Washington, D.C.

The last time I was in Washington, D.C., I had gone alone. I was there to visit my niece, who -- I will shamelessly braggity tell you -- was a CAPTAIN in the Air Force, and she and her husband were stationed there. (*high five, girl) D.C. was very cool, but I saw it with different eyes then; tourist show-me-some-thrills eyes.

Two weeks ago, when my husband and I took our two youngest children to D.C., being there with my family made me feel as if I had never been there. There was so much to do and only one week's time; we had to choose what we felt was important for our kids to come away seeing.  What this meant was sitting down and without realizing it, laying out our values. Discussing what being in our nation's capitol meant.

Our starting point was The Smithsonian. The Smithsonian is actually 17 museums, 2 specialty museums, and one National Zoo. There is no admission fee to any of these sites. They are free. That price was right for my frugal husband's budget. He is still whispering Smithsonian in his sleep. Boom. Our week right there. We would spend our time visiting 2 museums a day, and save the last day for the National Zoo. Done and discussed and settled.

And then our oldest son called, he wasn't with us. He asked what day we'd be going to see the memorials: the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, the Jefferson Memorial, the WWII Memorial, the Vietnam Memorial, the Korean War Memorial. Arlington National Cemetery, the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. We told him we didn't have the time with all the museums to see. I felt my face turn red with shame when he said, "I can't believe it. You're in D.C. and you're not going to any memorials, mom?" The way he sounded, his disappointment, made me turn to my husband and tell him there was a change in plans. We'd be going to Arlington.

The Smithsonian Museums were all wonderful, of the ones we were able to visit. The memorials were the moment of pause that gave weight to our trip. But the sight of Arlington National Cemetery, the first glimpse of rows and rows of white crosses of service members that knew nothing else than to sacrifice for their country, I can't even begin to explain the emotions we felt.

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All those lives stretched out in markers before us.

No one grew restless, no one complained, no one asked when we would be going home.

About ten burials a day take place at Arlington, each of them by horse drawn casket. The day we were there, we witnessed one service and one procession. There are signs every 100 feet or so requesting silence, making the steady clip-clop of the horses' hooves even more solemn. That stillness, together with the sight of soldiers in their respectful ceremonial dress dutifully marching behind, following the flag draped casket, did both my husband and me in. Our children knew not to ask why we were wiping our eyes.

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At the end of our day there, we climbed to the top of Arlington's hills to see the Tomb of the Unknowns.

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Since July 2, 1937, a guard has been posted there 24 hours a day, 7 days a week -- no matter how cold, how hot, how heavy the rain or snow, the watch has never ceased. During 9/11, the guard never left.

The monument is dedicated to American service members who have died without their remains ever being identified. Without anyone on earth ever knowing who they were.

On the western panel, centered and inscribed, are the words:

HERE RESTS IN

HONORED GLORY

AN AMERICAN

SOLDIER

KNOWN BUT TO GOD

We had found the most important thing to see in Washington, D.C.
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But Why Did She Do It?

I know, I know; it was well over two weeks ago that Angelina stuck that leg out like she was Inspector Gadget, "Go Go Gadget Chicken Leg" while presenting at the 2012 Academy Awards.  But I can't stop thinking about it: what was she thinking, exactly?

I think I know. Please stop over at my post today, on Aiming Low, and we can all get some rest, knowing what Jolie Pitt was really doing that night.

I thank you. You all are the best.

 

Aiming Low: where mediocrity is our goal.

My Mom Is Really Cool But She Gets Crazy About TV Shows

It's Monday, and my youngest, Baby E., has decided to start posting again. He began posting on Mondays two years ago, and has taken some time off.  But he felt the urge to get back online tonight. Thank you for welcoming him and giving him your time today.
It means a lot.

xo
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Hi. It's been a long time since I was here because I felt very very sick for the past weeks. I was so sick that every five minutes I would go GREEN in my face (put that green in all caps, mom). But I trudged on anyway.

Mom and Dad made me go to school.

And on vacation to Washington, D.C. on vacation. That's all I want to say about me. But we went to so many places on vacation: Lincoln Memorial, Washington Monument, and museums, and the World War II Memorial, and the National Zoo.

We went to Washington because my big brother got into a special school there. So we went there.

This is my big brother

Believe it or not, I was so sick I didn't want to go to the gift shops or kick rocks when I walked. Usually I kick rocks all the time when I walk and my mom tells me that's why my shoes never last.

Ok, now I'm done talking about being sick.

I barfed on the plane.

Twice.

There and back.

Now I'm done talking about that.

Now I will get to how my mom is crazy about TV shows.

Whenever people act really dumb or fake she gets really mad. She yells at the TV, "What are you doing? Don't try to guess the sausage names! What are you thinking?" My dad says, "Yeah, yell at the TV because they can hear you." It always makes us laugh. She went crazy tonight with Amazing Race.

I like books A LOT still. So much that at school on Friday I wanted to go to a book store, not for toys, just books, and all day I just wanted to go to a book store. I am reading The Spy X series, "Hide and Seek," by Peter Lerangis. There are four books so far. I like the books because they're mysterious. Like The 39 Clues. (Book 10 of The 39 Clues was awesome).

