond boy in the white shirt on the end of the bleachers closest to the camera. I enjoyed this. I hope you will too.<br /><OBJECT class=BLOG_video_class id=BLOG_video-1b8db1c58f02a6a1 height=266 width=320 contentId="1b8db1c58f02a6a1"></OBJECT>StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-78493586970714982132008-11-19T20:08:00.010-06:002008-11-22T14:03:36.719-06:00Missing MamaIf my mother were alive, she would be 73 years old today. God, I miss her. She was always a "fall" person, pointing out the approach of the holidays by the stacks of little plastic bowls of green, red and yellow candied fruits in the grocery store. I still get sentimental when I see those candied fruits. She got absolutely giddy whenever she bought the Thanksgiving turkey and she lived for Christmas. Mama just reveled in the atmosphere of a holiday. She instilled that in all her children and we, in turn, instill it in ours. She was a happy person and she treated everybody fair. I hate that my grandkids never got to meet her. She would get such a kick out of the Little General and Sgt. York and all their antics.<br /><br />And Mama would be so, so proud of Sprout. She always liked him and his tossled red hair. Heck, when he was ten, she gave him a pony. A LIVE pony! And I will never forget her helping him to learn the poem "When The Frost Is On The Punkin" for a school assignment. She loved that poem and when she died, among her few cherished things was a copy of that poem written in Sprout's boyish handwriting. I will never be as good a grandmother as she was. And she was a better mother than she was a grandmother. I have some huge shoes to fill.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBedZCi_UL5Am1qk8oIx6x9FymISXEcdTxKCAw_YTH_y_rpPddPbVNZY8A2zpViNC3WncfpAyIvTuhjYTGeK4omhzmm26aG4qs2VtlNo7OovZj8eeU5UmrBGWQrCNHPRqSGMsAZA/s1600-h/mama_toolen+photoshopped.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270556213544193810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 283px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBedZCi_UL5Am1qk8oIx6x9FymISXEcdTxKCAw_YTH_y_rpPddPbVNZY8A2zpViNC3WncfpAyIvTuhjYTGeK4omhzmm26aG4qs2VtlNo7OovZj8eeU5UmrBGWQrCNHPRqSGMsAZA/s400/mama_toolen+photoshopped.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p><br />Mama gave birth to 10 children, all but one of us lived to adulthood. We had the usual growing pains that most young folks go through, but over all, we turned out all right. That's not to say that Mama's life was always easy, it wasn't. And things were not always hunky-dory but she made the best of whatever she had. The hardest thing she ever endured was the death of a child, and that one incident put all other problems in her life in their proper prospective. I imagine Sprout's experience in the war will have about the same effect. Huge, hard dealings have a way of doing that. It's tough, but it makes us a better, stronger person in the end. </p><p>Falling leaves and chilly mornings will always remind me of Mama and as long as I am able, no matter if there are just 1, or 101 people around my table at Thanksgiving, I will cook a whole turkey, just for the smell. The smell reminds me of Mama. Thanks to her I love this time of year and I will always celebrate the holidays like she did, with all the smells and sounds and sights that make them special. Good mothers teach their children well.</p><p>Happy birthday Mama, this one is for you.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#009900;"><strong>When The Frost Is On The Punkin</strong><br />by James Whitcomb Riley</span></p><p><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#009900;">When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,<br />And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,<br />And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,<br />And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;<br />O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best,<br />With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,<br />As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,<br />When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.<br /><br />They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere<br />When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here--<br />Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,<br />And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;<br />But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze<br />Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days<br />Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock--<br />When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.