Since you've been gone . . .

Living overseas for the past 3.5 years has left me in a bit of a pop-culture vacuum. Thanks to the internet I still have some cultural literacy, but certain events have escaped my attention. Like the whole Casey Anthony trial. I hear it was a thing, like people actually watched it on TV, OJ Style. Over here? Nothing. I think I saw a headline that she was found not guilty. Barely a blip on my radar.

Or my recent discovery, the movie Pitch Perfect. I came across it last week while flipping channels on the TV and then watched it a bazillion times thinking I had found the next Breakfast Club only to have everyone I told about it say, "Oh yeah. That's so 2012." I googled it. Sure enough. And they're already filming a sequel. Better late than never I guess.

Anyway, it's been our movie of the summer -- ok, of the past week until the TV remote went missing and the DVR remote broke right before Eid so we haven't been able to watch TV (no one works over Eid). Yes, it's been that kind of summer.

If you haven't seen it, it's not kid appropriate. There is innuendo right and left and it's about college a'cappella groups in competition so yeah, cute, but not for kids. Except mine have seen it. And can quote it. Let's pretend my four year old didn't ask what a "slut" was. But it's hilarious and she stays up until midnight watching whatever I watch so when else am I supposed to get quality "me time"?

I figure if I survived Annie (watching it as an adult I was horrified by Ms Hannigan's lecherous ways, not to mention the overt alcoholism I overlooked as a kid) or Grease (Greased Lightning lyrics anyone?!) then hopefully she'll remember the movie for the cute singing and not for the herpes.



Because of this scene, my kids have been singing Since You've Been Gone (and mimicking various parts of the auditions) and it made me think of all the things that have happened since Josh has been gone. He asked me yesterday about the book club that I wrote about in a previous blog post, "I didn't know you were in a book club . . ." Yep, because that happened since you've been gone.


Since you've been gone . . . 

one child turned 4, another turned 10 and the cat turned one.

I coordinated the summer sunday school teaching roster, taught twice myself and am now responsible for the fall schedule

the boys have gotten 5 new T-shirts for the 5 different sports they've played at camp (no need to buy new clothes for school!)

Camille has asked for ice cream from the Baskin Robbins on base exactly 3,416 times and gotten it twice.

the car registration expired. The car insurance expired. The base pass expired.

my friends who left the island to go back to the US for summer vacation have now retuned.

your son has been working 25 hours a week and has more money in his account than I do.

Ramadan 2014 has come and gone.

the base has been raising the temperatures in the common areas to "save energy."

I've sweated enough to fill our pool twice over (see above point about saving energy).

Calvin has gotten braces and already been back to the orthodontist for a broken wire.

we've been staying up late and sleeping in until 11.

the dog has been just as nutty as always.


we've missed you like we always do.

Arabian Nights

I had this title in mind for a post about our mid-Ramadan trip to the waterpark (at night since that's when things are open during the month of Ramadan), but I'm trying to stay current and caught up on life so I'll hopefully get to that one later this week and label it Part 2. 

This is our 4th Ramadan and the least frustrating one yet. I think because I've given up trying to make Ramadan into something else. I didn't even try to get anything accomplished (other than Calvin's braces, which reinforced the idea of "don't try to do anything during Ramadan"). The boys have had sports camps on base every day so I'm there for at least 2 hours while they run around the gym playing dodgeball, basketball, soccer or floor hockey and Camille and I have lunch, shop in the NEX, and hang out with the other refugee wives who are killing time with nowhere else to go. It's been a great time to meet new people and get to know old friends better. Our kids eat Taco Bell tacos, we sip iced tea and cokes (which we can't do if we're off base unless we're at home), and stay out of the heat. By the time the kids are done, I've had my human contact for the day and even feel mildly productive since I've gotten us all out of the house so I head home satisfied and spend the rest of the afternoon/evening reading, knitting and watching TV guilt free. 

