2009 is supposed to be the year of the military family.

I know. It’s only the middle of May, there are many months ahead and great things can, and hopefully will be done, but I’m an inpatient person.

I actually worked on a story on what the year of the military family would mean and discovered from various sources that nothing official has been planned. Nada. Zilch.

I know, I know, I’m not privy to all initiatives being brought forth, but I wanted to hear that policy makers were going to do something concrete.

I can’t look at the news anymore without thinking that recent events should be enough to let public officials know that the military has urgent and pressing needs. An American soldier, Army Sgt. John M. Russell, killed five of his comrades at a stress center in Baghdad. The same week media reported that a former soldier, Stephen Dale Green, was convicted of killing and raping a 14 year old Iraqi girl, and murdering her family. He faces a possible death penalty sentence.

These are two extreme cases and don’t speak for the majority, not even the minority, of combat troops who suffer from post traumatic stress disorder, but they highlight the difficulty of dealing with enormous pressure – back to back deployments, family concerns, instability and mental health issues.

I don’t justify atrocities or blame personal choices on the harshness of deployments or even war, but I do think about all of the service members, some of them men and women I personally know, who don’t pull a trigger, but live their own personal nightmares day in and day out.

The reality is that service members, spouses left behind and children are shouldering huge strains, two wars and heavy deployment schedules for many years. It takes its toll.

We must take action. It’s not only the cases that make the news that we need to prevent – though of course this should be our focus. We need to step in before the unthinkable becomes possible. We need to sustain deployed troops with adequate mental health care. We need to offer support for marriages, finances, physical and mental health back home before and after a deployment, and most importantly we need to make sure that people know how to get help and encourage them to do so.

It’s an enormous and difficult task, but we need to undertake it now.

When I hear that the Year of the Military Family has so far been only symbolic, I’m disappointed. Symbols are nice, but military families are a community in a steady-state of crisis. What would help is very simple – time, money and people.

I know there isn’t enough to go around, the recession, the budget, and the war itself. But policy makers need to step up and address these issues head on if they want a strong military, not with a symbolic gesture, but with concrete actions.

We need more time with our loved ones, and more money and resources to help alleviate the financial and emotional stress that pushes so many military families to their own limits, which they usually don’t cross with horrible violence, but with the quiet heartache of unhappiness and instability.

My sister is going through a hard time. She came over to visit me, really all of us, and I could tell immediately that there was something wrong. Her eyes looked big and hallow and I saw sadness in them - the kind that you get from a broken heart.

My sister is five years younger than me but we are very close and in tune with each other - despite the ocean that separates us, because she lives in Rome and I live in the US.

It’s boyfriend problems, boyfirend she’s been with for ten years, boyfriend she lives with. Not that easy.

It kills me to see that she’s struggling and that there is nothing I can do to help her. It must be the same way parents feel when their kids have a broken heart.

I remember my dad trying to cheer me up when a boy I loved broke my heart many years ago. I thought he didn’t want to stop and look at me for too long for fear of seeing my pain a bit too close. Now, I think I know why.

I feel powerless watching my sister suffer.

I wish I could take her heart, mend it and give it back to her.

But I can’t. All I can do is stand by her and tell her that I love her.

I love you Luisa.
Ti voglio bene Luisa.

I know I’ve been away.

My own mother has asked me why I haven’t updated my blog recently, but I’ve been so busy. It’s really not an excuse, there are just 24 hours in a day and I have to use at least 6 of them to sleep. My preference would be to utilize a full 8 hours but I have to settle for less.

Now I’m back and trying to blog more consistently. I’ve said that before but I need another chance.

My first blog back is pretty cool (I think).

I interviewed Dara Torres and I wanted to post some of the interview I conducted. First of all, Dara’s abs are every woman’s dream, but her personal story is what’s truly inspirational. I like that in her new book, Age is Just a Number, she doesn’t only talk about her amazing success but also about some of her difficult times and the obstacles she overcame.

ANITA: What advice do you have for moms who feel they are indeed too old to do something or to try something after they have children?

DARA: My advice for these moms would be not to think that way. You’re never too old to do or try to do something, including after you have children.