<br /><br />The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,<br />And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;<br />The stubble in the furries--kindo' lonesome-like, but still<br />A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;<br />The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;<br />The hosses in theyr stalls below--the clover over-head!--<br />O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,<br />When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!<br /><br />Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps<br />Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;<br />And your cider-makin' 's over, and your wimmern-folks is through<br />With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! ...<br />I don't know how to tell it--but ef sich a thing could be<br />As the Angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me--<br />I'd want to 'commodate 'em--all the whole-indurin' flock--<br />When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!</span></p>StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-87595048674981526402008-11-17T18:33:00.007-06:002008-11-17T19:26:42.598-06:00VICTORY IN IRAQ DAY - November 22, 2008<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqu2O01Ynw0p55LXDkAjwfi6dDgkrUUp2BZvoFcD0ZVGPlYryPfQZpxXxYcgwegHl9-io42pwOlb1d09Dp5xxLZzF1B5dKfSP4TZ1HLSe9lY_tm9-Al0alZLFWc6C-qJMmRlVZ6A/s1600-h/victory.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269789362497543762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 167px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqu2O01Ynw0p55LXDkAjwfi6dDgkrUUp2BZvoFcD0ZVGPlYryPfQZpxXxYcgwegHl9-io42pwOlb1d09Dp5xxLZzF1B5dKfSP4TZ1HLSe9lY_tm9-Al0alZLFWc6C-qJMmRlVZ6A/s400/victory.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />With my son's redeployment fast approaching, I have been afraid of blogging about it for fear of jinxing his homecoming. I have a great fear of breaching some OPSEC (operational security) rule that I don't know about and unintentionally causing some harm to come to any of our dear soldiers. I am <em>almost</em> certain that I probably am not privy to any information that might be used by our enemies to hurt our warriors, but I don't know that for sure. As a lowly "soldier mom", I just don't know what is safe and what is not. So, until my young-un's boots are safe on American soil, I will remain fairly silent, for safety's sake.<br /><br />Having said that, I have found something that I CAN blog about. A blogger named <a href="http://www.zombietime.com/vi_day/">Zombie</a> is spear-heading a drive to pronounce "Victory in Iraq" day on November 22, 2008. He's doing this because, well frankly, no one else will. He explains it all on his website. Basically, since the media do not want President Bush to appear to have a success under his wings, they will not promote Victory in Iraq Day...heck, they won't even admit that the war is won. And the new administration certainly won't admit victory, since Obama has already stated that the surge was a failure. Hmmm? Mighty funny-looking failure to me. My son is part of that surge and it seems to me that the US mission has basically switched from a mission of defense to a peace-keeping mission. Coincidental that it occurred while MY son was there? I think not.<br /><br />Anyway, this coming Saturday, November 22, 2008, please join in a virtual ticker-tape parade for our soldiers by having a "VI Day" post on your blog. Be sure to link to Zombie's web page so that he can add you to his list of participants. It's up to us, the American public who KNOW that this war is won to honor the people who did it so well. Start cutting and pasting the virtual confetti and grab up the cyber serpentine. There's going to be one hellacious parade this weekend. Yee Haw!!!StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-58876416869444536422008-10-31T22:36:00.003-05:002008-11-17T19:29:26.841-06:00It's Almost OverSorry I haven't posted in so long, but I'm afraid I might jinx everything. Sprout is busy preparing to head home and it won't be long now. He has been real busy working and he is more than ready to end this deployment. Sproutette is ready too. Hopefully, he'll be home by Christmas and we are planning to take the kids and head on out for a very happy Christmas.