MAJOR changes...

Buried in a storage bin somewhere in one of our closets is a box filled with letters.  Letters full of encouraging words and Bible verses.  Letters full of mundane day-to-day details about the life of a college student engrossed in her studies, her jobs, & her sport.  Letters full of "i miss yous" and "i love yous."  Seventeen years ago i penned every single one of those letters.  They were all addressed to the same young man: Airman Basic James Carrabbia.

Seventeen years ago, I charged a plane ticket on a Discover card and flew with his parents to San Antonio, Texas to see him graduate from basic training.  Seventeen years ago,  he didn't have a single stripe on his arm.  Not long after that graduation ceremony, "Airman Basic" Carrabbia began his tech school & as the months and years went by he sewed on enlisted rank after enlisted rank.  By the time we were married he was a Senior Airman.  By the time we welcomed our first child he had sewn on Staff Sergeant & was faced with the decision of whether to leave the military behind and pursue his personal dream of becoming a doctor; or to stay in, complete a Bachelor's Degree, and try to become a Commissioned Officer in the United States Air Force.

Over the years I've stood back & watched him work tirelessly for our family. He ended up earning that Bachelor's Degree late at night; typing papers into the early morning hours after having worked a full day and coming home to take care of an 18 month old while I waited tables in the evenings so we could make ends meet. He traded a career field he loved for the commission because it offered a substantial pay raise & retirement benefits.  In doing so, he gave up his dream to become a doctor, to ensure my dream of being a full-time mom & provide a "constant" for the kids during these years of service when he is frequently absent from our home. This path he chose for his family has demanded endless sacrifice. Birthdays missed.  Christmases spent in desert dorm rooms.  First days of school he's seen only in pictures.  I've watched our kids take their first steps, bandaged boo-boos that needed "Daddy's kiss," & played "Easter Bunny" alone on many occasions.  I've never missed a moment, and he's missed more than I can count.  Even when he's home, if "duty" calls, he has to answer.  

Today is a big day in the Crabb Shack.  Today, the man who was once "Airman Basic James Carrabbia" without a stripe on his arm, received a letter informing him that he will soon be "Major James Carrabbia" with a golden Oak leaf on his shoulder.

Like all military promotions, this will bring changes for his career: greater responsibilities, new positions, more training and schools.  He'll miss more moments with our family as he meets the demands of his next assignment and all the while his eye will be fixed on the "prize" of providing the best he can for his family.  

I know he'd rather i didn't make such a fuss on days like today.  I know he doesn't like all the attention that this post will probably bring.  But I am so damn proud of the man that I share my life with.  He's a man of integrity, sacrifice, and service to others.  Sure, he's got his quirks and his flaws too.  But even his imperfections make him perfect for me.  Other than my words, I have nothing to offer him that will ever demonstrate the gratitude & pride that I feel every day that I stand beside him as his wife.  I am so excited to welcome the day that we are officially Major & Mrs. James Carrabbia.  

For My Mom

No single person that i have ever met loves their birthday more than my mom.  She counts down days (& sometimes months) until her special day arrives.  She's giddy when my kids call to sing her "Happy Birthday."  She loves getting presents and cards and candles on cakes and if you throw her a party (especially a surprise party) she'll be your bestie....forever.   So last month, i started a blog post that i was going to publish on her half-birthday to surprise her.  And since i couldn't ever seem to find the time to finish what i started, it inevitably joined so many other half-blog-posts i've written in the great blog-post graveyard that has become known as my "drafts" folder.  But i've decided to resurrect this post & finally finish it...exactly one month after her half-birthday.

When it comes to the dreams of motherhood that i dreamed, there were lots of ways i thought i'd be better at this than my mom was.  You see, by the time i gave birth to my first child at the wise "old" age of 24, i had spent just that many years studying her & had taken meticulous notes on all her flaws.  The minute they placed that sweet boy in my arms, my heart & head began swelling with the knowledge that i surely had this one in the bag.  If i had to sum it all up into a list of ways i would do it "better" than she did, it may have looked something like this:

 Worry less.  

Talk less.  

 Listen more.  

Be a better friend.  

  Never, ever, EVER miss a minute of the important stuff.

Now that i've got 12 years of this motherhood thing under my belt i've determined that i was a complete & total moron.  Worry less?  What the heck does that even look like? I birthed these kids.  & it is my sole right as the only one who has ever shared a space within my body where they could be nourished & grow to worry about them.  No one is the boss of me and no one can tell me not to worry.  Except Jesus.  Don't you fret, dear readers.  He reminds me regularly that worrying is neither my right nor my privilege.  But, since i'm being honest here, i kinda tune Him out on that one.  Because if ONE THING in their sweet lives may not go according to my plans & may potentially cause them harm, danger, or emotional distress then it is my right to worry about it because He knows that no one else on this God-forsaken Earth will worry about it like i will.  Good thing i'm not into "drama."

Also, i would love to talk less....if only they would LISTEN to me the FIRST TIME I SAY THE THING!!! Since they (almost) never do, i am obliged to talk until i am blue in the face.  And if they ignore me, i must say it LOUDER.  At least once a week i remind my kids that "i yell because i care."  If ever the day comes that i refuse to raise my voice and yell at the top of my lungs until they hear me they may assume that i am either dead or that i no longer love them enough to care that they actually hear me when i tell them about all the horrible things i am protecting them from becoming if they fail to listen to my words.

And as far as listening goes...i listen.  All the day long, i listen.  i listen about video games, & levels they beat, & pictures they colored, & movie lines that i, too, found hysterical before they quoted them 45 times in one day, & obscure thoughts their brains think about life & godliness.  God help me, i listen.  & if my children would EVER stop talking i would love to listen to the silence that i can only seem to find at the borderline-obscene hours of 5am & midnight.

As far as being a "friend" goes, that is crap.  That's not my job.  Not now, anyway.  Because i am the mom.  I not only said so, i KNOW so.  We can be friends when they have their own kids.  The End.

And as for not missing the important stuff...well, that's one i struggle with.  My mom missed a lot.  Track meets, awards banquets, honors ceremonies...sometimes it was because she was a single mom working 2 or 3 jobs to make ends meet.  Sometimes it was her choice.  Consequently, i don't let myself off the hook easily.  i guilt myself if i don't personally witness every tooth they pull and every goal they score.  Missing even ONE soccer practice makes me break out into a cold sweat.  & as much as i missed my mom at those events sometimes, smothering my own kids won't make up for how i felt.  So i guess i have to get a life that involves things i love OUTSIDE of my kids....Jesus & i are in deliberations about that one...

My mom wasn't perfect.  Not by a long shot.  And I ask the Holy Spirit to constantly remind me that i'm not either.  I wasn't then & I most certainly am not now.  But one thing i've realized in the past 12 years is that if i do this mother-thing with half as much love, grace, mercy, & forgiveness as she did, i'll be almost as great at it as she's been.  & i'll chalk that up as "success".

Happy one-month-after-your-half-birthday, mom.