ANITA: What was it like to train for the Olympics in your early forties? Is training different for you now that you’re older than it was when you were younger?

DARA: Training for the Olympics in my forties was a lot different than when I was younger. At my age, I have to be much more aware about what of my body can and can’t do. Recovery time for my body is very different now than what it was when I was training for the Olympics as a teenager.

ANITA: Is your relationship to the sport different now that you are older?

DARA: Yes, my relationship with swimming has definitely changed with age. I see it from a different perspective and appreciate it so much more than I did when I was younger.

ANITA:Has being a mom made a difference in your experience as an athlete and at the Olympics?

DARA: Being a mom made me realize that being an athlete and making it to the Olympics is not the most important thing. Realizing that really helped take the pressure off as I was training for the 2008 Olympics.

ANITA: You talk about infertility in your book - what got you through those tough times?

DARA: There were a lot of ups and downs and it was a really tough time in my life because I had no control. As an athlete, I’m used to having power over the outcome, I know what I have to do in order to win a race; but with this, there wasn’t anything I could do and there were no guarantees that I would have a baby.

ANITA: All women struggle with body image. You truly look amazing yet you’ve struggle with an eating disorder. Do you have insights you can share about your own experience and how you overcame bulimia?

DARA: I was embarrassed about my eating disorder and was afraid to talk to someone about it. Getting over the embarrassment was difficult for me but I got tired of keeping my bulimia a secret and consented to get help.

ANITA:Do you still have tough days?

DARA: No, I am over my eating disorder completely.

ANITA: Your father passed away and you write about how difficult it was. What helped you make it through those sad times?

DARA: The first year was really hard; it was an emotional roller coaster for me. I felt like my father was still with me and that helped make it easier.

ANITA: Do you consider competing at the next Olympics?

DARA: Yes but I would have to take a lot of things into consideration. I’m going to have to see what happens this summer with Nationals and Worlds.

ANITA: Do you have future plans for what you’ll do after you’re done swimming professionally?

DARA: No, I’m still trying to figure out what I want to do when I grow up.

I loved the last thing she said. I too feel that I’m still trying to figure out what I want to do when I grow up. Thinking about Dara I can’t help but envy her six pack….but as I stare at a picture of her super-defined stomach I realize that I’d settle for a two pack and it wouldn’t even have to look half as good as hers…

Usually in the mornings, my thoughts go something like this:

Am I in urgent need of Botox?
Did I remember to fill the van’s gas tank yesterday or do I have to do it this morning?
Can I have that last piece of chocolate without the kids seeing me?
Should I have tea with fatty cream or fat free cream?

But forget that nonsense, I’m too fired up and just want to talk about Susan Boyle! If you haven’t watched the You Tube video go see it now. It’s worth it.

Susan Boyle I love you. I’m inspired by you like the 25 million people who are watching your performance on Britain’s Got Talent.

Susan, I want to be like you, maybe with a different haircut, fearless, strong, confident defying definitions and stereotypes. You’ve made my day, my week and have motivated me more than motivational speakers, books and therapists have done in many years.

Susan you are my hero. You defy stereotypes about women, about success and going for your dreams. Single and 47 years old, not exactly fashion savvy, you walked on that stage and while cameras showed so many of us laughing ready for a person who was going to make a fool herself, you were undeterred because you had something to say.

And when you started singing it was incredible. Thank you Susan Boyle for being yourself and for going for it just the way you are.

Susan you make me think about how I go about achieving my own dreams and living my life. I often second guess myself, wondering if the fact that I write in a second language and that I still don’t know where to place my commas correctly prevents me from going for my dreams.

I’m afraid of making a fool of myself. Susan you inspired me to let go of these fears, misplaced commas and all.

Thank you Susan Boyle!

I try not to judge someone when I first meet them. But this man was different. I could tell by the way he looked at me and my daughters that there was something wrong with him.

I felt shivers down my back the moment I locked eyes with him. We were at a birthday party for my neighbor’s daughter who was turning 7. Just a couple of houses down the block from us.