<br /><br />For the time being, I am sort of holding my breath, keeping my fingers crossed, and squenching my eyes shut tight so that nothing happens to interfere with Sprouts homecoming. Soon we can relax, but for now it's just hold on tight.<br /><br />Counting down the days.StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-60321126295532535762008-10-02T05:32:00.002-05:002008-10-02T05:49:51.523-05:00The Best Calling Home Website for Deployed SoldiersSince Sprout has been in Iraq, one thing that has gone consistently well are communications. Because of where he is at, he has had access to phone service the entire time, so we have stayed in constant touch with him or at least his wife has. At first I was buying phone cards and mailing them over as part of his care packages, but early on he found out about <a href="http://oif.spawareurope.net/">THIS</a> website and it has been a Godsend. I took it upon myself to make sure that he always had a way to call home. With the SPAWAR website, I was able to establish an account, give him the code and he can use it to call home anytime he wants to. And best of all, every couple of weeks I can go to the website, check out how much money is left on his account and add more anytime it's needed. This has been the best gift I could give him while he is there and he has thanked me for it over and over again.<br /><br />I just thought there might be other folks out there looking for best ways to provide their soldiers with phone calls. This is the easiest way I have found.StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-32334340609503530762008-09-27T17:54:00.003-05:002008-09-27T17:56:52.164-05:00My Sagging Yellow RibbonFifteen months is a really, really, really long time. I am so ready for this year to be over.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMyH9sd9RcpC868d8xciGLWm1F1EWszEIwnxGjMZ2fL1-bmEIGeYPXpgcx-bSHjBh0Cn8UezjekfLSTSgkKrpotl5uqM0QLqbdGer68qRF4mLVhkSuLfw_LC-Hr8VgZkaQ_JmwZg/s1600-h/P1011864.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250838596462546322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMyH9sd9RcpC868d8xciGLWm1F1EWszEIwnxGjMZ2fL1-bmEIGeYPXpgcx-bSHjBh0Cn8UezjekfLSTSgkKrpotl5uqM0QLqbdGer68qRF4mLVhkSuLfw_LC-Hr8VgZkaQ_JmwZg/s400/P1011864.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />My yellow ribbon needs a hug-ectomy.StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-81926180048085585642008-09-12T16:18:00.003-05:002008-09-12T16:23:21.720-05:00John McCain for PresidentI heard about this guy's video on Rush Limbaugh's show today. Wow! Be sure you watch it all the way to the end. <br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Na509XTw3CY&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Na509XTw3CY&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-3659194318546474432008-09-04T05:39:00.003-05:002008-09-04T05:47:36.707-05:00The Most Powerful Moment in PoliticsLast night during the Republican National Convention while Sarah Palin gave her speech accepting the nomination for Vice-President, her little daughter, Piper, held her sleeping baby brother and did what any big sister would do during such an important moment. I watched this and laughed out loud. You gotta know she has seen her Mama do this.<br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/3wFt-BTi8jI&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/3wFt-BTi8jI&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-71279151571188248092008-08-18T20:52:00.003-05:002008-08-18T21:11:37.667-05:00Birthday BoxesSprout's birthday box is in the mail. Since I can't send him a birthday cake, I am sending him a birthday Tootsie Roll instead. One of those big ones that takes all day to eat. I'm sure he will just love it.<br /><br /><br /><br />In other news, I have been reading Atlas Shrugged since the middle of May when I begin reading it while Stoicdad was having this done...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSPNEBSxAOlaebnEy9KvDN5WMCWD8LlLAHH5gvp_yaupA4ZlnGxZySqI6tq2fMAppwARRStuXprpSip93WaxXhbbv-SQU5DUIRizAzTnE_CvsNdt_LE9R7VxvIuChc42rxme0ZOQ/s1600-h/Bionic+Knee.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236042525592621266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSPNEBSxAOlaebnEy9KvDN5WMCWD8LlLAHH5gvp_yaupA4ZlnGxZySqI6tq2fMAppwARRStuXprpSip93WaxXhbbv-SQU5DUIRizAzTnE_CvsNdt_LE9R7VxvIuChc42rxme0ZOQ/s400/Bionic+Knee.