Yes!

I received Patrick's first 'written by him letter' yesterday! Although, unfortunately the day he wrote his letter, (Sunday), he had not received any letters from family and friends!

I wonder why it is that we add tones to letters/texts/correspondence? In one sentence I read it with a tinge of sadness; in the next, determination. All in all, it was just plain wonderful to receive his letter. Albeit, one small page...a half sheet of paper..where Patrick dedicated two sentences to making sure his brother Jeff made sure to post his mailing address on Facebook, hmmm.

Patrick's writing wasn't that atrocious this time around. I didn't have to reread a word to make out what he was trying to say. I can tell he's growing up; so much so his penmanship is improving as well. No one can say the Marine Corps doesn't bring up the best in a person. So proud of that boy of mine!

I do feel better knowing that by the time I received his one letter he had most likely received two out of my four letters I have sent him. (There's only so much a mom can clean with her arm in a sling).
Yes, time is a plenty these days.

Maybe I should bump up my letter writing to everyday versus every other day?

First Words

Yesterday, Thursday, Patrick's letter finally arrived.  I have to give Mark, (my DH) credit - he said it wouldn't arrive until Wednesday or Thursday. He's rarely right, so when he is, I do give him credit. I immediately sent out an e-mail to family/friends with his address. The letter like his telephone call was scripted. I would be lying if I said I wasn't slightly disappointed. However, because I was starving for any news from Patrick, even the scripted letter was welcome.

The scripted letter reminded me of Patrick's first words. In a way, his first words were scripted as well. How many mothers and father's repeatedly say to their baby, 'Say Mama. Say Daddy.'  I know I would repeatedly say this to Patrick. Perhaps Marine Corps boot camp is like a rebirth of a person. 'Say my battalion is.... Say Do not send me Porn..."'Yes, it did say under the section of things the recruits cannot receive, (especially packages/parcels): No Pornographic material. I don't think it ever crossed my mind to make sure Patrick had a good supply of fake breasts and surgically enhanced asses to view when he gets homesick!

Today I set out to organize myself for my first letter to him as well as future letters. Printed Patrick's mailing labels - check! Set up a Patrick's correspondence folder - check! Made sure there are plenty of stamps on hand - soon to be checked. I had asked Mark to stop at the customer service desk at the grocery store, (where he was stopping anyway) to pick up a book of stamps. Apparently there was one person being waited on and since Mark has the patience of a two-year old, he opted to 'get them later'. Which in DH language means, 'I'll let the wife get them when she comes to the store'.

I made sure that my first letter to Patrick was sent today. I'm hoping to write him 3 - 4 times a week. One of Patrick's Pet Peeves in high school, (as most teens) was when someone asked him a lot of questions. Patrick's limit usually was 2 or 3 questions per evening. I recall trying not to ask the usual 'How was school today?' saving my questions for more important queries: 'Did you rotate the laundry this afternoon?' - important questions along those lines.  

The recruits only have a couple of hours on Sunday as free time. This time can be used for letter writing, studying or to catch up on other Marine Corps tasks, (I'm assuming shining boots and making sure their foot locker is organized etc. falls under 'tasks'). So, I'm sure letters from Patrick may be only once a week and brief.

I am just hopeful that his letters home will have more than 'Dear Mama or Dear Dad, I'm fine. Patrick'. Although, at least he would be using words I first taught him to use.

Waiting on a Letter

Over the past week I have learned something about myself. I do not do well when waiting.

The way Mark and I have it figured out, Patrick should have written his letter Sunday. His boot camp is located in Parris Island, South Carolina; surely the letter should be here today. Although, Mark calmly tells me it will most likely arrive tomorrow or Thursday - this from the man who white knuckled the steering wheel due to a red light. (See Blog: 19 Seconds). I try to constructively whittle away the hours, but really, because of my sling there is just so many tasks I can perform one handed.

When Patrick took his oath for the Delayed Entry Program, (DEP), Mark and I received a parents packet. There was a Marine Corps brochure and a DVD. The DVD provided information specifically geared to parents.  There was some boot camp information, but it was lightly covered. Patrick was given information and a DVD as well. His DVD provides us with a better look of what he would be going through during each week of boot camp. This DVD has clips of actual recruits at different intervals of boot camp training.

In Patrick's DVD there is a scene of a Drill Instructor, (DI) yelling at a recruit. Although, there are a lot of scenes of DI's yelling at recruits. In this scene, the DI holds up an envelope, yelling, "How about you write this so the person receiving it can read what you've written instead of this chicken scrawl?" The recruit answers, "Aye sir!"

Every time I view that clip, I see Patrick. Patrick's hand writing is atrocious. I pray that the DI's won't have Patrick redo our letter until it is legible - if they do, I'll be waiting a long time! 

19 Seconds

Over the weekend, time just ticked on, without a care to upcoming events. The weekend was crackling with anticipation, nerves, excitement and worry: Stress. The best way I know how to deal with stress is to clean. This is very hard to do when one arm is compromised in a sling! I had surgery on my left shoulder/bicep tendon on 11/27/2013 and have to wear a sling for 4-weeks. I cannot take it off; only to shower and for physical therapy. It's driving me crazy to say the least. Everything I cleaned looked cleaner on the right side than the left side; well to me anyways. The cleaning filled the time.

