Merry Christmas . . .

. . . From Our Home to Yours!

Love,
Shakespeare

Holly

And Us!

Happy Birthday, #2!

Today is #2's birthday.  You might think that having a birthday this side of Christmas would help to alleviate some of the seasonal antsy-ness that most kids succumb to.

You might be wrong.

As soon as the calendar rolled over into December, this kid has been a stressed mess.  Sticky notes in various sizes, colours and editions have been appearing by my bedside for several months, including order of desire and cost at Target with his father's discount factored in.  Always an early riser, he has been seeing the dark, dark side of the morning for a couple of weeks now.

You can see from the stack of 3 (count 'em) gifts that we do not go crazy at birthdays or Christmas.  The top package is from his big brother, paid for out of his own money.  We don't schedule dozens of holiday events.  We don't shop for dozens of people.  We watch Christmas movies and listen to lots of Christmas music.  We have a basket of Christmas books we haul out every year and re-read.  We have suppers with friends.  We try to keep a peaceful and hopeful Advent season.

No matter how calm we try to keep life, #2 cannot stand the wait.  I think this is normal of any kid but when you add Christmas right on the heels of a birthday . . .

Today dawned grey and wet.  Luckily, no asteroid/meteor/apocalypse struck or we would have had one distraught birthday boy!  Tops on his list this year was a crossbow.  What on earth would an urban kid do with a crossbow?  For starters, he has his eyes on the escaped-but-domesticated rabbit living on the empty property across the street and the feral cats that roam freely in herds.  Clearly, we couldn't give this crazy kid a real crossbow so we did the next best thing.

Bass Pro did not fail us in a scaled down, NERF type crossbow that shoots foam darts 60 feet.  But you have to have a target, right?  Enter a small, inflatable buck complete with a decent rack and a velcro target over his heart and you have two boys spending most of the day in the back yard pretending to be Great White Hunters.  We only paused to have a Sushi lunch, as per a sticky note request, and to make birthday Cream Puffs, as per another sticky note.

We've had a quiet but a good day and I suspect he may sleep a little more soundly tonight.  Or do I mean, I hope?

Ah yes, the annual birthday photo-in-your-underwear-because-you're-too-excited-for-clothes!

I'm not sure why he is wearing Don's military issue, Icelandic parka!

This will see us through the long winter, I'm sure!

Even Don had to give it a try.

Bringing home the meat.

Birthday Cream Puffs.
Don't look at the chocolate -  I didn't get it tempered properly
but it didn't stop anyone from eating them!

The Worst?

Today I am reminded of Shakespeare (the Bard, this time, and not my neurotic dog) who said in King Lear:

"The worst is not
So long as we can say,
'This is the worst.'"


I wonder when one know that the worst is actually the worst.

We were dealt the death blow by the US Navy today.  I arrived home from a long day working for my lunatic boss, who is convinced that by having the internet we are at risk for people hacking into our dental files.  Never mind that we don't accept credit/debit cards of any kind and the only personal information we keep on the computer is possibly (but not always since we don't require them) a social security number.

The look on Donald's face was not good but then, given our particular circumstances, not exactly unusual either.  He handed me a letter and I saw the certified envelope in which the devastating missive had arrived.

Let me preface.  When last I blogged, Donald was on his way Bremerton, WA to be evaluated by a psychiatrist.  Her notes indicate that while he is showing some improvement, her recommendation was that he continue as before and come back in a year.  Remember, when Donald was medically retired in 2010 we were told he would have five years to remain as such before he was formally re-evaluated.  He has been officially retired 1 year and 355 days.

Back to the letter.  A team of three 06's (read:  high ranking and important) decided that he no longer had PTSD or a major depressive disorder.  He only suffers from anxiety but as such is unfit for duty and can no longer receive his retirement pay, his health insurance or commissary/exchange privileges.

Merry Christmas, Lieutenant Twist.

Oh, and he has fifteen days to sign the letter and return it to the powers that be.

I wonder if these 06's know what it is like to live with someone who may or may not speak to anyone in the family for weeks on end.  Someone who can barely get out of bed some days.  Someone who, after giving everything at work, has zero to give at home.  But what do I know?  I'm not a doctor or a high ranking military officer.  Empirical evidence is obviously of low import to the "experts."

Yes, we can appeal.  But we've been there, done that and Do Not want another t-shirt.  Two appeals and one official hearing before the Washington Navy Yard.  Nearly ten, emotionally exhausting months upon the Navy Roller Coaster of Not So Much Fun.