This man was apparently an ‘uncle’. He had long white hair in a pony tail, blue eyes and a stench of alcohol that I smelled the moment I entered my neighbor’s living room. Throughout the party he consumed several drinks, beer, wine and I think whiskey.

He embodied creepy. He stared at the kids in such an intense way. At one point he tried to engage my two year old, but I stepped in front of him and moved her away. No way this man would get anywhere near my children.

Apparently I wasn’t the only mom who felt uneasy, because another mom came over and we commented on how ‘strange’ the ‘uncle’ seemed. I wanted to get this man’s name, so I eventually asked my neighbor that I thought I recognized the ‘uncle’ from somewhere (the Most Wanted list). The neighbor gave me the name, apparently unaware of the uneasiness around this ‘uncle’ of his and I wrote it down on a piece of paper in case I forgot.

For the rest of the party I watched my children like a hawk. Any time I saw the ‘uncle’ near my girls, I stepped close to them and pretended to show them something exciting. “Oh look here’s a bathroom, oh awesome, here’s the kitchen!” My oldest daughter knew that I wanted them away from the man and told me that I didn’t have to pretend to show them the bathroom, they had seen it many times before, and she knew the man was creepy.

I didn’t really talked to the ‘uncle’ except for one brief exchange when he told me he had a rifle, and that he’d love to shoot a bear that had been spotted in the area a few days ago.

“You can get in trouble WITH THE LAW for that,” I said.

“No big deal,” he answered smiling.

Major creep alert! At this point I really wanted to leave. When were the cake and presents coming???

Finally we sang, I, off key (totally unrelated to my fear about the man, but more the result of my tone deaf condition) and nervous the entire time, the girls eager for the icing from the cake and the ensuing sugar rush.

We finally made it out of the party and when I got home I checked the uncle’s name in the sexual offenders database.

HIS NAME WAS THERE. HE WAS AND STILL IS A SEXUAL PREDATOR. Convicted twice of crimes with minors under the age of twelve. Released 3 months ago.

I was shocked. I know that I must have met sexual offenders before in my life without knowing it, but to see it there on the web-site and to know that my children and I were so close to him was chilling.

Rational thought: He paid a price for the crime committed. He’s a free man.
Mom’s instinct: I want to get a gun and stand guard by my children’s bedroom.

Also, inviting him to a kids’ birthday party? He probably didn’t break any laws, but is it a good idea? Is he rehabilitated? Does prison rehabilitate people who need help (I think not)? The only clue, drinking in the early afternoon wasn’t pointing in the rehabilitation direction.

I was afraid this man would ask where we lived and try to hurt my children. I told my daughters that I couldn’t send them to play at the neighbor’s home anymore. The little girl was always welcome to come at our house, but not the other way around.

I was obsessed with that man. I set my home alarm system, checked the doors and windows compulsively, and peaked through the blinds of the window overlooking the road to see if I spotted him walking around.

I contemplated getting a gun or a German Sheppard. Neither idea would fly with my husband. The gun, too dangerous with my Italian temper, and the Sheppard would be our fourth pet. As I said, not really an option.

I’m glad that I can check sexual offenders on a registry. Most states have them, and while they have discretion as to how much information they share, the names are there. I’m not going to get into the invasion of privacy versus public concern debate and discuss the merits and drawbacks of making sexual offenders names available to the public.

I’ll give you two web-sites if you ever need to check offenders in your area:

http://www.familywatchdog.us/
http://www.nsopw.gov

Today I celebrated Easter with my five daughters. We went to church, the Catholic church I more often than not fail to attend.

I got in the van early in the morning and had the girls wear pretty dresses. I wore black pants and a black shirt and no make up. I consider the fact that I managed to look decent a great accomplishment, make up would have been pushing it — too much stress on myself.

Holidays are tougher for me because I always miss my loud and warm Italian family back in Rome. It’s an ache, not a pain, but my thoughts wonder to the holidays with them and my heart grows a bit heavier during these occasions.

Easter, Christmas, birthdays….back home they meant relatives, great food, gossip, more great food, more relatives, more gossip.

Today I tried to create the traditions I grew up with for my daughters. I admit, doing it alone is a bit tougher than doing it with my peeps.

