The Airport

The act of going to the airport to say goodbye.

The weight over your chest as you drive the curving streets that wind their way to the terminal, with the silver wings of an airplane obstructing the view of the sherbet colored sunrise. The way you carefully craft words and phrases to explain to her why he has to go, and how long he will be gone, and know it won't be enough at bedtime next Tuesday when it sinks in that he isn't there to pray and read a story. The reason one hug or ten won't matter when he slips though security and you need another. The innocence of the baby swaddled in his pale blue blanket, completely unaware of what this means. The moment she asks you why you're crying, and you don't know what to tell her because you don't even know. The tension in your jaw that settles in because you're doing this without him again, and you've done it before, and you still feel a little lost.

The curious looks from strangers who eye his uniform and doubtless assume that he's going to or coming from war. And you want to explain to them, in a shaking voice, that leaving is leaving and that pain occurs no matter where he's going.

When They Thank Him

{Soldiers examine a road blown up by an IED in Afghanistan - photo by Sky}

"Honor to the soldier and sailor everywhere, who bravely bears his country's cause. 
Honor, also, to the citizen who cares for his brother in the field and serves, as he best can, the same cause." 
— Abraham Lincoln

When they thank him, he usually shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He nods. He shakes the hand they extend while they're saying it. "Thank you for serving our country." Or sometimes, "Thank you for all you do." Or simply, "Thanks for your service." The words vary slightly, but the intent is the same.

They don't see him in his uniform often because he's Army Reserve. Most of the time, he looks just like them. But when he wears it, maybe they get a glimpse of the enormity of what a uniform can mean. They see him for what he is underneath his day job.

One time, while traveling through an airport terminal, a World War Two veteran shook his hand. He told me that it was humbling to hear gratitude from someone who had given so much, in such an enormous war, in such dangerous times.

Most of the time, I think it makes him uncomfortable to hear.

But I hope they thank him anyway.

Because when they thank him, they see Millie and Walter. They've spent a lot of time without their dad. Millie has had a lot of Skype time and phone calls instead of having him here to read her a story and tuck her in. She's spent over a year of her three years without him. They see the lonely nights I've had. They see his mom hugging her son before he left for a war zone.They see the way our family has had to bend through all the turns and loops balancing civilian and military life. They may not know all the times the Army has promised something only to do the opposite, or how hard he has to work to get the ribbons on his uniform, but when they thank him, they know that he does something they couldn't do.

Most of all, when they thank him, they see a little of what I see. I am proud of him. So proud. And I'm proud of my brother, father, step father, mother in law, father in law, grandpa, great grandpa, and proud of all of my milspouse bloggers and their families, too. All these men and women who handed their futures over to our country do a remarkable thing. And when someone notices, that's remarkable, too. Whether it's met with just a nod, or maybe a lighthearted joke, it helps me remember that all of it is worth it.

If you're reading this, and you have served, thank you. And the next time you see someone in uniform, be sure to thank them. Those thanks echo so much father than you could ever imagine.

Happy Veterans Day.

Wife and War : The Memoir {a chambanachik review}

Military spouses write with a different perspective than the rest of the world. We can't help it. There is nothing on earth like what we see, what we go through, and how we feel. The rest of the country can never quite know what it's like. Maybe that's what first drew me to Amalie Flynn's poetry. She knows.

She has a beautiful way of telling her secrets and wearing her heart on her sleeve. She wrote about being just blocks away from ground zero on September 11th, the war that followed, and her husband who deployed to Afghanistan. And she wrote about what that feels like to see those things, to remember them. When she announced that her new book, Wife and War: The Memoir was published, I immediately asked her if I could review it. I had to read more of her story.

Most the time I sat there with the book open and propped against one leg, I had one baby next to me and the other on me knee. I thought about how they will never know what it felt like to be alive on September 11, 2001. How strange it is that they will never trade stories about it, or know the sorrow of that day in the way we all know it.  But then, I think about how Amalie was there in a way I would almost never know. Almost.

Now, I get a chance to know. Some people go through experiences so life altering and painful that they can never find the words, and probably don't even want to try. Amalie has found them in Wife and War. She writes things that hurt. She write things that are unimaginable. And yet, somehow, there is a beauty is reading these things, because it means we have a chance to be there in that moment. As I turned the pages, I felt how hard it was to breathe in that toxic dust. I felt my heart ache when the second tower began to crumble. She wrote her story, and in doing so, wrote ours, too.

That day was a pivotal point in Amalie's life. I read how her tale began with the crumbling of buildings, and went on as she became a military spouse, a mother, a wife left at home during a deployment, a survivor. She and her husband faced their own wars and their own ghosts. She flashes back to that September morning so often, comparing life then and life now, her mind imprinted with the images she saw.

I have a habit- perhaps a bad one- of underlining the sentences and phrases in books that grab me the most. The ones I identify with, or the ones that stop me in my tracks, when there are words that don't sound like anyone else's. I found myself wanting to underline so many lines in this book. Written out in poems, it somehow still has the feel of a novel. I wanted to stay up into the early hours to find out what happened.

Many books are read for entertainment. But some- a very few- matter. Wife and War matters. It's a book I won't soon forget.