The other great thing about this Ramadan is the boys started going to the park near our house in the evenings to practice soccer and basketball. While there, they made some friends from the neighborhood and now the boys either plan to meet each other at the park at a particular time or our doorbell rings and it's a group of kids asking for Carter and Caleb to come play. 

This sight makes me happy. It only took 2 years. 

It's super hot and sweaty out. Dripping weather. We lasted less than 30 minutes. The boys often stay for 2 hours and come home red-faced and panting.

While the younger boys are playing and the girl is swinging, Calvin is playing basketball with about 20 Filipino men. Seriously. They play every evening and I told Calvin that if he wanted a shot at making the school basketball team he needed to be playing and practicing every day. One day he got up the nerve to join in and he's been playing about 3 to 4 nights a week for the past month. 

He and a friend are waiting for "next" though it's a bit frustrating for them at times because the way this group plays pickup isn't always logical or orderly. Sometimes the people just arriving get automatic next, other times times it's Filipinos only, and sometimes they have no problem getting into the game. I told him to keep trying and as he plays more often and gets better (and taller!) he'll be in high demand. 

Overall, it's been a very successful Ramadan for all of us. 

This is my Ramadan victory tea. Our month was up on Sunday night so Eid Mubarak and happy drinking! 

My map

I had to pick up more of my medicine (Zoloft) yesterday. It's kind of a pain to keep that sucker refilled. It seems as soon as I get a new month of pills, it's practically time to to phone in the refill and then I have to find the bottle with the phone number for the base pharmacy and whoops, I'm out of refills and I have to make an appointment to see a doctor who doesn't know me so they can have me fill out the “how depressed are you?” form which shows that I'm clearly not depressed at all because, guess what? The medicine works! Then the doctor inputs the magic permission to keep me stocked up for another few months. Five minutes in the office in exchange for another 6 months of sanity. God Bless the rare breed of doctor who gives me more than 6 months (refilled 30 days at a time) in-between visits. I've been taking it for 9 years, you'd think I could get a break.

I started thinking about all this because a friend recently asked me, "Do you have to be on it for the rest of your life?"

Do I have to be? No.

Could I? Sure.

Will I? I'm undecided . . .  

So what does this have to do with a map? I'm in a reading group with other writers where we read books about writing and discuss them. In one book the author, talking about antidepressants, said, "when we drug ourselves to blot out our soul's call . . ." meaning that that a true artist/writer/creative is most effective only in an unaltered state. You know, the old myth that the tortured artist creates the most beautiful work out of his or her pain. My friend disagreed with his assessment citing several people she knew who wouldn't be functional in any practical way, not to mention creative way if not for medication. (Yes ma'am! That's me.) I would be one of those people. In those days I could barely scribble prayers on scraps of paper. Stringing together thoughts and ideas for an audience would be unimaginable, partly because I couldn't sit down for more than 5 minutes at a time without feeling like I was going to jump out of my skin and partly because I couldn't think about anything beyond the racing thoughts inside my head. Taking medicine, to use the words of the author, gave my soul its voice.

I'm doing great right now so technically I could stop taking medicine (gradually decreasing my dosage until it's out of my system completely). That's where the map analogy comes in. I don't have a good natural sense of direction. If I'm in familiar territory, I can navigate with ease, never getting lost, and never think about looking at a map. But drop me into a strange neighborhood and I get so turned around I might never find my way out. It's the same thing with my brain. When things are good and all is normal I can cruise along medication free, but if I hit a few bumps in the road, my brain gets lost and can't find its way back to normal.

The decision for me to continue medication is like traveling with a GPS system. I don't always need it, but it keeps me on track so I don't get lost. Not everyone needs a GPS. I clearly do, both literally and figuratively. Sure, I could wait until I get lost and then pull out the map to try and get back on track, but usually by that time I'm pretty far off course and it takes much longer to get back on the right roads. I save my entire family a lot of time, sorrow, and frustration by not getting lost in the first place.

