How to improve your foxhole

There’s nothing surprising to me about this but I HATE transition periods of my life. I like comfort. I like knowing where my home is. I like knowing people. I like knowing what to expect. I like not having to get used to a new bathroom. Well, right now God has us in a transition period of life. He is streeettching my family – and probably me most of all. When Ned first started at RLSC one of the other cadets told him that he needed to be constantly improving his foxhole. In other words, he needed to make the best of his situation and make it as cozy as possible while he was there. I decided to glean from that advice. I also found an issue of Army Talk circa 1945 that should help. You can read the full version here: http://www.90thidpg.us/Reference/Army%20Talks/foxhole.pdf

Here’s some ideas I have for making the best of my foxhole.

The article begins: To date no way has been found to turn a foxhole into a cozy suite at the Waldorf.

What I’ve learned: Don’t have high expectations that things are going to be perfectly cozy over the next few months.

Dig First…Improve Later -- Three rules to remember…1. Dig deep. 2. Tunnel under. 3. Build a strong roof.

In other words, even if this is temporary, it doesn’t mean that we should do things halfway. This is not a useless time of growth in our lives, and we shouldn’t respond to it weakly.

Snow Trails Must be Hidden – When there is snow on the ground, it’s necessary to pay particular attention to tracks. Brush them over carefully so a trail leading to your hideout won’t be visible from the air.

We must be careful to be vigilant. People are watching our actions even now, when we are feeling most vulnerable. The most important of these people are under three feet tall. We should still take the time to be kind and patient and be an example.

No soldier is going to worry much about his appearance while he is at the front. But just because you can’t be bothered with haircuts and shaves and shoe shines doesn’t mean you should live like an animal. A man’s morale gets a real lift when he occasionally sponges the dirt off his hands and face.

For goodness’ sakes, Hannah. Please don’t stop showering.

Baby Your Feet – At this stage in the game it shouldn’t be necessary to remind a soldier that he can’t get far in battle if he neglects his feet.

I think this is clear. I need to go to a spa.

Three Squares A Day – There’s not much variety to foxhole meals…You get pretty tired of the same thing diet day after day…The Army’s rations are planned by experts to give you well-balanced nourishment. All the vitamins and other food essentials you need to keep fit and healthy are there…Pet peeve of many soldiers is the lemonade powder. Actually this is one of the most important foods in the package…[it gives] you the vitamin C that every man needs every day.

Don’t grow weary in well doing. We still may have to continue our mundane tasks in the midst of selling our house, moving our things, and buying a new house, but even these things are beneficial to our growth. (No matter how much that toddler bed feels like lemonade powder to me right now.)

That’s the story. That’s the round-up of tips from foxhole veterans at the front. Some of these hints may not apply to you just now. Some of them may help make your life at the front a little less dangerous, a little less miserable.

You just love them.

Jack one summer/fall day. Age 2.

 And so I lay my son back down in his crib with mismatched jammies because he peed (not pooped thank God) through his pants. He’s been waking up during the night for the past few nights because he has been having poo problems (I use this euphemism partly because it is less gross and partly because I can’t spell dihareeeeaaa).

His butt is on fire and every time I change his diaper he tells me it hurts because now he can talk and tell me things like “I sad” when he is crying. I feel like my heart is being ripped out when my little self-aware two-year-old tells me he’s sad in the midst of his tears. I take him to the kitchen and give him some Tylenol and get him some Gatorade, which he thinks is juice, and I pick him up and he says, “Thank you, Momma.” This makes me want to bottle his sweetness and treasure it forever.

Photo Credit: NDK Jack one winter day. Age 2.

Jack and I one summer day. Age 9 months or so.

Finn one winter day. Age 7 months.

When just about any sickness comes into my home I end up calling my doctor’s office. I am sure they think I am some kind of idiot because I have phone anxiety as it is and they only answer the phone about a fourth of the time. The other three fourths of the time it goes to an answering machine. So it’s kind of like Russian roulette with whether or not you’re going to talk to a real person. In those times when the nurse comes on the phone I instantly start to blunder, “Uhhh uhhh, my name is Hannah and I am calling about my son Jack. He’s ummmm….he’s two…. And he um, I called yesterday. He has had the poops (only I actually say dihaareeaaa because it would be really stupid to say the poops to a professional). I always assume that they have so many patrons that they won’t remember who I am, when in reality the nurse is probably like, “Oh, here is the weekly call from that frantic mother who thinks that an antibiotic can cause mouth sores and rice cereal makes a baby puke…”

