My morning ritual includes a quick log-on to Facebook to check if I have any red boxes hovering over those three icons in the top left corner that tell you that there's actual activity that you might be interested in. On any given day I may have one or two little red boxes waiting for me to make them dissapear.

I love those red boxes. I think that those Facebook smarties made them red, because red is generally a color of "Attention!" But secretly? I think that those FB smarties made them red, because red is also the color of looove. Amour. Those little red boxes are little reminders that we're loved. That some one cares enough to have sent you a message, or written on your wall, or wants to be your friend. But, as always, I digress.

This morning wasn't any different. Until I checked my Home page – the one with everyone's News Feed. It was plastered. PLASTERED. witth this:

"All my military friends, in honor of Veteran's Day, change your profile pic to a pic of you or yourfamily member in uniform and keep it there till after Veteran's Day. Freedom is not free."

Just imagine 3/4 of your friends' profile pictures are no longer of them, but of their loved one in uniform. It gets your attention, to say the least. And as a military spouse, it makes you all teary-eyed and it really hits home the message about how delicate life in the military is . . . because some of those loved ones in uniform? They're no longer with us.

So of course I am immediately compelled to change my profile (some thing I haven't done since I first started my Facebook page in 2005). I start running around the house trying to find a photo of my husband in his uniform so that I can take a picture of it and upload it.

I am literally running from room to room, digging through pictures. I find two. And they're glossy.

Cuss.

Re-taking photos of glossy pictures is not easy. And as I expected, it doesn't work.

Now I'm frustrated.

Did I mention that I have a slight tendency to get obsessive over things? Now all I can think about is getting that picture up to honor my husband & his brave service in Operations Southern Watch, Enduring Freedom and Iraqi Freedom.

It just so happens that my husband is home this morning, which is rare. (He's typically never home. But this month is his research month, which means that we get the gift of his presence for more than just the sleeping hours of a day.) So I ask him to find a picture of himself in his uniform for me.

He doesn't budge. He's sitting with our daughter who is on the training pot, singing her heart out.

My frustration level rises. I continue my running around. This time I start pounding up the stairs, slamming doors, huffing & puffing . . . surely this should send the message to my husband that this is important to me and something that I need sooner than later.

Still nothing. Now he's singing, along with my daughter as she sits on her training pot.

Clearly he does not care about my needs.

Which is when I can't take it any more and raise my voice over my frustration.

* * * * *

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T READ MY MIND?
(multiple excalmation points)

* * * * *

After I had time to calm down, I apologized. I felt really ridiculous. I knew I was acting irrational when I was acting that way, but my obsession took control of my actions.

So what was, initially, a desire to honor my husband for his brave service, morphed into a petty argument with my husband. NOT what I had intended at all.

 * * * * *

 
This is the picture he just handed to me, as a joke, to let me know that we cool . . . my husband as a freshman at the Air Force Academy, 22 years ago. (Isn't he so handsome?)

Thank you, babe. For all that you do for me, the girl, our family and our country.