I talk about my brain on drugs (any questions?) as often as I can because I know the horror of being lost and not having a map and not knowing a map even existed for the places I found myself. Even today, 10 years later, I hear things every now and then from other Christians that might make me second guess my decision to take "happy pills" if I didn't know better and hadn't experienced it for myself. I'm thankful that I'm confident and I'll keep talking about my experience even when I'm sick of hearing myself talk about the subject because some people out there need maps and think there's something wrong with them because other people don't need maps. Well, there is something wrong with us, but with a map to get back on track, you'll hardly remember you were ever lost.

Independence

I've figured out the secret to raising independent kids -- have more children than you can reasonably manage on your own and then you have no choice but to make them do things for themselves. Sink or swim! The kids are getting loads of practice this summer. Yesterday I made Calvin call the orthodontist because the rubberbands for his braces were too big and kept popping off. (Yes, he got braces. I keep meaning to write a post about that experience.) I had reached my limit of doctors, dentists, orthodontists, and receptionists so I gave him the business card and told him to figure it out. The receptionist said he could come in on a particular afternoon, but to double check that he was putting them on the correct brackets. It took Calvin a mirror and about 5 minutes to figure out that he had been trying to loop them around a bracket that didn't have a hook. Yay for self sufficiency! 

I also make the two younger boys walk themselves to and from sports camp on base because it's way too hot to be walking around outside (please ignore the fact that they are walking outside) and even though they are technically supposed to be signed in and out, Carter is 12 and he can handle walking his brother back and forth. (I did get permission from the director on the first day so it's not like I'm completely neglectful.) Besides, one day Camille and I started walking over to the gym to meet them and 100 yards in Camille put her foot down and declared it was “too hot to walk!” so we retreated to the air conditioned halls of the main base building and sipped our drinks while we waited for the boys to arrive, all hot and sweaty.

The other night Carter wanted shwarma for dinner so I made him find the phone number and call for delivery. I've also adopted an "every man for himself" approach to dinner since Josh is gone. They're happy eating cereal, apples, and bagels and cream cheese (When the Paleo is away, the carbs come out to play!).

When we go to base for lunch they all want different things from the food court so I've started handing over my debit card and tell them to go order what they want and sign their names to the receipt. It saves me from having to stand in 3 different food lines when I could be sitting down with my lunch and an iced tea. Right before Josh left they all got their own bank accounts with their own debit cards so they can even pay for their own food if I'm not buying snacks that day and they don't want to wait the 10 minutes to drive home where they can get lunch for free.

And when they have places to be? They better set their alarm clocks and let me know when they want to leave. Bedtimes? Ain't nobody got time for that. I told them they should go to bed at midnight and said "Adios," to them an hour ago. 

Really, it just takes a bit of ingenuity and a fair helping of laziness and you can even teach a 4 year old how to buy her own bottle of water or her own Taco Bell combo meal (the #3 with 3 tacos and mild sauce).

Second Class Citizen, part 2

Not that this is really putting a cramp in my social life or anything, but it's the principle of the matter . . .

On base, alcohol is sold in the liquor store and in the grocery store, but it's not as easy as going in, selecting your bottles, and plunking some money down on the counter. Alcohol purchases are limited using a points system, with individuals getting a certain amount of points per month, based on rank. I think a 6 pack of beer is 1 point, a bottle of vodka or tequila is 5 points, etc. I think as a Major Josh gets 25 points per month and as his dependent I get another 25. (At those limits, why bother having a points system anyway?!) He might get more than that, but I've never bothered to keep track because we don't go through that much tequila and triple sec in any given month. More like a bottle every few months and a bottle of wine here or there.

