The Chill of Winter

It's been two years since I started this blog. Such incredible changes. I went from almost 15 years of Army haze to living like normal people do.

It's not much better.

My oldest child is going to be 14 next month. I am 33, although my dad thought I was 36. Men should know instinctively to round down, rather than up, if unsure. I think mentally, I am about 42.

I see my friends and family with all their little ones, cute as they are, experiencing all the "firsts" that most people find exciting. I look at them in pity, and am glad my two will be in college in 6 years.

I love them. I am thankful for the joys they bring me, mostly in amusement...seeing how they take after me and my witty sense of humor. I think they will be just fine in life.

I am just sick of being responsible for someone other than myself. Unfortunately, my husband's state of mind has been such that I still have to guide him in the right direction sometimes. Having a husband is like having another child. Either you have to nag them to do things to help, or you have to flat out have to tell them how to logically handle things.

Still, there are days when I think back to how cute babies are, and how I let most of that pass me by, because I was so young when they were little. I didn't appreciate most of the times in my life that I should've appreciated them. When you're a teen, you want to be a grown up. When you are single, you want to be married. The grass is always greener on the other side.

I want to talk to the 17 year old me. I want to be inspired by her dreams...because they're harder to have when you've been affected by life. I want to capture her carefree, fun-loving spirit. It seems to have escaped me. Now I dream about being old enough to retire. How sad is that? Planning for retirement to be when my "real" life starts. When I have enough time and money, both available at the same time to not worry about day to day living? I want to tell that 17 year old me that the problems I had then were nothing. I want to tell her to run far, far away from cute guys in uniform.

But then I realize I am feeling sorry for myself because things are stressful. And that my stress is stupid. I know (for the most part) my reality now. I know ways to overcome my stress, by planning ahead.

I am thankful that in the wake of a personal devastation, I now have learned to give up the problems that I can do nothing to change. That was the hardest to learn. Trying to live every day, focusing on little but that day, or week. What can I do to change the things I am not satisfied with? It's up to me to do the dirty work.

I foresee the chill of winter.

Not the temperature, but the obstacles I am likely to deal with. And I am ready for them, only because I know that the sun will shine warm on my face again.