Sunday arrived. Who knew the day we had to drive Patrick to the recruiters office in Hatboro, PA, for the start of his journey that we would be in the middle of a mini snow storm. Of course, it was totally miscalled by the weather forecasters. That's the job to have; you look at a weather map, chose what you think will happen with a 50% chance of getting it wrong. No worries, you get to keep your job!  Just saying...Patrick was to arrive at the office 2:00 PM, so we left our home at 1:00 PM - plenty of time. In normal circumstances the drive would take 30 - 40 minutes, tops. Patrick was only to take with him a photo ID, his social security card, and address book. He wore his high tops, jeans, a tee shirt and a short sleeve button down shirt. He refused to wear a hoodie, sweater or jacket because "We're not allowed Mama." Patrick explained this to me as if I was a three-year old who just didn't know any better.  I tried to get Patrick to at least carry a hoodie in the car, after all he could always take it off when we got there, but apparently it would take too much time to get it. Seriously?

Every road was slow and slushy. A couple of roads were closed. I believe we hit every single red light on the way there. It's at times like these where it becomes clearly apparent that Patrick is his father's son. Neither one has any patience. Mark, (my DH), was totally white knuckling the steering wheel. Patrick was in the back seat totally white knuckling the over head bar. Every time we encountered a red light, both of them did their imitation of a deflating tire; you know the sound, a gasp followed by the huge sigh.

 

Patrick was so nervous that we weren't going to get there on time that at one point I thought he was going to jump out of the car and jog to Hatboro! We did arrive right on time. We were the first ones there! The sergeant who was driving to Ft. Dix, NJ, was picking up a few recruits in Quakertown, PA, and was delayed due to the weather. The staff sergeant who was to give the recruits a quick indoctrination before leaving the office was tied up in traffic as well. An hour behind schedule, the sergeant came in with three recruits who were heading down with Patrick. Each one had on either a hoodie or jacket. I immediately looked at Mark who just shook his head. Mark is very good at just shaking his head; those frustrating quiet alpha males! As soon as the sergeant walked in, he looked at his wrist watch.

The sergeant checked out Patrick's identification, turned to Mark and I and said, "This is the time for good-bye's Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds". I am not sure what look Patrick or Mark had on their faces when this was said since my eyes immediately formed tears and blurred my vision. Time flew right out the window into the snow.

I grabbed Patrick's neck to pull him down for a hug, a kiss to his cheek and whispered 'I love you mi Patricio', (my Patrick). I was proud that I didn't turn into a blubbering mess. That came as I watched Mark hug Patrick good-bye; after that my tears flowed non-stop.  After the hugs of good-bye, Mark started to head out but my mind raced with a million and one thoughts and pictures.  The implosion of thoughts and pictures took me to Patrick being born, his first time getting on the school bus, his First Communion, prom, graduation from high school, Patrick with his two brothers, Jeff and Phillip. I had no words other than to whisper to the heavens, 'Lord, keep him safe, free from harm. I leave him in Your care' and left. The good-byes took less than three minutes.

The ride home although still with snowy roads and traffic, was quiet. Mark and I were both lost in our thoughts. As I walked into our home I knew that this was it; new phase of life was beginning for me. The beginning started as we waited for Patrick's one and only telephone call advising that he had arrived at his destination. Time dragged on.

Patrick called on Tuesday, 12/10/2013 at 12:03 AM. He said, "This is Recruit Reynolds. I have arrived safely at Parris Island, SC. Please do not send me any packages or bulky items. I will be writing you in 10 days with my address. Thank you for your support". The call lasted 19 seconds. That was it. Nineteen seconds of scripted words from my son. No time for Mark and I to say 'I love you', 'Be safe', no time to ask him any questions.

So, we move forward with the knowledge that he is in the care of the US Marine Corps with the goal of becoming a US Marine. As we wait for his first letter, we move on; going to work, to eat, to sleep, to live. Just as time, we move forward.

Making the Dream Reality: Dreamality

I started out my blog asking the question, 'Why Now?' The question was meant to be redundant. However, in these last few days a new chapter of my life has been presented and has caused me to have an answer to the question, 'Why Now?'

 My youngest son, Patrick, (AKA The Boy), is going to Marine Corp boot camp. Being a Marine has been Patrick's dream since he was 10-years old. In the spring of his junior year of high school, Patrick contacted the local recruiting office to begin the official process; and a process it has been. Patrick has met with other recruits (called Pooley's) also part of his recruiting office, every Thursday afternoon, and once every second Saturday of each month since. The recruiters work out with the Pooley's, getting them physically ready as well as emotionally ready for boot camp and for becoming US Marines. Patrick has definitely turned his dream into a reality: DREAMALITY!