Besides, using the points is a pain because you go through the checkout line, show your ID and then they have to leave the register to go look your name up in a different computer system to verify and deduct your points all while holding up the people in the line behind you. I don't do things that are a pain so I don't ever buy alcohol. Today I was standing in line behind a sailor who had just arrived on the island who was trying to buy a 6 pack of beer. The cashier had to tell him that since he hadn't registered for the points system yet he wasn't allowed to purchase alcohol. Poor guy. And then I realized that even if I wanted to, I couldn't purchase alcohol either since my ID isn't registered in the system. It requires a copy of your orders and the permission expires when your orders expire. Since we've extended, we're on new orders. I guess Ramadan is a dry month for me after all.

I'm 40 years old, responsible for the lives of 4 humans and 2 animals while my husband is deployed to another foreign country while we're here in this foreign country, but I can't even buy a wine cooler. (Yes, I know technically I could jump through hoops to get into the system again, but it's funnier this way.)

birthday bash

For Caleb's birthday today he wanted to do something special on the day, so yesterday I baked 72 cupcakes (from a box, no big deal) and packed them up along with frosting, candles, a piping bag and candies to decorate them and today after church we headed to base for our usual lunch with friends. Some of us go to one church and others go to another, but we all meet and have a leisurely lunch on base while our kids all run and play together as if we're at a big family reunion.

We got to our lunch spot, I set out the cupcakes and frosted them (ziplock bag style) while Caleb and Camille strategically tossed M&Ms on the top. When I was running low on vanilla frosting I switched to chocolate (both from cans because in this heat there was no way that homemade frosting was going to make it intact) and that created a swirl effect that impressed everyone, including me. Happy accident, but I'm totally going to do that on purpose next time. I threw a few candles on them since every kid always wants a candle and then we ate lunch, ate cupcakes and sang happy birthday to the kid who is TEN.

Then we all (over 40 of us -- we have a lot of kids) went upstairs to the base theater where I had bought tickets for everyone to watch Planes 2 (It didn't break the bank because adult tickets are only $4, kids are $2 and kids under 6 are free. Cheap fun). Caleb went and bought boxes of movie candy to pass out and we had a "party" in the movie theater. It's only 60 seats so it was almost a private showing.

Anyway, I'm done, the kid is satisfied, it wasn't too much work, and it's hopefully the last birthday I have to do solo before Josh comes back. Of course I was too busy frosting and handing out movie tickets to take any pictures. Imagine Caleb smiling and eating loads of candy and Camille sucking on a soda as big as her face and it will be just like you were there with us.

I wouldn't go back

Sometimes I look in the mirror and see the vertical lines etched in-between my eyebrows (my "elevens") and I pull back at the skin at the sides of my ears to get rid of the "parentheses" around my mouth and sigh a bit. It used to be that the elevens only showed themselves after a period of deep concentration and the parentheses meant I was smiling broadly, but they've now become a permanent part of my face. I'm trying to make peace with that (in between wishing I were brave enough to try a bit of botox), but I wouldn't go back to the time when my face was smooth and wrinkle free -- not because I'm enjoying the wisdom that comes with age, cause often I feel as clueless as ever, but because I don't want to go back and relive all of the chaos in my past.

This morning I was trying to think back to where I was 20 years ago, the summer of 1994. Would I go back there and trade my 40 year old body for my 20 year old one? Hell no. The summer of 1994 is the summer my family moved from Oakland to Laguna Niguel (18 years in 1994 -- right mom?) and I had more emotional highs and lows than any mentally healthy person should have in a lifetime. I was torn between an old love and a new one, was giving my dad a virtual F-you every night as I stayed out until 4 in the morning with my friends (since he was the one responsible for upsetting the balance in my life, why should I come home before midnight just because he wanted me to? I knew that wasn't really true, but I felt justified in exploiting it. Sorry Dad). Since I was also working full time, between getting in at 4 or 5 in the morning and catching the BART train to Berkeley at 7:30 am, I was subsisting on 2 to 3 hours of sleep a night for about 2 months. Those were the good old days? No thanks. 

