Happy Father's Day!

Happy Father's Day, Wes!

The boys could not ask for a better football trainer,

a better role model,

a better woodsman,

a better joke teller,

a better couch snuggler,

or a better dad!

Next year we will celebrate Father's Day on the Med! Promise! Unless the Army has other plans, of course.

Two Years in Georgia

This weekend marked our second full year in Georgia, and we have just barely reached the 24 month milestone without orders for our next move. Just barely. I am still holding on to some vague hope that an international assignment will fall in our lap before the orders are cut. After five years in DC, our first year in Georgia was filled with adjustments and culture shock - especially for the boys. After two years, we can now interpret Georgia twang, we understand the life cycle of a sand gnat, and we know snow is defined by the sole existence of one ice crystal that may or may not be visible to the human eye. The highlights of our second year begin here.

1. This pet-fearing, pet-hating mama broke down and agreed to keep a pet; Maybelle has become a part of our family. She has spent the past year listening to Keagan read when I couldn't possibly hear another story about Jack and Annie and a magical tree house.

She agrees to play a game of Super Hero Squad (she was Hulk last week) when Keagan can't stand to look at his big brother, and from time to time, she will play soccer with Evan. She is the perfect cat; almost like a teenager in that she sleeps so much she is rarely seen or heard and she spends late nights out on the town.

2. The beach is still our very favorite place to visit when we have a free day. Spending the day with friends makes it twice as nice. I have no idea how I will survive our next move when we are more than a two days' drive from my favorite place on Earth. I am already very depressed about the thought of missing day trips to St. Simons. So is Evan. He wants to retire there. Only a nine year old military brat discusses possible locations for retirement.

3. I have never been surrounded by so many strong, independent, and resilient military spouses. This year most will experience their husband's second deployment in less than three years. Many others will have deployments extended. It is a life that few understand until they are in the midst of it, and all of us here at Stewart are in the midst of it. We celebrate our lifestyle with plenty of wine.

4. Last month the boys tried out for and made their respective teams with a soccer academy in Savannah. I never thought it would be so hard to say good-bye to a team, but we are leaving the gators and praying this new experience will be all that has been promised. 1-2-3 Go STORM! Perhaps, I can find it in myself to remember to stretch pre-game to avoid any sideline injuries.

There you have it. My top ten list has morphed to a top four. I am a Sergeant Major in the making. Truly the year has been filled with wonderful memories, even if I can't recall more than four highlights. Our final year begins today.

Lessons Learned on the Farm

Before today's thunderstorm (this makes twelve straight days of rain, but I'm not counting or anything), we drove to a local farm to pick blueberries. Yep, more berries. The highlight of the short trip was the discovery of a fox's den right in the middle of the blueberry field. Perhaps it really was a hole washed out by the twelve days of non-stop rain we have had, but I let the boys play their imaginary game. It's more fun that way and way more bearable than the complaints of the heat and bugs and the not-so-passive suggestions that summer day trips should involve arcades and pizza parlors.

Keagan ate every single berry he picked and developed a stomach ache. Evan declared the trip a huge DISASTER and asked why we couldn't just go to the commissary and buy "fresh" berries. I picked a couple of quarts and returned home to make a delicious blueberry pie. Truly delicious.

Later, Keagan told me he had learned something today. I asked what, knowing he would certainly say that he learned the life cycle of a blueberry: flower blossom, green berry, pink berry, and blueberry. Instead, he said, "YouTube taught me a valuable lesson today. It doesn't matter how young you are, you can still go to jail."

I give up. Tomorrow's day trip will include an arcade and pizza.

Summer....Day 12

Besides berry picking, I am not sure how we have passed the last eleven days of summer.

Except that there was that one day of marathon board games that included only one board game, Operation Cars. I won all eleven games, and Keagan told me I missed my calling. He's convinced I should have been a surgeon, and because removing leaky oil from Mater's underside is so closely related to the skills of a brain surgeon, I don't think he could be any closer to guessing my one true calling.

I guess I also, ever so vaguely, remember the day we spent at the indoor bounce house, and the boys bounced and ran around with a day care group that included no fewer than 47 kids. I had temporary hearing loss after that day's events.