I like to read so much that I even read the juice carton when it's on the table.

What makes me mad when I get books from the library is when they have food stains on them, or pages are torn, or the cover is ripped, or pages coming off. People need to take care of books because you want others to read them when you use the library books. It'll be your turn and you don't want a dirty ripped up book. I wish you could know who took the book out last because I would tell them.

Once, I waited for a book from the library and it took like six months -- no lie -- and then I asked about it and they said they didn't have it anymore because "it was damaged beyond repair." BEYOND. Can you believe that?

The book was The Sherlock Files, Book four (there are four of them).

I am better now and played soccer today.

If you have questions about my vacation or the books I read, please tell me.

Oh. My brother got a 3DS for Christmas and it's super cool. I'll do that post later because I have like SO MUCH to say about it. Like crazy, so much.

One thing I'll tell you about it:  it's amazing. ( I have a million things to say).

And I have to tell you about the time I got hives after I ate 24 packs of Skittles.

Bye. I'm still sick a little bit so I can't help clean up at night yet. My brothers are cleaning up now.

Bye.

*I only feel good enough to read my book.

P.S. What else I really don't like about books is when they make it into a cliffhanger. A cliffhanger and the next book isn't even out yet. I go crazy when that happens, like my mom does with Amazing Race.

Book Four of Spy X just ended -- it's a cliffhanger!!

Bye.

Oh, Adele,

Our cathartic crooner, Adele. We are at risk, America, World, have you been to her blog lately? SHE'S HAPPY.

I couldn't stand by while we are in peril of losing this woman that always makes me feel so cleansed after a good cry no matter what song of hers comes on the radio. I felt a call to action, and Voila.

My post today, at Aiming Low, an Open Letter To Adele's Attending Physician. I hope he can save her, for us.

Aiming Low, strive for the mediocre.

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So, I'm Going To Be Okay

About two summers ago, after I followed a smell in my kitchen that led me to some ground turkey meat I must have set out to defrost days ago -- in the cabinets with the dishes, and after I opened the freezer and found a bag of fingerling potatoes next to the lemon sorbet, and after I found the bananas I had been looking for since the weekend sitting next to the shoes in the backroom, I quietly and without much of a fight, accepted the fact that I must have early onset dementia.

I'm not joking or making light about those with this condition. I really believed it, accepted it, and went on with my days; always being sure to have a little church pew pencil and mini notebook in my back pocket to write things down; important things, like who was at soccer until what time and at what park. Things that matter, like that.

I knew it was early onset dementia, my kids knew I had it, and my husband shared the diagnosis along with me. Just a fact of life, we learned to deal with it.

Until last week Sunday afternoon, when my oldest son was reading an article in the Wall Street Journal, and he happily cried out as if he just saw winning lottery numbers, Mom! Dad! You guys don't have Alzheimer's!

My husband opened his eyes from his spot on the floor in front of the fireplace where he'd been taking his 2 o'clock nap, I looked up from my new book Cooking Light and Feelin' Good, and together we shouted We don't?

No! You don't! He filled us in. It says here, you're normal! If you forget your keys, that's normal. If you forget your car, and walk home, that's not. More good stuff like this follows. If you can't remember your friend's name from high school, that's normal; if you can't remember your kid's name, that's not.

My husband and I looked at each other and grinned. We're normal!

Turns out we are just over worked, under rested, maxed out, life engulfed, sleep deprived, inadequately exercised, middle aged working parents. The clinical term is Normal Aged Forgetfulness.

We're okay.

Isn't that great?

I want to share this sense of relief with you. The article gave some more examples of what's normal versus what needs to be examined. Here, for you, nuggets of reassuring good news:

To lose car keys, normal. To lose a car, not.

To forget your childhood address, normal. To forget current address, not.

Forgetting names or appointments, normal. Forgetting your spouse's name, not.

Forgetting why you walked into a room, normal. Forgetting where your room is in your house, not.

Forgetting the names of things occasionally, normal. Forgetting the name of a toothbrush while you hold it in your hand, not.

Forgetting where you're going while you're driving, normal. Forgetting where your house is on your block, not.

Wearing clothes for days in a row without changing, not normal. Yoga pants Monday till Wednesday, totally fine.

Unable to manage household finances any longer, not normal. Kind of putting a dent in the credit card during Anthropologie's Winter Clearance Sweater Sale, clearly normal.

Wearing your black cardigan inside out for a full day, normal. Wearing your bra backwards for even one minute, not normal.

Talking to yourself, so normal. Yelling at yourself to answer back, not.

Occasionally blanking out on what your phone number is, normal. Forgetting what a number is, not.

Putting potatoes in the freezer, normal. Putting your watch in the sugarbowl, not. (Okay, I made that one up.)

Getting upset that Jim Halpert let that temp-tress Kathy in his room with only her underwear on, normal. Actually writing a letter to Jim Halpert reminding him of what it took to get Pam, still normal.

Good news, people. We're all going to be okay.

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