Sure, I loved my job, loved my friends and all the emotion and feelings that we packed into our pre-leaving was a big rush and I loved every bit of that. But all the uncertainty, the self-centeredness (sorry to sisters whose pain I invalidated in an attempt to prove that mine was worse or more important), and my lack of direction was ugly. 

What about 10 years ago? To the summer of 2004? A 30 year old has more life experience and almost no frown lines. That might be an excellent tradeoff. Would I trade my 40 year old body for my 30 year old one? Hell no to that era too. 10 years ago I was 2 days away from giving birth to Caleb and was out of my mind with anxiety. We had moved to 29 Palms 3 weeks before after a stressful and temporary move to my parents' house while Josh was deploying to Iraq. Pregnant and mental me plus the stress of living with my parents with two little boys? I think I've blocked out most of those memories out of self-preservation. (Sorry Mom and Dad. I hope you've forgotten those two months too.)

So Josh was supposed to be leaving for Iraq, but because he hurt his back and could barely walk, instead of a trip to the Middle Eastern desert we joined him in the California desert while he underwent MRIs and cortisone shots in his spine. And then came baby, back surgery and a mental breakdown. Nope, wouldn't go back. 

Now in 2014 I wonder how am I going to assess this time in my life looking back from 2024 or 2034? I'll probably envy the almost invisible lines and laugh at how my 40 year old self thought her skin looked anything but young and envy that this version of me highlights her hair only because she likes to add color and not to cover any grays. It feels like I'm doing fine, but I can only hope that my life has progressed to the point that I can look back to the summer that Josh deployed on 14 hours notice, canceling our family vacation, leaving me in a foreign country with 4 kids with no return date on the calendar and think, "Oh hell no. I wouldn't go back. Not for the smoothest skin in the world." 

second class citizen

I like to think that I can do it all when Josh is away, but sometimes I run into unexpected brick walls. The other day I wanted to get a copy of our cell phone bill so I could tell how much credit we had left and how much money I needed to add to our account. I arrived at the kiosk with my phone, my residence card, and my passport. She looked up the information in the computer and told me that the account is in Josh's name, not mine, so I couldn't have a copy of the bill. Even though I had his residence paperwork, since I'm not actually him, she couldn't help me. Awesome. I'm only his wife and in possession of the phone that is part of the account, but no go. Oh well. I wonder how long I can go without paying before they shut off my service . . .

Today I went to base to get the mail from Josh's work. I don't usually have to get mail from there because I now have a post office box that I can access myself (Moms remind me to give you that address), but because it was Caleb's birthday a few things had been sent to the office. I stopped by there in my yoga pants after Pilates class, sweating buckets. Not because of my workout (I love Pilates because it's virtually sweat free), but because it was over 100 degrees and 50% humidity. Dripping.

I'm not going to name any work people by name, but I was escorted into the building by Marine 1, and I do mean escorted because only people with a special computer chipped ID can get into the building and I was offered a seat in an office where they must not have had any secure information visible. Marine 1 tells Marine 2 to go see about getting my mail for me and I try to not look too conspicuous as I wait. Then Marine 3 comes in and asks, "Do you know if your husband has filled out a form giving you permission to pick up his mail? Because we really can't give it to you without it." I replied that I had picked up mail before without a problem and Marine 4 said, "Aw, just give it to her." Marine 3 disappears to check and see if he can ethically give me someone else's mail as other Marines pass through and ask, "How's it going?" Aside from me feeling out of place and just wanting to get my mail and disappear? Perfect.

Next, boss Marine walks through and determines that I'm there for mail and that the appropriate paperwork isn't on file so he suggests someone in the office place an easy phone call to Josh so that they can get verbal confirmation that it's OK for me to pick up the mail. His reasoning was that it was better to be safe than to break any federal laws. Great, Josh is going to love that. Marine 5 said he could handle that until he asked me where Josh was, and I replied, "Baghdad. Iraq." He started and gave me a look that said, "that's ridiculous" and I just shrugged in return.