We also spent an evening on YouTube learning various ways you can get kicked out of  Wal-Mart. Our favorite is a tie between the invisible rope trick and running down the aisle yelling, "The British are Coming, the British are Coming!"

Can you tell that it has rained for eleven of the last twelve days? This has put a huge damper on our beach plans and my personal goal of producing enough vitamin D to give up dairy products for the summer.

All of this togetherness, though, has created a problem or two. Namely, there has been a severe shortage of food in this house. I mean besides the plethora of berries I have stored in the freezer. We have plenty of berries, but the boys seem to think berries will not satiate their appetites. Instead, they feel it is necessary that I cook about six meals a day for them. I have no more cleaned up the oatmeal bowls from breakfast before it is time to produce a mayonaise sandwich for lunch (which is Keagan's nick name for a turkey sandwich on wheat bread with a thick layer of mayonaise). Yesterday at afternoon snack hour, Evan ate four apples. FOUR! On apple three, I suggested he slow down, and he remarked, "You want me to starve, Mom?"

Tomorrow the boys will have to eat berries or suffer through a trip to the commissary. They say they will only agree to go grocery shopping if they can attempt the invisible rope trick on an unsuspecting soldier.

Please pray for sunshine. For me. Please.

Fan Letter

Some people might go so far as to call us The boys play soccer every once in a while. You might have read about it here on the blog a time or two. soccer fans. Yesterday, Keagan wrote a letter to Rooney, as in Wayne Rooney the Manchester United forward. He asked the biggest soccer star in England to come to his house to teach him his tricks. Evan laughed at the idea, and in the late evening hours, Keagan came to me with big crocodile tears asking me if I thought Rooney would come. I didn't have the heart to say no. Last night, I overheard him praying and asking God to send Rooney to small town Georgia.

I was hoping he would wake up this morning and forget all about it, but no such luck. We are headed to the post office tomorrow for foreign stamps. 

I am crossing my fingers and hoping Rooney's wife has a secret desire to see Savannah and eat at Paula Dean's. Crazy, I know. Perhaps I should prepare Keagan for reality instead. As in an autographed picture of his favorite star will arrive in the mail in approximately 90 days!

Here's the letter: 

dear Rooney, I'am Keagan, and I am 7 years old. I whant you to come to my town and teach me your tricks. My dad is in war and he can not teach me. I whant you to come to my town so I can be as good as you.

Your fan,

Keagan

Strawberry Cream

I found fresh strawberries at the Farmer's Market this week. I had to buy them; that memory from Monday and blackberry overload was now a distant memory.  Yesterday afternoon I decided to relive a childhood memory and whip up a strawberry dessert that my grandmother made for my sister and me when we were much younger.

Keagan was very impressed with my strawberry cream concoction, and within just a few minutes he returned to the kitchen with, "You're such a good cooker, Mom! That was great!"

I responded with, "Thanks, Keagan. When I was a little girl, my grandmother used to make this same dish for me. You see she would chop up the berries and then mix them with...."

"Wooah, Mom. I don't care HOW you make it. I just want you to make some MORE."

I could hear Grandma laughing along with me, and then I did exactly as she would have done. I pulled out the cream from the fridge, sugar from the canister, and berries from the sack and whipped up another helping of strawberry cream.

Pickin' Berries in the Perfect Storm

We began our day with an hour's drive to a public garden to pick blackberries. I am the only one that will eat them, but we still came home with three baskets full, or approximately 7.63 pounds of berries. I made one cobbler and still had 6.5 pounds left. What to do with the extras? I have no idea, but I have a freezer full of berries and more importantly, we had a family bonding moment that included "heavy basket contests" and enough thorn jabs to constitute minor surgery in the middle of berry field #1A.

Meanwhile, a wicked storm was brewing back home, and we returned to our cul-de-sac just as a tornado warning was announced. We spent the next half hour crouched in my closet with over-sized pillows, with Keagan's prayers for safety, and Evan's constant, "Sshhh!!! Keagan! I hear the train sound. We're doomed."

On the other side of the world, Wes prepped himself for another kind of storm - a sand storm. This get-up, I think, scares me more than the tornado warning.

I have no idea what adventures await us tomorrow. I hope we stay clear of berries and bad weather, though. I have had my fill of both today.