Being a parent kind of makes you a little insane. Suddenly all of your Facebook profile pictures are of someone else and your daily conversation topic is what color/consistency/frequency your kid’s bowel movements are. You are endlessly folding tiny clothes, laughing at Ming Ming’s adorable voice, wondering what could be so exciting about reading a book of pictures labeled “excavator, giant excavator, dump truck…

But the thing is, you really truly are 100% in your kid’s corner. If you could be the one with the sore bum, you would be. If you have to go out in the middle of the night to get gas relief drops for your baby (even though they may not really do anything), you’ll do it. Will you take your kid to the ER only to be told nothing is wrong? Of course. Will you feel defensive when someone else doesn’t recognize your child’s genius? Absolutely. And though you will fail as a parent, say hurtful things, give bad advice, tell them things that aren’t true (even though you think it is), one thing will remain true: you have your kid’s back and you would literally fight a bear to protect them. Kind of puts a little perspective on Matthew 7:11, doesn’t it?

Jack one winter day. Photo credit NDK. Age 2.

Notes to a Husband Away: Why I Fell in Love or How I Met Your Father

Writers like to remember everything. We’re detail people. We can only see the big picture when it is made up of lots of little pictures. And we like to capture those little pictures into words to read again and again. And to remember.

Tomorrow is Ned and my fourth wedding anniversary. We’ve known each other for more than 20 years. That’s 4/5’s of our lives. I have many memories of Ned. Some funny ones. Some serious ones. Some he’d probably rather I didn’t remember. But who would have known all those years of watching each other go through childhood, awkward (especially me) teenage years, independent college years – that we were actually developing into each other’s greatest companions. If I had to choose one person in my life who has allowed me to be myself – it would be him.

I am reminded as I sit here of the reasons that I fell in love with Ned. I don’t want these memories to slip away as our anniversaries pile up. So while they’re still within my memory’s reach I am going to write some of them down. So I can look back in anniversary futures and remember…

Why I fell for Ned.

1.       He read (or attempted to read) the books that I recommended. Like Franny and Zooey and “A Perfect Day for Bananafish,” The Things They Carried and The Princess Bride.

2.       He watched Mary Poppins with me and I wanted him to hold my hand.

3.       Even before we were anything more than friends to each other he sent me silly text messages and a horse brush while I was in Montana.

4.       He wore cowboy boots.

5.       He could drive a tractor.

6.       He was good to his family and really cared about his brothers.

7.       He was pretty good at playing football. And looked pretty cute when he played. And he let me play too.

8.       His mother had horses.

9.       He was not arrogant or aggressive. Or overly flirty.

10.                                 He had dark hair.

11.                                 He could use a chainsaw.

12.                                 He had nothing against making snow angels and going sled riding and walking around at night on snowy sidewalks.

13.                                 He was a gentleman.

14.                                 He was an outdoorsman.

15.                                 He talked to me about the Bible and God and the grand things that are out of our natural scope of understanding.

16.                                 He was a dreamer who thirsted for adventure and seeing new places. We were going to go all over the world.

17.                                 He visited me in Montana.

18.                                 He took a class about Africa to spend more time with me.

19.                                 He had a blue jacket that I thought was the most attractive piece of clothing a man could wear (besides the cowboy boots).

20.                                 He was a hard worker.

21.                                 He was very kind and had a natural patience with people.

22.                                 He read my stories.

23.                                 He took beautiful photographs.

24.                                 He was sometimes unsure of himself in a way that made me fall to pieces. I thought he was so endearing.

25.                                 He had good taste in movies and music.

26.                                 He walked me home from work and helped me make Thursday night dinners.

27.                                 He was really stubborn.

28.                                 He drove a truck.

29.                                 He wanted to have children.

30.                                 He put me in my place even though it made me mad.

31.                                 He went on a backpacking trip in the middle of winter with my brothers and friends and we sang songs with BenBen on the way back down the Laurel Highlands trail.

32.                                 He was intuitive.
33.                    I liked his humor.

34.                                 He loved God.

Go dig up your time capsule and the blueprints for your rocket

“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who'll decide where to go...” – Dr. Seuss – Oh the Places You’ll Go

         Ned’s training is coming to an end and I am filled with so many emotions and so many thoughts. I’m ready for this portion of our life to begin. I am ready for my husband to be part of our family. And yet, I’m anxious for the changes. I have been relatively on my own for the past 10 months. I’ve etched out a different kind of life with the boys and without Ned home. I tend to be comfortable with whatever is normal – and the current normal is Ned spending more time away than he does at home. In fact, that has been our normal since Jack was born – though not quite so distant as now.