I offered up that I did have a power of attorney that should allow me to do anything in place of Josh and Marine 6 said, "Don't worry. You're getting your mail" and went to investigate what was taking Marines 2 and 3 so long. She came back a few minutes later with a package and envelopes in hand and said, "Here you go. Have a great day ma'am." I started to leave and then realized someone had to let me out since not only can unauthorized people not get into Josh's work, but they can't get out either.

Come home soon babe!

Let the Good Times Roll

The most fun we had this past week was when the kids had the opportunity to participate in a music workshop with the Kelly Bell Band. The band was in town to perform for the base's 4th of July concert and they offered to do a free kid's workshop as well.

So I arrived with guitar, cajon (box drum) and 4 little people, not sure what to expect. The information said that they would do a 45 minute workshop geared toward younger kids (aged 5 to 10), followed by one for kids aged 10 to 18. Three and a 1/2 hours later my kids were bursting with music and enthusiasm having just spent the evening with the nicest group of talented, funny, generous and kind musicians and their only regret was, "We wish Dad had been here! He would have loved it!"

All 4 kids participated in both sessions -- the first one went half an hour over and bled into the next one. It was a night of one long jam session, punctuated with a fabulous background of music history.

They started with the origins of modern music, the spiritual (including its importance as part of the signaling system for the underground railroad). How the popular instrument back then were strings strung on the side of a shack and played with an old bottle to get the vibrations just right. Then the move to stand alone instruments and precision guitars (with frets to mark the right fingering), the progression to blues and Robert Johnson, the father of the blues. Next came jazz and electric blues, the "pop" music of their day. Then, the rise of the electric guitar and rock and roll, moving into distortion . . . add in some funk, rap, and heavy metal and I think we covered it all.

It wasn't a history lesson as much as different band members took turns demonstrating the various techniques and styles and telling stories of how various music styles came into being. The boys (and girl) were captivated. The band also encouraged the kids to play along with them, showing them the beat, various chords and some new skills so they could join in.

At the end of the first session they all took part in writing a blues song and then played along as the band members made up lyrics on the fly. At the end of the second session the emphasis was on poetry and rap and they brainstormed rhymes that were turned into a rap at the end.

** tragically, my phone ran out of battery part way through the first session, but I'm glad I at least got part of it. 

At the end of the night the drummer gave Caleb his drumsticks (and signed them), they gave all the kids at the workshop a free copy of their new album Too Far Gone (which I love, btw and you can listen to samples on iTunes to see for yourself), and made them all promise to keep in touch and let them know how their playing is coming along. I fell in love with a group of strangers in a few short hours.

Here's a video of them in action. They have been together for 18 years and were telling Calvin that once upon a time Jason Mraz opened for them and then a few years later he surpassed them in popularity and they were opening for him. They told Calvin to keep playing and were joking that maybe one day they'll be able to open for him too.

youtube video performance

A few more photos from the base photographer:

Hi-fives with Camille

Happy and satisfied. 

Bloodsuckers

I don't think anyone who is local reads my blog and if they do, I'm probably not talking about them anyway. I'll start by saying that I don't think this is an accurate assessment of my daily life, and I can't give a bunch of concrete examples, but it's how I feel. 

I suppose I should be flattered that people think I'm infinitely capable, but it feels like I'm the one picking up the slack for people around me instead of the other way around. Whether it's last minute emergencies of picking something up, doing the driving for an event, or . . . (like I said, specific instances keep fading away), it would be nice not to be the "go to" person for a change. Maybe I don't want to go to a particular event in the first place and I'm only going because there is no other adult in the family to take them. It would be great for someone to say, "If you want to stay home I'd be happy to take your kids for you" instead of, "Can my kids ride with you?" 

Everyone and their mother has said over and over again, "If you need anything, just let me know," but I'm never going to ask. Never. First of all, it's not a need. I am capable of driving here there and everywhere and doing all the day to day things that Josh and I normally share. Second, I think the 11th commandment is Thou Shalt Not Ask For Assistance Unless Thou Art Dying which is how I ended up agoraphobic and unable to drive and nobody knew. I know, it's a flaw. But I technically don't need assistance, so that's where we are today. 