So.  We looked at each other in sadness and said, "Is this it?  All those years?  For what?  To be injured and just released?"  We agreed we cannot go through the appeals process again.  It was too much the first time.  The Navy will give us a small severance and we are going to take it.  The money, while not large enough to be worth the damage, will be helpful in small ways.

Then, this will all be over.  A beautiful Naval career cut short by an unforeseen injury, one brief day in which my husband went to work and came home an entirely different person, changing our family 180 degrees.  It seems small but it broke my heart when he said to me tonight, "I can't even keep the title Retired anymore.  They'll even take that honor away from me."

LT Donald Twist, USN CHC, you faithfully served God, Country and your Family.  "You don't need to wear a patch on your arm to have honor."

Happy (belated) Halloween!

Another sugar fueled Halloween has come and gone and with it, the two year anniversary of the blog.  And, by default, the two year anniversary of being out of the Navy.  Except that we've recently discovered, we sort of aren't.

Let me esplain.  No, let me sum up.  (Princess Bride, anyone?)

Donald is on temporary retirement for five years, at the end of which he will be reevaluated as to whether or not he goes on permanent retirement.  He's been diligent about jumping through the yearly hoops, seeing mental health and tracking with his meds.  About a month ago, the Navy called.

Hello?

Two years and not a peep but when they call and say you need a full physical and mental evaluation, asap, you really have no choice.  Furthermore, when they refuse to accept either your local doctor or the doctors at the VA, you have no choice but to haul yourself to the nearest naval facility.

Does the Navy not realize that Oregon has a VA hospital but not a single naval installation?  Going to the army hospital at Ft Lewis, WA wasn't good enough either.  Absolutely had to be the hospital at Bremerton, WA where his complete breakdown originally happened.  Oh, goodie.  Let's stir up the PTSD pot, shall we?

So, Donald complied, staying in Bremerton less than twenty four hours.  And really, we aren't even sure why it was necessary or what will come of it.

Happier topic:  I thought I would post photos of the boys from last night.  #1 did a reprise of the Headless Horseman, last seen in Portsmouth, VA.  He had a bit of a wardrobe malfunction while trick or treating (apparently not being able to see ruins the fun just a tad) so he came home to hand out candy with me.

I tried to convince him that I could nip up to the attic for the costume box we've lugged all around the world.  The conversation went like this:

"You could wear my coconut shells and my grass skirt!  It would be hilarious.  Come on, just Do It!"

He turned very slowly to me and said, "Yeah, that would be really funny.  But my DIGNITY is worth more than a sucker!"

Have I mentioned that I love this kid?  This is what I get for trying to talk him into being a transvestite hula dancer!

#2 went as a Werewolf, which only got as elaborate as a mask.  But hey, I am not into spending a gajillion dollars on costumes worn once.  I try to emphasize the creativity aspect of Halloween.  After searching dozens of youtube videos to make our own wolf costume, we discovered that a.  the most authentic one was worthy of Hollywood and took over 300 hours and hundreds of dollars to make and b.  gluing hair all over my sensitive skinned kid was probably not a great idea.  He actually had the nerve to roll his eyes at me when I suggested he just draw a werewolf on a brown paper bag!  So, we bought a mask and that's as far as that went!  He insisted on carrying a pillowcase after hearing about childhood stories fed to him by his father and he came back with a serious load of candy.  I don't know if I should be embarrassed or glad that I work part time for a dentist!  And he was a little disappointed to find out he would be sharing with his brother.  Oh, the agony of living with unreasonable parents!

Savor that tea!

Cheers!

Why does this photo frighten me?

Pretty relaxed for being headless!

My parents finally made the loooooong schlep from Wyoming to Oregon and back again this past week.  Donald was gone for school but the boys and I had a great time showing them our little stretch of the Valley (as they say at the Willamette Valley Vineyard:  "It's Willamette, Dammit!").  They got a decent taste of Salem, including our favorite beer and burger joint, Boon's Treasury, as well as an overnight at Cannon Beach, the Tillamook Cheese factory and a soccer game that was half downpour and half sunshine.  Typical weather this time of year.  There being only pine trees and cottonwoods in Wyoming, my mom was understandably in raptures over our  beautiful kaleidoscope of fall colors.