            There are some things that changed while Ned was away. For one, I am really fast at mowing the lawn – and not too bad at it, either. Finn was born and I learned to take care of two kids primarily by myself. I learned to ask people for help and I developed some friendships that I really cherish – some friendships that I may have been too shy to start while Ned was home. I can go grocery shopping with one kid wrapped to my body and the other chomping on McDonald’s fries. When the kids go to bed, the time is entirely my own. I can write, grade papers, draw pictures, watch stupid TV shows. I learned how to replace the drain stop in the tub (I was so proud that I wanted to post pictures of it on facebook, but I didn’t). I take care of the vehicles – the oil changes, the inspections, the repairs. I order the oil for the furnace. I decide if and when the kids need to go to the doctor. I’ve hosted a bon-fire, caregroup and countless girl’s nights. The boys determine a lot of my life – but after that, the decisions are all mine to make.

            These months of limbo are difficult. Will we stay here? Will we move? My adventurous side wants to see new areas and meet new people. My daughter side wants to stay put.

            I will be twenty-seven in a few months and I am determining what kind of woman I want to be. I am determining what I may want to do with my life; Who I want to be. What I want to accomplish. I am constantly trying to gain perspective on what I am doing now – what benefit I am now to my family, my world, my God. Wondering if I am doing enough both for God and for my own fulfillment. Wondering what is really important and what is selfish. Wondering what God is going to do with all of this independence that has been built up over the past year and more.

Love Notes to a Husband Away – The Cost of a Hard Living

 Ned came home every night between the hours of 5 and 7 p.m., Monday through Saturday. His hair was long enough to cover his forehead and was usually scraggly by the time he came home. During the day he would run his hands through his hair so much from stress that it would stick up if he weren’t wearing a hat.

            He showered at the coal mine but that didn’t prevent him from bringing coal residue home. His eyes often looked like he had applied some kind of smoky eye shadow. The calluses on his hands were stained by coal – something that wouldn’t wash away even with the abrasive soap they had available at his work. Once we even found a lump of coal in our bed.

            A typical evening in our lives would consist of Ned coming home, eating dinner, and falling asleep on the couch. He was usually asleep before I put Jack to bed. This was necessary because he would have to wake up between 4:30 and 5 a.m. the next morning.

            Ned never took a sick day. He began the job in November and worked on that Thanksgiving. Jack was less than two months old when Ned began as a mine clerk.

            When Ned put on his work jumpsuit, coal boots, and picked up his beat up lunch box, I felt like I was experiencing my very own October Skies. He looked at me with the dull eyes of a young man full of exhaustion and lacking inspiration.

            Ned who loved to take photographs, loved the outdoors – hiking, hunting, fishing -- loved sports – football, baseball, softball, golf – the passionate boy who wanted to see as much of the world as possible – barely had the energy to carry on a conversation with me when he came home. I wanted so much more for him. I wanted him to build rocket ships if he wanted to. Financially we were comfortable, and I was very proud of Ned for the way that he provided for us, but our life together was lacking in so many other areas.

            Now Ned has a military haircut and his uniform is green. He takes pride in his appearance. Though he has spent so much time apart from us this year, in many ways, the time we do spend together is more meaningful. When he comes home I am always refreshed by his joy and enthusiasm.

            I guess this is why I “let” my husband do this. Though the pay is quite a bit less, and this year has been a sacrifice, I believe that it was important to do it for my husband and my family. My boys deserve to have a Dad who is able to be a substantial part of their lives and I wanted my husband to have a life filled with more than just a job that provides. I am not being critical of men and women who sacrificially work long hours for their families. I believe that God has a special grace for those who work in lackluster jobs to put food on the table. However, I don’t think that means we need to be closed off to opportunities that God may provide beyond our little anthills. 

I love you, Ned. Thank you for always providing for us and for sacrificing in that way for more than a year.

Brothers.

When two people really love each other, I mean really love each other, they can’t contain their love and they decide to start a family. They start out as a very tiny family. A one-room-apartment sized family. A relatively small grocery list sized family. A we-can-live-on-just-our-love and still pay our bills, sized family. And then, eventually, their love can’t be contained in just two bodies. And they decide to add to their numbers. It’s kind of like starting their very own love army. Or sports team. Or assembly of  International ambassadors. Whatever. (Team Kimmel is currently a few players short of a batting lineup.)

                        When this happens, something beautiful follows. There are tiny representations of love crawling into the cupboards, tossing their sippy cups in Wal-Mart, squealing on the swings at their local playgrounds, learning how (or how not to) swim at the downtown Y. These representations are generally causing chaos and random adorable acts in their little wakes. When the two (now three) people decide to expand their family, another beautiful thing is created: Siblings.