Anyway, my point is, I know there are a whole bunch of people like me out there who probably could use a pick-me-up. I'm totally guilty of handing out the easy "if you need anything" blank check, knowing it will never be cashed. The brave thing to do, the kind thing to do is to observe enough to see a specific need and offer to fill it. Even if they don't take you up on it, trust me, it's nice to be asked. 

This week I was supposed to be packing for our Italian adventure, but instead I'm canceling train tickets  to Venice and Florence. I'm not feeling sorry for myself, it is what it is. I'm sort of in a mood -- not happy, not sad, just functioning on a neutral plane (way better than being mad, which was last week). There are lots of new people on the island which is probably a good thing, but it's tiring to say goodbye to old friends and put in the effort to make new ones. I think that's part of it. I'm tired from my plans being upended and put in limbo so all the normal new arrival chit-chat seems . . . superficial? been there done that? tired? fake? I don't think it's any of those things, but I'm finding it more difficult than usual to muster up the effort.

It also feels a bit like I'm pregnant -- NO I'M NOT. What I mean is whenever I'm on base I'm asked by everyone all the standard questions: "How is Josh doing? Any word on when he'll be back? Are you all hanging in there?" It's the same kind of ritual a pregnant woman goes through over and over throughout the day: "How are you feeling? When's the baby coming? Do you have a name yet?" All well meaning, but none of the questions really have any answers. (I usually felt fat, was overdue with no end in sight and had no clue about a name and if I did, I wouldn't have been sharing it anyway.)

So my "pregnant" answers go a bit like this:

1) Yes, I suppose Josh is fine. He messages me once a day to let me know that he's still alive (though that's not a concern of mine anymore). Other than that all I know is that he works long hours (working until after 11pm usually) doing something that he can't tell me about.

2) Nope, no word on when he'll be coming home. Maybe September? Yes, I know that's really far away. If I tell myself September maybe I won't have a nervous breakdown come August 25 when the kids are back in school and their dad has missed the entire summer. Best case scenario looks like late August, but I know the government is never as efficient with getting them home as they are in sending them away.

3) We're all doing OK. Keeping busy with summer activities since we have no other choice. In fact, that's why I'm sitting here on base right now. And why I'll be here every day this week. Because my life has become one big loop between the base and my house since my backup shuttle driver isn't here to do all the return trips that we had previously planned.

Since he can't tell me what he's doing, Josh will sometimes send news articles that point me in the right direction. This is one he sent last night. He's not part of the group protecting the embassy:
Josh's 4th of July

A fitting 4th

It's 100 degrees out, why not go for a run? 

The base hosts fun runs for various holidays all year long, but we've never done them before -- mostly because during the summer they are usually at 6am. No thanks. But this 4th of July event was held at 6pm and it had a good looking T-shirt. Besides, what else did we have to do?

A group of the kids' friends and some parents joined in too. 

I was thinking I wouldn't run because of Camille, but she wanted to run so I signed us both up. 

She was really excited and telling everyone how fast she is. 

On your mark, get set . . .

GO!

It was a 3k race -- 2 laps around the base. The girls ran 1 lap in a little more than 10 minutes. Camille ran almost the entire time and didn't complain a bit. She loved it. 

(I prefer the way YouTube formats the videos, but uploading them directly is faster)

There were over 200 runners (that's how many tshirts they had and they ran out) and Calvin finished in the top 50.

Caleb is a beast. He finished right behind Calvin and then ran back to find his friends and finish again with them. 

The littlest runners showing off their shirts

Happy 4th to you!

for daddy

She misses you. 

She drew a picture of the two of you together and wrapped it in wrapping paper and said, "Daddy is going to love it!"

Love you! xoxo