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I'm beginning to wonder if I am the only person who has read this book just for fun and not as a college requirement. Man, it is a long book. But it's really good. I only get to read it on my lunch hour and sometimes at night, but I am only about 150 pages from the end and I am determined to finish. I feel like I have been serving a prison sentence being tied to this book for so long. But I can't stop reading it. It is that good. It's a novel about the world collapsing under socialism and it is kind of scary. It really makes you think about our world today. Anyway, I am 3 pages into a speech that I've been told goes on for 75 pages. I guess I should be reading and not writing right now. <br /><br />Oh, the heck with it. Who is John Galt?StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-4918749410429325852008-08-07T19:32:00.009-05:002008-08-17T13:31:02.563-05:00Immortalized on Google<em><strong>This is weird</strong></em>. I was just checking out <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?ie=UTF-8&rlz=1T4DKUS_en___US266&hl=en&tab=wlGoogle">Google Maps</a> and looking at our house in the street-view. If you haven't checked out Google Maps and looked at the street-view, you need to go now and look at it. You just enter your address in the box and click on search. Then you click on street-view and you can scroll down your street and get a 360 degree view of the entire street. <strike>I would post the link here but I don't really want to splash my address around, not that I don't think everybody out in Internetland is perfectly nice, but you never know</strike> Hey! I found a way to post the picture from Google without broadcasting my address.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiUUwhsmmX1S3Gt8yiQr8ewZEsPEjZu59lUWkE1W1YeTeRGQo1wvymOBWDW6ZDkwuF4nNron3h4Hz8UvW_L3gvcUslMjcfjKjqpgSqIBOuc28sc9Ye4jZeAAD2ljYRcYluWdtcTQ/s1600-h/Google+Pic.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235555340343052786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiUUwhsmmX1S3Gt8yiQr8ewZEsPEjZu59lUWkE1W1YeTeRGQo1wvymOBWDW6ZDkwuF4nNron3h4Hz8UvW_L3gvcUslMjcfjKjqpgSqIBOuc28sc9Ye4jZeAAD2ljYRcYluWdtcTQ/s400/Google+Pic.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />What's weird is that it is so dated. I could probably narrow down the exact day the picture was taken if I really tried. I know that it was most likely on a Tuesday because the trash cans are out and Tuesday is trash day although sometimes they come on Wednesday. And it was in December because my door is decorated for Christmas and I know it was this PAST December in 2007 because there is a yellow ribbon on the door and a sign in my yard that I put up for Sprout that says "Support Our Troops"<br /><br /><br />Here's a nighttime picture of the same sign.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXWYqVava9t62fCvjUMazSONgfvM4ePwXxvSXkZAJIv3R8fQ5wzuTDg2VpwoznYt9SkSFqmI980w3ITkOgaoVgX7wQaGCkGLXEAAmdp7MxS5QtymKS55fzJdswAg5_quQedlv5Qg/s1600-h/Kent+Greeting-rs.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231940890764090866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXWYqVava9t62fCvjUMazSONgfvM4ePwXxvSXkZAJIv3R8fQ5wzuTDg2VpwoznYt9SkSFqmI980w3ITkOgaoVgX7wQaGCkGLXEAAmdp7MxS5QtymKS55fzJdswAg5_quQedlv5Qg/s400/Kent+Greeting-rs.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Wow, I don't know how often Google can afford to update the street-view pictures...I doubt it will be very often, so Sprout's time in Iraq is sort of immortalized on Google. How cool is that?StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-21862287740188935172008-07-29T20:41:00.005-05:002008-07-29T20:55:30.488-05:00My Own Little Scullery MaidThe Little General cooked dinner for us the other night, even peeling the potatoes by herself. I couldn't help but snap a picture of her working so seriously.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlAs0Ar0JoxPUbZ9Hlk4Ojd_bTu8G8oO3W5DXMmlfLABH3P-54zo8RzssbVerVzX-ABCYtscC-F9o7holjIYswvU7z_mFz63tZWV6hdz2R-LsaWt7mwTCin0s2hYKDi-eq2FSgiQ/s1600-h/P1011804.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228618126139213986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlAs0Ar0JoxPUbZ9Hlk4Ojd_bTu8G8oO3W5DXMmlfLABH3P-54zo8RzssbVerVzX-ABCYtscC-F9o7holjIYswvU7z_mFz63tZWV6hdz2R-LsaWt7mwTCin0s2hYKDi-eq2FSgiQ/s400/P1011804.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />"Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.<br /><br /><em>Proverbs 22:6</em>StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-67613590849395969512008-07-09T19:22:00.007-05:002008-07-09T20:08:30.682-05:00An Empty Nest Is An Awful ThingAbout 2 months ago, we REALLY became empty-nesters. In the same week, our <a href="http://unclesamatemybaby.blogspot.com/2007/01/meet-anthrax-scanner-cat.html">cat</a> disappeared and we had to put our 12 year old dog down. We really were empty. No kids, no pets...nothing.