                        One day when I was in the car, probably listening to the sounds of my children tandem crying, I wondered why it was so important to me that my children love each other. And not only love, but also LIKE each other. If they were best friends, I wouldn’t complain. I would be so thrilled I would probably brag to anyone who would listen. But why is it so important to me? I think there are several reasons.

                         The first is based on one of my original intents of having children. Our love could not be contained. We had so much love to give we decided to create more of us. That was Jack. After that, we decided that we didn’t want to stop with one child, so we had another: Finn. Now, if my love progeny showed hatred or even indifference for one another, of course that would drive my heart to sadness. I want this love that started with us to expand and pour out into the world as a beautiful radiant light. Granted, I had boys, so my thoughts weighted with sentimentality will probably be mocked. But, brothers can have a very incredible deep love for one another. Even if they don’t say so.

        The second reason it is important to me is for their sakes. Surviving childhood is remarkably difficult. I want to know that they are looking out for each other up through their teenage years and beyond. And not just from outside factors, but even from their very own home. There will be no other person in the world that will understand what it was like growing up in our home. Ned and I will try our hardest to be loving, wise parents. But we will make mistakes. We will do things wrong. Our children will think we are unbearably awkward to have around. And when they feel this way, I want them to have someone else to commiserate with. When Finn thinks I am being overly protective of him, Jack can come to me and be his advocate. When they have differing opinions from ours, they won’t feel so alone.

                    

    I hope that my children are a treasure to each other. I hope my boys go on adventures together. I hope they build forts in the woods. I hope they climb trees, play football, catch fish and explore the world together. I hope they strengthen each other’s faith. I hope when my boys grow up that their families stay close. I hope their children can have adventures.

                     

   I guess that’s why I get a little giddy when I see how much Jack adores Finn now. Sure, sometimes he thinks his brother is a pony, and sometimes he thinks it’s a good idea to poke him in the eye, but the overall intent is adoration. I hope that only continues to grow as they grow up together. 

Love Notes to a Husband Away That Good Ol’ Hardcore Summer

all pictures except the ones of Ned were taken BY Ned

My friend Molly and I created a group called: The Hardcore Summer: For Those Who Want More From Life: Carpe Diem. (I was clearly watching Dead Poet’s Society during this time.) There were two members: Molly and me. I don’t remember what we did other than wearing dresses during the MS Walk, but I’m sure whatever it was, it was pretty hardcore. Plus, Molly made me a t-shirt.

            Several summers later we included our one and only additional member: Ned Kimmel.

            In order for Ned to become a part of our elite club, he had to pass a hazing of sorts. We blindfolded him and put him in the backseat of my Mom’s car.

            We must have liked each other then because Ned allowed us to do this to him and, well, I allowed him in our club. It must be said that Molly was less inclined to allow Ned as a new member but must have relented when she saw how pathetic I was to let a boy into our club because I liked him. (She was already married).

            Originally, we talked about dumping Ned in a field and letting him find his way back home. It was probably me who vetoed the idea. (I was always too soft on him.)  What ended up happening was my terrible sense of direction got us all lost. I still have no idea where we went, but I am pretty sure that we were moments away from getting our tires blown out by a shotgun. Thankfully, we un-blindfolded Ned and he was able to get us home. Initiation passed!

            The first thing the HCSFTWWMFLCD, or HCS (for short) club did was get our ear cartilages pierced. Molly is the only one who still has this. Mine never healed correctly and Ned took his out because he didn’t want to come across as a trashy hoodlum to my father (another story).

         The second thing we did, on the very last day of summer, was hike to the old bridge. We recruited several more friends to go with us, most of which highly doubted my ability as a guide to get us to our destination. These days all you have to do is walk down the rails to trails and you’ll get to the bridge. Back then, however, the trails were just going in. Instead, we hiked down a steep hillside through the woods. There was one smallish accident on the trip in which someone tumbled down the hill.  Fortunately they were okay, though it didn’t help anyone trust my leadership. Eventually we made it to the river and fun was had by all. And many pictures were taken. And some people even got a little wet. The hike back was a great many more miles. Ned and I shyly flirted with one another and he even let me take pictures with his camera (true love).

            Everyone returned home more or less in one piece, and hoped and prayed that Molly, Ned, and my hardcoreness might rub off on them; just a little.

            This past summer Ned and I reinstated the hardcore club. I kicked off the summer (a little early) by birthing a baby. Ned joined another elite group in hopes of having many more hardcore summers. Here’s to lots more adventures over a lifetime of hardcore summers.