The church was packed. I could tell before I even got to the parking lot. I parked on the grass, where I shouldn’t have and where many other cars had already parked because I didn’t want to walk with all the girls without the stroller. Lazy on a sunny and windy Easter day.

When we got to the church we were 10 minutes late. As soon as I approached the entrance an USHER opened the door for me and urgently informed that:

“THE CHURCH IS PACKED THERE IS NO ROOM”. I kid you not, he stared me down. And I heard attitude in his voice and saw it in his guarded posture.

I replied:
“Are you telling me that there is no room for me and my family TODAY? In this church?” You can imagine my tone. I reserve that tone when I interrogate someone hostile or when my children throw objects at each other and fail to stop at the first warning.

Of course, I didn’t wait for his reply. I just walked inside the church and shook my head vigorously mumbling some mysterious Italian words.

Is it just as bad on the sin scale if I swear in a different language in a church? No one could hear my words ….or read my lips for that matter. Maybe it’s not as bad.

Anyway, we made it inside the church and the girls and I stood in a corner. My daughters miraculously made it through the entire mass without yelling or killing each other. In fact, some good Samaritans came over to comment on how well behaved the girls were, and offered us their seats.

I tried to keep a positive attitude after the mean USHER episode, because I really wanted to make my time count. I haven’t been very good at going to church, and by going to church I mean elevating myself beyond the mundane stuff and my own torturing doubts.

I find myself inpatient or short tempered often, while driving in heavy traffic, writing for a deadline, trying to keep the girls on track, arguing with my husband about my speed and his lack of speed and the worse stressor of all:

Bad, bad pizza. It triggers bouts of anxiety and panic that there isn’t a decent pizza joint within a 50 miles radius from our home. I checked, and checked and hoped only to be disappointed.
How many times can a heart be broken?

Today I tried to forget about my broken heart, to be above the things that get me and to be thankful for all that I have which is truly a lot.

Hope you all had a great Easter.

I haven’t blogged much lately.

I’ve been busy with a book deadline, doing radio reporting and writing a couple of research pieces on domestic violence and women in the military.

I can’t complain. I love every minute of it. I can’t get enough of talking to people, sitting down to try and figure out my angle and what their stories are about.

The truth though is that when I’m done with a piece, I have some wine and chocolate, the real reason why I write, the excuse to eat sweets and break my diet regiment.

But I do wonder, where does blogging fit in, and does my blog have some inherent value?

If I had unlimited money and time I wouldn’t ask myself this question. I only ask it because I have very limited time and resources.

When I started, in May 2008 it seemed like a good idea personally and professionally. I saw it as a continuation of my work as a journalist.

I asked some popular bloggers how this blogging world worked. Some were super-nice, others weren’t so nice, like everywhere else.
So I tried a few different things with my blog, some news, some humor, some stories, some venting.

But blogging and any kind of writing takes time and I don’t have a lot of time.

I guess if it were a personal journal, it wouldn’t matter. But my blog is part of my work as a journalist. It’s my writing, intertwined with confessional pieces, my personal expression with no apparent value, but rewarding with unparalleled satisfaction because creativity isn’t hindered by the rules I follow as a journalist.

Yet, despite these rewards, the trade off is much higher, because every time I blog I take more time away from my children, the messy home I inhabit, my dance lessons, my second book, and even the work I love as an underpaid reporter covering the metro beat.

If I place my blog on a scale and against everything else that isn’t blog, the scale has to tip toward Ovolina for me to keep writing, and I think the only way for that to happen is if blogging allows me to truly connect with other people in ways I couldn’t possibly do any other way.

Maybe this is what my blog is worth.

I’ll just have to keep thinking about this blogging business in between some new projects, work on a cold case investigation, (can I say I’m super-excited or what?) my five daughters, homeschooling and my supply of chocolate.

I often receive questions about relationships from other women. Being from Italy, the land of passion, my reputation as a Latin lover at times precedes my reputation as writer. Recently, an anonymous reader I will call Jane asked me if I had tips to stay intimate with a partner during long absences and in her particular case deployments.

