Missing His Voice

Kind of boring around here lately. Hey, here's something fun:

Guess which one of my sons is in the Army and which one is just pretending? The winner gets an all expense paid trip for two to anywhere in the in world (so long as it don't cost me any money).






Is it him?













Or him?


The correct answer will be in my next post. Good Luck.





I haven't heard Sprout's voice in about three weeks. He has moved to a new camp and his cell phone just won't pick up there. It's a really small camp so he doesn't have many options to get another phone or phone card or whatever. I guess he'll have to wait until the next time he gets out and about but in the meantime, I miss his voice. He sends emails but they are short and sweet...he's not a great typist...so I am left just sending care packages and wishing he could call. We even tried using his roommate's phone number and that didn't work either. I guess he's just in a bad spot, cell-wise. That is one of the worst things about his being so far away. The cell phone reception is spotty all the time. I don't know how many times I have had to call him back during the course of a phone call. He just loses the signal for no good reason. And then I have to talk to the Kookoonini lady who's speaking to me in a foriegn language and Lord-only-knows what she's saying? She's either telling me that I "must first dial a 1 before dialing the number" or, she's telling me that "the person you have dialed is ugly and his mama dresses him funny", I don't know. It will be so nice when he comes home to just sit and talk, uninterrupted. My boss was talking today about a list he had to send up the chain-of-command of items our department might need in the case of another hurricane. He said he had put six satellite phones to his list. He promised I could send one to Sprout. I think he was just trying to pacify me.

Anyway, Sprout had planned to come to the states but decided against it when he found out it would cost more than he wanted to spend. He's saving up for a car when he gets home, so I guess that's okay. And hopefully, unless Uncle Sam has other ideas, he will be home in early summer.

I reckon I'll have to pull out a home video in order to hear his voice. Somehow, it just ain't the same.

Happy King Luther Day

Whenever my grandchildren come over, I turn off the TV and read to them. For my granddaughter, any old book will do. She just likes to sit in your lap and listen, it doesn't matter what the story is about. Now my six-year-old grandson, Sgt. York, is much more discerning. If the book is boring, you lose him. Lately, we have been reading King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, which he approves of, highly. Last week, Sgt. York's teacher told the class about another King and this got Sgt. York thinking, and somewhat confused. So the next morning on the way to school, he had the following discussion with his wise old dad:

Sgt York: Daddy, why did King Arthur get killed up on a balcony?

Dad: I don't think King Arthur died on a balcony, but maybe he did.

Sgt York: (after a pause) Was King Arthur black?

Dad: No, King Arthur wasn't black.

Sgt York: Maybe it was King Luther.

I think he got some of his kings confused. From now on, in this house, we will celebrate King Luther Day at this time of year, right after Festivus.

Separating the Men From the Boys

My secretly adopted (he don't know it yet) cyber son over at Pass the Brass has just recently arrived in Iraq and has this poignant post about one of his first missions. This soldier writes so well it sends chills down your spine. Here's a piece of his post, click on over for the rest. If you don't read anything else today, read this. Stay safe, Sure Fire.

"The trip back to base is a rush in itself. Like a runner getting their second wind, you find a small cache of energy that easily finds its way out on the return trip. A different objective on your mind, your mind is almost on a higher alert than it was in the initiation of that mission. The adrenaline is flowing…hearts racing…sweating…praying, “Just let me get home, Lord.” But these prayers are not like those ones where you know that you’re gonna get it… it’s a deterrent from the unknown…in a place where the impossible is possible…where anything and everything could be a danger to you and your team"

I Am With Quilt

I won't be able to post much in the next few weeks (as if I post daily, HA!) because my best friend's daughter is expecting soon and I am with quilt. I must sew fast. The child is due next month.

Also, the email fairy brought me some unexpectedly good news this morning...Sprout says he is due to visit the States next week on a surprise special project. He won't be able to come home, but he will be allowed to breath in American air. I will probably fly out to see him. Right now, plans are sketchy but woohoo! I'm gonna be in the same country as my soldier. I guess all of that whining finally paid off. Somebody up there loves me.

Sprout News

Somehow, I made it through the holidays. Having the Little General say grace at Christmas dinner made me realize just how blessed I am. I shall now quit my pouting over my runaway son and be thankful. Speaking of which, Sprout has moved again at the request of the Army. This is his third move since he arrived in Korea. I guess that's why the Army calls it a "tour". At this rate, he will get a sample of every camp in the country. He is doing well and preparing for some hard work and lots of it. He says it's colder at his new spot in the mountains so I am planning to send more sweaters and long underwear and scarfs and junk. Hey...it's a Mom thing. We cannot stand thinking that somebody might be cold, even if they aren't cold. If I am cold, EVERYBODY wears a jacket. Period. My grandkids hate that. I used to hate it when my grandmother would make me put on a jacket when SHE was cold. Funny how some things never change, huh?
This is Sprout after he gets my next box..."I can't put my arms down"



2005 was really a good year for my family. We gained 6 1/2 new members (4 are BRAND new and the 1/2 is on-the-way) and only lost 2 members. Though those 2 will be greatly missed, whenever weddings and births out number funerals, it's a good year. I guess this makes me officially one of the "older generation". That, and the fact that I have to keep telling my 16 year old nephew to "pull up those drawers, boy". But, how boring for the young folk would life be without the older generation.

Sugarplums

My granddaughter, the Little General, told me yesterday as we sat eating our Christmas dinner that "Last night sugarplums danced in my head and I didn't even feel them."

Just so you know.

Oh, To Be Fifty

My only older brother would have turned fifty this month, if he had lived past the age of seventeen. For years, his birthday, December 16th, was the day we put up our Christmas tree. I don't remember if we carried on that tradition after he died or not. I doubt it. We never much spoke about him at all after that, except in general terms. It was too hard for Mama. I often wonder what he would have been like, who he would have married, how many kids he would have had. He wasn't my favorite brother. He was the only boy in the family older than me...by 20 months...and he never let me forget it. My two older sisters were never bothered by him. They had senority over him in the pecking order, and the six siblings after me seemed unattractive to him, so I was the victim of most of his boyism. He once smeared a soft stick of butter into my hair just for the fun of it. No, he was not my favorite brother.


But a Christmas never passes that I don't remember him and all his madness. He was a boy through and through. He loved going into the woods with, first, his BB gun and later a .22 rifle and hunting squirrels with our cousins. He loved swimming in the bay and chopping things with his hatchet, the one Grandma took away from him the very Christmas morning he got it because he might hurt his nine year old self...it took Mama a week to get that hatchet back. For some reason, he could always be trusted with weapons.

The summer before he died, he learned to drive and discovered girls. He found out that the baptist church around the corner had a Christian Life Center with a bowling alley and a pool so he went and got his little Catholic head baptised in Baptist water so he wouldn't have to sneak in to bowl anymore. He came home one day and told Mama he had read a book that the youth minister had given him called Run Baby Run about the New York gang leader Nicky Cruz and that she needed to read it. She did read it, and later she would say that she was sure my brother had met Christ before he died. That year he went to his first dance, a Christmas formal, wearing a tux and all. The picture of him and his date standing proudly on the winding staircase, taken two months before his death, was one of Mama's most treasured Christmas gifts.


He was always the first one awake on Christmas morning and the proud announcer that Santa had come. As he grew, it became his job to carry the Christmas tree to the car and later, after Christmas, he would carry ALL of the neighbor's discarded Christmas trees to our backyard to make a forest for us to play in. I wish he had turned fifty this year. For all the butter in my hair, I'm sure I am a lesser person because of his absence and I still have fond memories of my mean big brother.