It's been nearly two years since we've seen them and I think they were slightly startled to find that #1 is almost taller than them and #2 is not far behind.  They were concerned that the adult sized University of Wyoming sweatshirts would be too big.  They took one look at the boys and their appetites and soon realized there was nothing to worry about.  And, being parents, they insisted on helping me redo the cracked and leaking breezeway roof between our school room and the house.  Okay, so Bill did it with my mom instructing from the ground and I ran back and forth to Home Depot and kept everyone supplied with  food and adult beverages.  I know how to keep my workers happy!  Thanks, again, Bill!

Farmer Denise with a sick Cow

Oh No - it's the "I'm nearly a Teenager Mug!"

Only an Oregon cheese factory uses a VW bus!

Haystack Rock.  Remember the Goonies?  Filmed just north of here.

Aw, young love.

Seems like a lot of bottles and glasses on that table. 

Nailed It!

If only I would be more faithful in blogging I wouldn't find myself playing catch up.  Of course, it would also help if I were more "techie" and new how to scan photos (and then find them again!) into my computer.

So the above photo is a super cool, framable x-ray of the latest Twist family emergency room visit.  A couple of Friday's ago the boys were having a water fight in the backyard.  Fairly benign and a great way to cool off during an Oregon heat wave, which is anything above 85 degrees.  Feeling victorious at having dumped a bunch of water over his brother, #2 did a primeval jump in the air and landed on a random, sticking-straight-up-in-the-grass, six penny nail.  

We had no building projects going on.  Our backyard has been water fight central for many boys over the course of the summer.  No one has ever even seen a nail.  Yet, somehow, #2 managed to not just step on what may be the only nail in the yard but jump on it, driving it all the way into his heel bone.  If you look carefully at the entry point of the nail you'll see the skin of his heel dimpled in.  The nail is solid in the bone.  

#1 was the one who raced into the house with the information because #2 was on his hands and knees, yelling.  And, sadly, swearing.  I had a little chat with my spouse about that part!  My first inclination, as always, was to waffle about the severity of the injury.  I really thought I could just pull it out.  So, poor #2 is still on his hands and knees, soaking wet, covered in grass and his father and I are calmly discussing what course of action to take.  

Donald finally decided to carry #2 inside while I phoned the ER who told us to definitely leave it in.  When we arrived at the ER, wet and grassy, we were met with a wheel chair which #2 LOVED!  They put us on a fast track, which meant three hours instead of six, apparently.  He was started immediately on IV antibiotics because the doctor, who took one look and knew the nail was in the bone, was worried about bone infection.  They did x-rays and started an IV sedative and pain med and, after a three hour wait, the doctor took a pair of standard pliers from a tool kit and yanked out the nail.  Just about 1/2 a second!  I seriously could have done that.  And with the way #2 got nauseous from the sedative/pain med, he informed me that he wished it would have been done without the drugs since it was so fast.  This is also the same kid, at age 5, who denied having his head numbed before receiving staples because it was one less poke.  Aaah, a child after my own heart.  Just get it over and done and stop mucking about with my insides, I always say!

By noon the next day he was thoroughly disgusted and bored with being sore and swollen and basically couch bound.  I finally gave in and let him watch an obscene amount of Netflix cartoons.  You'd think that a nail in the calcaneus would keep you limping for days but not him.  Within three days he was walking normally.  We went camping the following weekend with several families and he was running and being as wild as normal.  Oh, to heal like a child!

On a different note, I finished the novel at the end of July and spent the first few weeks of this month editing.  It's amazing to print out 325 pages of your own original work.  It's also a very large stack of paper to keep from blowing around the house whenever someone turns on a fan.  I have a working title but I'm not married to it and am still trying to come up with something better.  I've begun sending query letters to publishers which is basically like baiting a hook with a fat, juicy worm.  I'm just hoping to find a hungry publisher!  And while we're on the topic, don't you think a trip to England for a cover shoot is something that could be a tax write off?  Not that I can afford to go.  Yet.  I'm just dreaming . . . 

And now I'm off to get an Oregon driver license!

Shameless Advertising (Reprise)

I've done it before and I'm doing it again.  This is the motorhome for which we traded our 5th wheel.  We love it but would love being debt free even more!  If you know anyone interested . . . 

PS:  The Mini is NOT for sale!!

Obviously, the back!

Large slide out on this side.

Couch folds flat.  Slide is not even out and there's tons of room.

Dinette folds flat as well.

The bathroom is large enough to host a party!
Whole wall of cubbies and wardrobe space.

Queen size bedroom, nightstands are brilliant!
Tons of storage above and below the bed.