Tacos..

     When we first got married, I only made 4 things for dinner: Roast, Spaghetti, Soup, and Tacos.  My husband could usually tell what kind of a day I had had based on what was for dinner when he got home from work.  If I knew I was going to be busy, I would make soup in the crock pot being able to set it and forget it.  A generally boring day, roast or spaghetti would be chosen because it was easy but needed some tender care.  If I had had a day where it seemed like life was taking a dump on me, tacos it was.  Not only was it quick and easy to make, it was comfort food for me, bringing me back to when I was growing up.  My mom always made ground beef tacos with rice and sometimes enchiladas whenever we asked for them.  I remember them being so good and the warm feeling I used to get when all 6 of us in my family would sit around the kitchen table, eating tacos drenched in sour cream and salsa, loaded with beef and cheese and tomatoes.  Sometimes there would be guacamole, but not always.  My dad would pray over the meal, thanking God for our blessings and nourishing it unto our bodies for His good will, the same way with the same voice every time.  We passed the food around the table and just enjoyed the meal and reconnecting with our family after being gone doing our own things during the day.  Mexican food was a big deal in my family because we all worshiped its tasty goodness and the warm feelings in our throats as each delicious bite went down.  After dinner, we would help my mom clean up and thank her for the amazing meal.  It may not have been a traditional Mexican taco meal but it was a traditional one in our home, and one I was going to bring to my own family when I left the nest.  Needless to say I was very excited when I found my husbands family made tacos the very same way and I thought in my head, I have hit the jackpot.  As we have been married for almost 5 years now, I have expanded my meal repertoire and no longer serve the same 4 meals every week, I still continue to serve the same tacos of my youth, because just like a nice cup coffee in the morning, some things just never get old.  

Military Wives

Military wives are a community.  Most military wives have their husband gone for more than half of their married life.  We move all over the world, making roots down wherever we go to only be uprooted again a short time later.  We make friends all over the world and cling to those relationships when it feels like we can’t even get out of bed.  Those friends are the rest of the community, like-minded women who have been in your same shoes many times before.  These women have many jobs: mother, father, home-maker, bill payer, coach, teacher, boo boo fixer, punisher, and fix it lady.  All these things we have in common and they bind us together and help define our group.  We are a unique community, which endures matchless obstacles and trials being a part of that community.  It is not for the faint of heart or the weak of spirit, but for the strong and independent souls that have no problem taking on the world on their own.

     I became a part of this group 5 years ago when I married my husband and have learned so much in that time.  I have learned that I am stronger than I ever thought I could be, pushing myself to handle things that most people would give up on.  Learning how to change dryer lint tubes, shoveling 5 feet of snow to get out of driveway in the middle of a blizzard, and being a single mom who never gets a break are just a few of the lessons I have learned along the way.  Being a part of this group has taught me about friendship and comradeship and how to be supportive when the rest of the world is against you.  It is a great community. 

The big black bag..

     My purse itself says nothing about me.  It is black, big, and has only one zipper to open it.   There are no pockets inside it to store things, so stuff just gets thrown in there.   It is essentially, a very boring and basic bag.  Once inside, that boringness fades away to a vast array of miscellaneous items that make up a portion of my identity.  

     Of course to find anything in the purse, you have to first sift through the hodge podge of papers stuffed in there, ranging from church announcements to store receipts to candy wrappers and a lonely pink post it with a random phone number on it that I do not remember writing down.  Once you have walked  down the paper trail, you find my little hand held Bible that is leather, worn out on the edges, and ready to fall apart, but still one of my most prized possessions.  Further in the mess, you find some Love Spell lotion, 5 chapsticks, 2 lip-glosses, and one bright pink comb, with a hair band wrapped around it.  There is some change thrown in there, a 20 dollar bill stuck under a few quarters, and my WIC check folder, with checks waiting to be cashed.  One lonesome green crayon, an old orange binkie, a yellow matchbox car, and a clear bouncy ball,  are all additions from my son.  After pulling out some pink headphones, a bottle of pink nail polish, and my pink cased phone, you come to my pink wallet, which has just a few cards (my debit card, insurance cards, rewards cards, 3 empty Starbucks cards, and an EZ tipping card) and 2 forms of ID.  Could you figure out my whole identity from all that?  Definitely not.

 

     If I was judged solely by what’s in my purse, people would get a general idea, but they wouldn’t get the full story.  You would assume I am cluttered and messy, but not that I enjoy spending my Saturdays cleaning my house from top to bottom, complete with rubber gloves and a surgeon’s mask.  You’d infer that I read my Bible a lot, but you wouldn’t know that I have been a Christian since I was 6 and that Jesus is a big part of my life.  The toys would tell you that I probably have kids, but not that I have a 2 year old son, with blond curly hair that gives the best drool kisses ever.  They wouldn’t know I’ve been married for almost 5 years, that I’m pregnant with our 2^nd child, and that I hate doing laundry.  They wouldn’t know that I have moved 11 times in my life, from CA to AK to WA, all while being separated from my dad and then my husband for months at a time.  I’m hardworking, adaptable, and a sensitive, shy person till you get to know me.  People can’t know that from the empty Starbucks cards in my wallet.  They can assume but they would be missing out.      

Testing, Testing, 1.2.3..

This is a test for English 101 D.