Patrick's initial contract had him leaving for boot camp in mid-February, 2014. However, an opportunity to leave prior to his contract date was made known earlier this week. Patrick leaves for boot camp tomorrow. For me, this has illuminated the path of my blog: writing of my journey as the 'Mama' of a Marine recruit through boot camp and beyond.

Patrick's dream started on the day that I became lost going to church in Virginia. Although I grew up in Northern  Virginia, over the years the area has changed so much. Even though it has to be said that after over 23 years of living in the suburbs of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, I still get lost! The truth is I am severely directionally challenged; a trait I fear I have given to my oldest son, Jeff. I only hope Jeff does not find himself in the many predicaments I have over the years: finding myself heading into New York City when I was to be heading home - the complete opposite direction; finding myself in a 'bad' neighborhood of Philadelphia at night - I found out it was a bad neighborhood the following Saturday when the neighborhood was featured on the television show Cops; Once, in my quest to finding someone to tell me where I was so that Mark, (my DH) could help me get home, I had to have Mark hold while the person I was going to ask completed the transaction of his drug deal! Well, the scenarios go on. Needless to say, I truly have no sense of direction. To me, whatever direction my face is, that is north; whatever direction my butt is, that is south. Not a trusted compass at all!

This 'lost' adventure happened when Patrick was about 10 years old.  My family was visiting my mother in Northern Virginia;  I was driving with just myself and Patrick trying to find my mother's church to attend Sunday Mass. Somehow, someway, I ended up at one of the back gates of Marine Base Quantico in Northern Virginia. At this back gate were two Marine guards dressed in Marine Corp camouflage carrying A16 rifles.  They politely asked to see my identification and set me off in the right direction. The whole while, Patrick was taking it all in. I did not know until later the impression these Marines made on Patrick. He told Mark and I later that the uniform and the weapons were part of the intrigue, but the way the Marines carried themselves, the confidence and authority they exhibited had him at his earliest opportunity looking up the history of the Marine Corp. That's how it started.

At first, Mark and I thought perhaps it was a phase, Patrick's infatuation with the Marines. However, as Patrick grew, so did his determination. He watched television shows, movies, read books, did reports at school whenever possible on the US Marines. Patrick has learned of the Marine Corp history, weaponry, and credence. He never once faltered from his path of career choice. To say that Mark and I are proud is an understatement. We are incredibly proud. To say that I am a wee bit worried would be a fib. I am almost insanely worried. I have to continually remind myself that the Drill Instructors at Parris Island, South Carolina are there not only to train the recruits, but will do everything possible to keep them safe from harm.

Tomorrow,  he will begin his journey of becoming a Marine; he will be a Marine recruit. Tomorrow, I will begin a new journey as well; I will be the mother of a Marine Corp recruit. Lucky for Patrick, I will not be driving him to boot camp.

 

 

20 Years

Today is my 20^th Wedding Anniversary. In this day and age, this milestone is considered monumental. In my mind, being married to Mark for 20 years has been as easy as breathing.

Meeting Mark all those years ago cemented my belief in love at first sight. I knew the moment I sat next to him that he was the ‘One’. Today I realize Mark encompasses so many traits of my fictional hero’s. Mark is my Jamie/Edward/Zadist/Iain/Valiant, all in one.

My handsome Mark makes me laugh and makes me feel special. Although I know I’m as cute as all get out, he is the one person that makes me feel beautiful. Mark is the one I can talk to about anything; he is my best friend. I don’t know where I would be right now if destiny had not stepped in and had our paths cross, but I do know with Mark in my life I am a better person, a better me; which makes me even cuter!

Happy 20^th Anniversary Mi Querido Mark!

Why Now?

In Chickie's World...

Everyone seems to have one of these; blogs. Where posts illuminate thoughts, rants, opinions, observations, giggles, etc. Long ago, these would stay tucked away in our minds, written in journals. At times they would eek out in a comment or situation, but normally, left untouched, unsaid, unnoticed.

Do we really want to know what the thoughts, happenings or opinions of others? Yes and no. Yes, because it offers us a look into our family/friends/famous folks psyche; a connection. No, because it offers us a look into our family/friends/famous folds psyche; sometimes better left untouched.

Why start a blog now? Maybe because I want to be heard now that I'm 50+ years. Maybe because I want to put it out there in the Cyber universe; maybe because I want to put a stamp on the blogosphere. Or maybe, as every mother has a right to say, because I said so.

In Chickie's World things are not perfect. Sometime, in chaos. Although, I would prefer, a controlled chaos. However, the world often doesn't give us a controlled chaos. but I make do the best I can. 
In Chickie's World time goes by so quickly; leaving it's mark in laugh lines, gray hair and memories.
In Chickie's World friendship is valued. Chats cherished and hugs welcome.
In Chickie's World humor with laughter is key, for without it the world is dull and dour.
In Chickie's World reading is sustenance: food, water, air all in one. Without reading, I think I would be almost debilitated. Where would I be without a book or my Kindle (one of the best gifts I've ever received!)?

So, as with all things new, here I start and welcome your comments, your opinions.