Scenes from the Ocean + One Inspiring Quote about the Sea

I need the sea because it teaches me -- Pablo Neruda


Eight Candles

...and eight things I love about her.

1. Her creativity.
2. Her ability to wake up with a huge smile on her face. She's a morning person and always the first one to want to get the day going on the right foot...always the optimist. 
3. She's the middle child and a natural mediator. She can quickly turn a bad situation around when in a pinch.
4. Her decisiveness.
5. She's like her father in so many ways, especially, in coordinating her clothes. There has been some crazy combinations I have to turn down.
6. That big smile that lights up the room. 
7. Her tenderness, especially towards her younger sister.
8. She's the life of the party. We all love Lucy.

We celebrated her eigth birthday with a sweet group of friends, minus a few, because I couldn't get myself together to plan a bigger bash before they either moved away or flew to the mainland for extended family visits. Poor summer babies, they pay for the easy breezy mood of the season, which makes me especially grateful that she's such the optimist and so tender and understanding towards her mama.


And Just Like That

I feel like I'm on here so little, that everytime I make an appearance I need to introduce myself. "Hi, I'm Liza. I'm the sporadic blogger that loves her space but just can't find the words to make it less empty. Please to meet you."

Ok, now, that the formalities are out of the way, let me tell you what's on my mind. It's 6:00 on a Tuesday evening. Dusk is rolling in and I'm feeling neither here nor there...in limbo. My thoughts are everywhere and nowhere. The windows are open. The breeze is flowing through the house. I can hear the rustling of leaves, wind chimes, kids riding by and the birds singing. The day is telling me hurry up and make the best of it because it's almost over. Yet, I sit at my laptop compelled to open my soul for a peak. Peak a boo! Now, you see me. Now, you don't.

Before this week rolled in, I knew that it was going to take all I could to roll through it. Life as I knew it for the last year has just changed. It's an ordinary change in my world. A change that outsiders looking in would say that I could do it blindfolded with my hands tied up behind my back. What is it? Our neighbors moved away on new orders. A family that I met literally one year ago this month when I rolled into the neighborhood. It wasn't even a complete family that I met. Our sponsors, spouses to those in the civilian world, were away. Her's was deployed to the Middle East and mine was out to sea. We met and instantly clicked, as well as, the kids. It couldn't have been easier. However, if that wasn't good enough, the neighbors to my left was also an instant success and the kids, too. What are the odds? 

So, the past year was spent with the front screen door constantly slamming shut and kids running in and out of our homes. However, in less than three weeks time. I'm left alone in the middle, in complete silence. Both sets of families have moved on. The children are feeling the void, too. We miss the knocks and the doorbell rings. We want our normal back.  I want my normal back! You're probably wondering, why on earth is she "mourning" the move? You see, for the last year, the neighbor to my right has been my lifeline. We have been each other's lifeline, last minute babysitter, confidant, the "tell me what you think about this" gal. It really sucks, there's no sugar coating it. But...c'est la vie. Such is life for the military dependant. We move on because if we don't we miss the chance of meeting our next lifeline. The girl that pulls you through and makes you laugh at yourself and the crazy life you married. 

I had the kids together in our home on their last day of packing the last bits of pieces that was left of their home into crates destined overseas. I captured them simultaneously playing as they always did and I'm so glad I did.