<br /><br />So I went out and did something really crazy. I got us a kitten.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh20SOm-wpJZlqA7CYLqWBUWIM5TkmYIjWYTphyphenhyphenPY-G-VoinkVlahMZU1tQSZCLQgVRk5hcASqjsxhlfqXJgARI4b8_6voJWxUob8x48mzPRX5tU9IjRYLc8QV7qEa-N_ba-q-4yA/s1600-h/P1011787.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221178151164403890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh20SOm-wpJZlqA7CYLqWBUWIM5TkmYIjWYTphyphenhyphenPY-G-VoinkVlahMZU1tQSZCLQgVRk5hcASqjsxhlfqXJgARI4b8_6voJWxUob8x48mzPRX5tU9IjRYLc8QV7qEa-N_ba-q-4yA/s320/P1011787.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Meet Ping. Her middle name is Pong. She is a hoot. It's been a while since I've had a kitten and I forget how wild they are. This one may take some getting used to. I hated that we lost Sprout's cat while he was gone but I have sent him pictures of this monster and I hope he approves. He will...he's a pushover for a small, furry animal. My Mama always said that the reason God made baby creatures so cute was so that you wouldn't kill them when they got really annoying. It's a good thing Ping is cute because she is really annoying. I have so many wounds on my arms from her "love-bites" that I'm beginning to look like a war vet. <br /><br />Anyway, Sprout is still "over there". He's on the downhill side but still has a ways to go and a long hot summer before it's over. How will we ever be able to show him how grateful we are? How do you thank someone for a gift so immense? How do you say "I love you" to someone who has DONE "I love you" on such a massive scale? <br /><br />How can it be that I am so blessed?StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-77296633201113935052008-06-26T21:34:00.007-05:002008-06-26T22:05:20.509-05:00MY OLD JOBI just had to steal another sister poem...only this one is not from my usual poet sister. This one is from ANOTHER sister who, apparently, has a writing gene too.<br /><br />She wrote this one after sitting outside enjoying the summer breeze and a cigarette to calm her nerves while on a break from her usual 12-hour shift as an Emergency Medical Dispatcher. She had just been standing by on the phone with a man who was having a heart attack and listening in as the paramedics worked on the man who was more concerned about leaving his dog alone than he was about his failing heart.<br /><br /><br /><strong>MY OLD JOB</strong><br /><br />On a day like to today, I wish I had my old job back.<br /><br />The job I had when I was seven years old.<br /><br />My office was at Hannon Park.<br /><br />My morning commute consisted of heading down Semmes Avenue, crossing Dauphin Street, then cutting through the synagogue parking lot and the only road hazards or detours were my bare-feet dodging the blacktop for the cool grass on the shoulder of the road.<br /><br />I wish my wardrobe consisted of nothing but a bathing suit<br />with a towel draped around my shoulders and uncombed hair.<br /><br />I wish my biggest health concern today were watching out<br />for stickers in the grass as I walk across the park to the wading pool.<br /><br />I wish my power-lunch for today was a Fudgesicle bought<br />from the ice cream truck and water sipped from a concrete water fountain.<br /><br />I wish my biggest disappointment today was that Mrs. Brooks<br />(the park lady) had already handed the “Candy-Land” game<br />out to some other kid.<br /><br />I wish my goal for today was to be able to hold my breath<br />under water longer than the other kids.<br /><br />The only committee I wish to be on today is the one whose project<br />is to make a giant whirlpool by swimming around and around<br />and around and around the pool with a bunch of other kids.<br /><br />The only dare I really want to take is how high I can go on the swings<br />or if I can open my eyes under water.<br /><br />The only workout I want to do is pushing the seesaw<br />off the ground on my end and having my best friend return the favor.<br /><br />The only worldly possession I would care to have today is my own pair of goggles.<br /><br />The only fortune I’d care to amass would be the coins we tossed<br />on the bottom of the pool and found over and over again.