Krankheit

As the title of this post suggests, I'm sick.  For those keeping track at home, krankheit is, indeed, the opposite of gesundheit.  And some of you just knew that. ♥

This is the first time I've been sick since opening my door (and closing it for clientele privacy).  I didn't grow up with the best examples of how to deal with illness.  Short of pneumonia, if a soldier is sick, they still go to work.  If a massage therapist is sick, we have to close up shop.  This hurts, because our natural inclination is to take care of people.  Writing the cancellation notice was more painful than my raspy throat.  My clients are very understanding, and for that I am fortunate and grateful. 

Instead of sitting around and sulking, I'm taking the time to catch up on some Massamio blogs, perusing the Massage Therapy Foundation, working out kinks in my website (and removing Neocities' groundfloor, so it's going to get worse before it gets better), and just taking care of myself.  I've read accounts that claim a daily 20-minute bath, while you're sick, can reduce the time you spend under the weather.  I find baths to be a boring waste of time, and a huge waste of water.

"I've seen your twitter sermons.  I'm REALLY worried about you wasting water."

My point still stands!  In any case, the last time I wasn't feeling well, I followed that advice, and I got through it with barely a tickle and less-painful coughing.  This is very anecdotal, so what does the research have to say about it?  While I'm not sulking about being sick, I'll do a bit of digging and find out.

Off-Topic - National Adoption Month

It's #NationalAdoptionMonth, again. If you're thinking about starting a family, your child might already be waiting for you. @AdoptUSKids

— Jessica McCormick (@GesundhtMassage) November 1, 2013

In business classes, we're cautioned about mixing personal and professional interests.  We'll inevitably step on someone's toes, at some point, and that's bad for business.  My business is too new for me to say, "I don't care," but here it is:  I don't care.

November is National Adoption Month.  I come from a very blended family.  My paternal uncle is adopted, my grandparents helped raise me and my brother until my father remarried (it takes a village!), said marriage giving us a great step-family, and I can't count the number of "uncles" I had growing up in the military.  The holidays were a blast.

I had the opportunity to share this with a class while attending UW-Green Bay.  The assignment was to present our respective heritage.  I could sum it up with "military & geek culture", but that wouldn't fly.  I went over the usual stuff, proclaiming what a typical American mutt I am, but the two most important factors were my military and step family.  Nobody in either of these camps had any obligation in my upbringing, but they were there, they're part of who I am, and I can't imagine my life any other way.

Following my presentation, a classmate caught up with me after class.  Her boyfriend had two children from a previous relationship, and she wanted to hear more about what it's like being a step-child.  We chatted for a bit, and my answer to her final question sums up the experience for me.
Q:  Do you get along with her?
A:  She's my mom.  We have our ups & downs, but she's my mom.

I could have said, "Oh, yeah!  We're like this!" and done the little finger-linking thing, but that would have fallen short of the truth.  I wouldn't risk providing any false hope or horror, and the military provides a special form of strife to add to the teenage years.  And you know what?  My friends had similar issues with their own families; biological, military, or other.

I don't have the 1950's, white-picket fence, 2.5 (point five...?) children image of what makes a family.  That certainly isn't what my family ever looked like, and I won't tolerate any insult to my mom insisting that "it isn't the same" unless I bear the child myself.  I don't know if I'll have 2 children or 5, but I don't plan on taking 9 months out to make one.  If it happens, my husband and I will be happy, and we'll be especially curious as to what sort of creature our genetics will create, but this isn't a prerequisite for family.  For all we know, our first child might be waiting for us as I type this blog.

Learn about adoption and foster care:
Adopt.org
AdoptUSKids.org
- How to Foster
AmericanAdoptions.com
LittleCity.org/foster
NationalAdoptionDay.org (November 23rd)

Freedom Day USA 2013

#FreedomDayUSA

I know, the picture is breaking the border, and usually that would bother me, but I've scaled it down more than I'd like. 

Think of the word "deploy"; what does it mean to you?  If you're a programmer, as many of my clients are or have been, it means something very different than what a soldier, military spouse, or military brat associates with the term.  I'm an Army brat.  My brother and I can identify with the child in the center picture, crying in his father's arms; and our father knows how the soldier on the far right feels as she's reunited with her child after a 12-month deployment.

We all know that our Troops make extreme sacrifices while in foreign lands, but what about the family members who are left at home?  They sacrifice more than we realize to ensure that everything is taken care of while their loved one is away, all while carrying the heavy burden of wondering and worrying about the safety of their soldier.  Here are their stories... (follow hyperlink to FreedomDayUSA.org)

This my experience:

The most deployments occurred when we were stationed in Baumholder, Germany.  I say "we" because, when one parent is in the military, the entire family is, as well.  Until we moved back state-side, half-way through my junior year (my family always PCSed on the downbeat!), I didn't appreciate how nice it was to have this in common with other brats.  It certainly wasn't nice that our parents were gone, but it was nice that we all understood how much it flat-out sucked.  It can also make one a little intolerant.  I once abruptly ended a conversation with a state-side friend as she was sniveling over her father leaving for a three-day business meeting.  Try three months, which is nice when you consider it isn't seven months, or a solid year.  Three months is nice when it's such a novelty to have both parents home.

When my classmates and I would discuss where we're from, I'd always say "Wisconsin".  I remember one of my classmates was very proud of being from Chicago, and I've often wonder if he's settled there.  It's more likely that he joined the military straight out of high school, as I also contemplated before being denied for a weak knee.  Many military brats join the military, for at least one enlistment, because it's all we really know.  Sure, college is on the horizon, but one step at a time.  We grow up under the motto, "Home is where the [branch of service] sends you!" and it feels weird to leave.  If we have the luxury of grandparents, I think many of us used their locations as "home".

As an adult, I feel a bit conflicted at times.  I had to re-evaluate this response my freshman year at UW-Green Bay.  I can still remember introducing myself to my orientation group and stuttering through where I was "from".  It took me a full semester to comfortably reply, "I grew up in the Army," and the implications slowly sunk in.  The place I had always considered "home" was finally a short 1.5 hour drive away, and I was in Wisconsin!  That should feel pretty good, and so it did, most of the time.

One morning, during my first semester, I woke up very disoriented.  No, this disorientation had nothing to do with my "new-found freedom".  I reached over to turn my alarm clock off, but my hand only hit empty air.  Groggily, I remembered that I was no longer in Baumholder, and turned the other way, only to stare at a wall.  Frustration helped me wake up, and I remembered that I wasn't in Olympia, either.  I was on the top bunk in my dorm room, and my roommate had already been up for a half hour.  We exchanged greetings as I scrambled to the foot of my bed, where my alarm clock rested on the top shelf of my massive university-issued desk.  As per her morning routine, my roommate then called her parents, who lived a couple hours south of us.  I felt miserable, but I couldn't call my parents; it was only 5am Pac Time.

I see a few uniformed personnel on a weekly basis, going hither and thither.
(Yes, I talk like that.)
I don't assume all of them are married, or that all of them have children, but I've seen PROUD ARMY WIFE and MY DAUGHTER IS IN THE U.S. AIR FORCE on local vehicles.  I know that these soldiers have families who care about them.  I know that some of these parents, spouses, and children are enduring the absence of their soldier, and some of them are very thankful to have them home.  This is a source of stress that I take for granted, but we don't need to endure it alone.  I invite any military card-holder to schedule an appoint with me for a free one-hour massage on September 12th.  There's very little I can do to affect the global state of affairs, but I can offer this much for our soldiers and loved ones who are giving their all to set things right.