A Letter to our Garbage Man

Dear Mr. Garbage Man,

The other day, I forgot to put the garbage out until I heard you drive down the street. I ran outside, half dressed, only to watch as you passed. I wasn't wearing my glasses, but judging by the way you backed up at full speed and slammed things around, you weren't very happy. This was confirmed when I came out an hour later, and found the garbage can thrown onto the sidewalk.

Two months ago I would have gone back into the house, called the garbage company up, and complained about your lack of customer service. I would have crazily justified my outrage by explaining that my house is being torn up, and I can't find anything except piles of laundry. That I pray in front of my washer, because even though the Sears repairman just visited, the machine still only works sporadically.

I would have whined incessently because although I somehow fit 80 hours worth of work into each week, poor revenue forecasts at the state have put everyone in jeopardy. So I'm having to fight to maintain employment--and just thinking about looking for a new job makes my stomach upset.

I would have also told whoever answered the phone that my husband is deployed, and that my kids miss their dad. I miss him too. Mostly his company, but also his help around the house. I would have tried to express that sometimes I can't function at 110% with the constant, overwhelming knowledge that my best friend is halfway around the world, in a not-so-friendly place.

But this isn't two months ago, and I didn't call the garbage company. In fact, I didn't even get angry at the mud on my clothes after picking up the can.

Instead, I found myself wondering if perhaps you too were going through tough times at home, worrying about your job, or finding yourself lonely during quiet moments throughout your day.

So while I'm sorry I put you off schedule, I'm grateful for you showing me how much I've grown up over the past few months. Next week, I'll remember to put the garbage out on time.

Biggest Loser Redemption!

A while back, we purchased a bike trailer. You know, one of those little tow-behinds that you carry kids in? We've used it to go back and forth to Gramma's house (about 1/2 mile), but not had the opportunity to really test it out. So last weekend, MacKenzie and I decided to go grocery shopping at Hanks and use the trailer to haul our groceries back. Save gas, exercise and get some fresh air.

The first 4 blocks to Hanks were great. Zee Zee hit a tree or two, and she got thrown over a couple curbs until I got used to the width of the thing--but I felt fantastic. Then, about 6 blocks in my thighs began to burn. I shifted down, felt a little better, and kept going on. Soon, I was dripping sweat and going ridiculously slow. When people looked at me riding at a snails pace, I just looked around as if I was enjoying the beautiful scenery. Until MacKenzie would holler from the back "why are you going so slow Mom?"

Finally, we arrived at Hanks. My thighs were so numb, I fell off my bike. Then I had to find a place to park the dang thing where I could lock it. After taking up the entire bike rack, I challenged someone to steal the contraption (at least I would have an excuse to call for a ride home) and went in the store.

Now I'm not a genius, but the exercise must have made me particularly brain dead. I didn't just pick up some bread and yogurt. I also got 2 gallons of milk, 2 cases of soda, a case of water and two bags of groceries. After fitting this in the trailer that I wish someone had stolen, I took off home with renewed hope.

The hope was short lived. I got to JB Thomas (about 3 blocks) and stopped. As people passed, I pretended to check the left tire. I went another three blocks, and had to stop again--this time, checking the other tire. Two blocks later, I stopped again, and before I could get off the bike, MacKenzie yelled "You've already stopped and checked both tires Mom!" So I covered her up with my sweater, and told her she was cold.

After six more stops, a bucket of sweat, and ten questions from MacKenzie about why I was breathing funny, we made it home. I couldn't walk or climb the stairs at work for two days, and the trailer has been parked ever since.

So why did I title this posting "Redemption?"

Although I could barely bike to Hanks and back, I won the Biggest Loser competition at work today! The contest started in August--and the first place pot was $165. Apparently I lost over 7% of my body weight. While that isn't saying much, being the "biggest loser" might just be the motivation I need to try that trip to Hanks again!

Or not.

Receding Hairlines Abound in Balad

Okay, so the pictures on the left were not for a news story on receding hair lines, but rather for an interview conducted by a reporter embedded with Sean's unit.

If you scroll down the interview page, there is a video attached which includes Sean and some of his "co-workers" on the night shift. It is nice to see them all looking healthy.

I am continuing to work on an updated, more detailed wish list. All of the soldiers have indicated that holiday decorations, including Christmas Lights, would be great. Sean did say that battery powered lights were best, although he could "rig something up" with plug in lights if necessary. As someone who has experienced Sean "rigging things up" first hand, I'd strongly suggest the battery powered version.