<br /><br />I wish my commute home today consisted of walking home with sunburned shoulders and cheeks and the feel of a wet towel draped around my neck.<br /><br />On a day like today I wish I were heading home,<br />hungry and exhausted with a hot meal waiting<br />and a free pass on the bath tonight.<br /><br />I wish I could fall asleep to the hum of an attic fan<br />and dream of doing it all over again tomorrow.StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-50371893613573504382008-06-12T18:57:00.004-05:002008-06-12T20:15:33.755-05:00Gone AgainR & R has come and gone. Sprout is very well and was happy to be back in the States. He seemed to be enjoying himself a lot. By the time I got to see him, his wife had him chilling out and relaxed and smiling and I was glad. The grandkids and I drove over to spend a couple of days and he did the sight-seeing thing with us. Stoicdad was laid up with a brand new knee so Sprout had to make a trip here to see him. Sproutette was never more than two feet away from him or him from her. He played with the kids, especially Sgt. York who thinks Sprout is a super-hero. We went to the aquarium and he even showed the kids a "haunted house" right up the street from where they were staying. The kids loved looking into the haunted mailbox, but the Little General put her foot down when it came to going up on the haunted porch. Sprout got a kick out of that. He seems none the worse for wear and yet, he is not the boy I sent to the Army. He's a man. The days went by much too fast and I slept better then I have slept in a while. Sproutette fixed us dinner one night and I so enjoyed standing at the sink washing dishes and listening to them all laughing together in the next room. A happy soldier is a safe soldier.<br /><br />And sadly, Sproutette once again kissed him good-bye, hugged him like she couldn't let go and put him on a plane that would take him half a world away. I don't know how military spouses do it. And if the parting at the airport is not enough, there is always that long drive home from the airport, alone. And unlocking the front door to another empty house. But at least it's all downhill from here and as Sprout put it, poking fun at the fly boys, "I'm just an Air Force deployment away from being done". (For those who don't know, the Air Force deploys to Iraq for six months at a time, the Army for fifteen). Anyway, I guess Shakespeare knew what he was talking about when he wrote:<br /><br /><em>"Good-night, good-night. Parting is such sweet sorrow, ere I say good-night till it be morrow".</em><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq60htWKA4m56iUt9yso5_rsxeXEj7848_NEjbJTwWOrJZtvdCirEc4Rb8RyP023lT4Md9mDej8_YyMLWuVemniRNPYBKA-fVwpbI4J0HgWLbcyWS0NP3cgm54YXjhQWjOCguuXA/s1600-h/P1011763.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211164285614815122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq60htWKA4m56iUt9yso5_rsxeXEj7848_NEjbJTwWOrJZtvdCirEc4Rb8RyP023lT4Md9mDej8_YyMLWuVemniRNPYBKA-fVwpbI4J0HgWLbcyWS0NP3cgm54YXjhQWjOCguuXA/s320/P1011763.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><em>Waking up in Uncle Sprout's shirt.</em>StoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8575330.post-4544814122111209642008-05-25T15:45:00.004-05:002008-05-25T16:06:33.876-05:00For the Fallen<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4mGu1NdiV2HxRhKfnz3ag8uf_v-tBGleYHJwOKpOGuD9Qnat8464ap3Ezj_rJbWX3qEipa3ojWH6RKjo1L69-W0qZXNuY-borlNhngXiQUTc7d4dPuWPqv0fX89Oe-5wt-0KXjw/s1600-h/Soldier+and+Poppies.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204420145051224274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4mGu1NdiV2HxRhKfnz3ag8uf_v-tBGleYHJwOKpOGuD9Qnat8464ap3Ezj_rJbWX3qEipa3ojWH6RKjo1L69-W0qZXNuY-borlNhngXiQUTc7d4dPuWPqv0fX89Oe-5wt-0KXjw/s320/Soldier+and+Poppies.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />In Flanders fields the poppies blow<br />Between the crosses, row on row,<br />That mark our place; and in the sky<br />The larks, still bravely singing, fly<br />Scarce heard amid the guns below.<br /><br />We are the dead. Short days ago<br />We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,<br />Loved, and were loved, and now we lie<br />In Flanders fields.<br /><br />Take up our quarrel with the foe:<br />To you from failing hands we throw<br />The torch; be yours to hold it high.<br />If ye break faith with us who die<br />We shall not sleep, though poppies grow<br />In Flanders fields.<br /><br />— John McCraeStoicMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775328448815849605noreply@blogger.com0