I started responding to Jane and realized that the answer was harder than what I thought. For starters, this topic can be embarrassing for the writer and the reader. I know you don’t want to know specifics of my sex life, and probably don’t especially want to share yours. But being too broad and dispensing advice that is obvious doesn’t work either. Intimacy is a crucial part of any relationship and we should work on it by communicating and being honest, but what exactly does this mean when it comes to the physical part of intimacy, in the context of long absences?

I’m not reducing intimacy to sex. Intimacy is much more than physical closeness, it includes the emotional, mental, and the visceral desire to be with another person. Open communication and honesty go a long way when we only have phone calls and emails. But my experience has been that the scale is tipped toward all other aspects of intimacy and that when it comes time to talk about sex, people turn purple and start talking in generalities.

It’s embarrassing. Women in particular have a hard time discussing sex and admitting that they miss it - which doesn’t mean that one should go out and look for it elsewhere. But it does mean that acknowledging our physical frustration can help bring us closer to our partner and strengthen other areas of our relationship. Personally, I have ignored this aspect of my marriage on more than one occasion when my husband was gone. I didn’t know what to say or how to share my thoughts with him. I loved him and he loved me, but should I send him a steamy letter about our sex life or suggest that I can take care of my needs on my own while he’s gone? (There I said it, now you don’t have to feel badly about thinking it!).

When I started hinting at things or being upfront about these issues, my husband and I got much closer.

The best thing that I can say to my friend Jane is that if she wants to be intimate with her husband while he is apart, she needs to find out what intimacy means to her personally. Is it sharing a fantasy, is it a steamy letter or code words on the phone? Is it buying special toys while her loved one is gone and telling him about it? Or is it much less steamy, a heart and sweet words letter?

I can’t give Jane the answers. But I can say that sex within the context of a loving relationship needs to be acknowledged and that oftentimes, for men especially, it validates their emotional needs.

Absence is never easy. But with a little attention to each other’s needs, it can, as the expression goes, make the heart grow fonder.

A few days ago, my oldest daughter Luisa, who is eight years old, fell while playing on our living room and smacked her head on the carpeted floor. She was playing some sort of Barbie acrobat game with her sisters and hit the back of her head. Aside from yelling “ouch!” she bounced right back up and wanted to get back to play – her role was show organizer and she was needed with some urgency.

I, being a party pooper, forced her to sit down and endure my infamous checklist. I call it infamous because I always have my kids go through the test whenever they hit their heads. I lost a dear friend when I was a young girl after he hit his head in school and appeared to be fine, only to slip into a coma and eventually death a few days later.

So I checked for a bump, had her follow a pen with her eyes, up, down, left, and right, asked her to balance on her foot and tell me her name and telephone number. When she asked which phone number I wanted to hear, the current one or the one from our last move, I knew she was her fine little military brat self.

This is a particularly good month to learn about head injuries – in fact, March is Brain Injury Awareness Month and the Brain Injury Association of America (BIAA) has been working to bring attention to brain injuries, preventative behaviors, and changes in the public’s attitude toward those who are affected by a brain injury.

The Brain Injury Association of America explains that it’s not easy to recognize the severity of a concussion (a blow or jolt to the head) and that most of these concussions don’t involve a loss of consciousness. That’s an important lesson for any parent of athletes to know (or parent of living room acrobats).

It’s important to follow up with a healthcare professional if you or your child experience any of the symptoms described below after a blow to the head, or as my kids would call it, Anita’s checklist:
• Headache
• Sensitivity to light or noise
• Slurred speech or confusion
• Dizziness
• Vomiting
• Stumbling or difficulty walking
• Sleepiness
• Difficulty waking up
• Unequal size of the pupils
• Convulsions (seizures)
• Difficulty recognizing familiar people

My daughter didn’t have any of these symptoms, but I kept checking on her for the next hour or so. It’s not easy to assess a head injury. I didn’t want to be the overly concerned mom, but I also didn’t want to overlook something that could be serious. Perhaps I was even more aware than usual of the danger with head injuries because of Natasha Richardson’s recent death after a skiing accident and concussion.
I know I can’t protect my kids from every bump and bruise, but I try to trust my instincts, and sometimes it’s good to be an overly cautious and annoying mom.