Wife and War : The Memoir is available on Amazon (both in paperback and for Kindle) and on Barnes and Noble for Nook. Read more here.


*Disclosure: I was generously provided with a copy of Wife and War, but all thoughts and opinions are my own.

The Best Part

There are secrets- small ones- that I've kept from a couple people, but tonight feels like a good night to let them go.

The picture above is one I've had for a year or two. It was something my mom and I found during one of my visits to Oregon. It was such a sweet, little saying, and we both sighed over it. I think she ending up sneaking to the cash register with it and giving it to me later that day.

But what Sky didn't know is that my mom waited to send me the sign until things were good again. When she got that sign, my marriage was upside down and inside out. It felt beyond repair and beyond recognition. There were few shreds left. When things settled and she did send it to me, it all took another turn not much longer after that. I wrapped up the frame, put it in a box, and shut the closet door...until we moved, that is.

I rediscovered it among all the bubblewrap, and decided it needed a place here.

And what my mom didn't know is what Sky said to me that night, as we were putting up a stack of photos along a bookshelf. As he arranged a photo of us dressed up for the ball, a folded flag from his service in Afghanistan, and that little frame, he commented on how they fit so well together. I blinked and looked at the three, searching for something they had in common, and finally assuming he meant the stars in them all. He shook his head. He reminded me of the way we met- how he was my brother's roommate during that deployment, and had it not been for that deployment, we'd likely have never known each other.

"No," he corrected me, adjusting the frame a little. "When they ask me about the best part of the military, I can say it was you."

Sometimes, things are worth the wait.

Finish Line

So we threw away the atlases, all the heavy ones they handed us [...]
but we found a couple passages that were ours.

-Joe Pug, "Ours"

I didn't know how to do it. And really, neither did you. This time was different. I suppose they all are.

You were gone like this before, in a dangerous place that was mentioned on the news every night. I was alone in a hot apartment that summer, waiting for you to come back, relying on infrequent emails to assure me that you were still alive. This time, you were still far, but in a state I've seen before, a place with less dessert and guns, and more stoplights and Waffle Houses. It was comforting that you weren't in harm's way. And yet, with our daughter here, another baby coming in June, and figuring things out on my own, it was just as hard at times. I guess I didn't expect that.

Most days, I could talk myself into the idea that you were just at work for a while, and most nights I spent drowning in my homework. But there were some days when the distractions were too few or the obstacles were too many, and I cried, feeling like these months would never end.

But thank you, God, and even thank you, Army. They'll be ending soon. We've nearly made it now. I made it because of the family and friends who carried me to this point, few in number but irreplaceable, the ones who remembered and cared and helped when others didn't.  I'm not sure how you made it- maybe you were really busy, or maybe your heart is tougher than mine.

I wouldn't have thought that four months apart would be much of a challenge. Many people are separated much longer. Yet I entered them with resistance, hoping our marriage could somehow do some much needed healing despite the long distance. It didn't seem likely. At the end of this time apart, though, I can say that it's been a long, uphill battle at times, but absence really has made our hearts fonder. I missed you, and the feeling wasn't taken lightly. I was grateful to miss you, and feel those emotions I felt at the very beginning of us, sitting on your mom's front porch and drinking in the way your arms felt around me.

During this time, you passed that PFT and even got promoted, switching old patches for new ones. I got through another semester of college, raised Millie, and began getting ready for this baby on the way. We didn't do it on our own, but we did it. I'm really proud of us, you know?

So come home. Be prepared for your daughter to hug your legs the second you walk in the door. Be ready to feel kicks from a baby who is anxious to meet you. And be awake long enough, after that twelve hour drive, for a kiss that tops any wedding day- even ours.

Her Bravery

"Because,' she said, 'when you're scared but you still do it anyway, that's brave." 

— Neil Gaiman

Maybe it's the first time they've been away, or maybe the fifty-first. Either way, we pretend it's normal to be without them.

But there are some nights it just gets really hard to pretend. 

There is something about the night, isn't there? As the sun sets, there is a realization that we've completed another day of this, but there is a long night ahead yet to go. We curl up on the love seat, wrapping blankets all around, and feel nothing in the world except their absence. Maybe we have held it together for 3 days or 3 weeks. Maybe 3 months. And suddenly, somehow, reaching that third month and one day mark is the arbitrary line where we just don't want to do this anymore. 

And we stare into space, unsure if we should will the tears to stay back, or let them roll down our cheeks. Around our acquaintances, our friends, and even our family, heaven forbid it look like this is hard to do. But when the stars are out and we know our secret is safe with them, it's easier to admit how tired we are. How much it stings sometimes. How we feel so strong and capable most of the time, and how that can wilt into nothing every now and then.

Some nights, I'm reminded that it gets hard for Millie, too. I heard her crying in her bed, and knelt down to ask her what was wrong. It was the familiar complaint of a tummy ache. She reached for her pillow and monkey, and followed me down the hall in her footie pajamas. We climbed into my bed and snuggled into each other.

I began pulling up photos of her as a child and watching movies of her first words, her first steps, and songs she sang to us. When we clicked on one with Sky wrestling with her, I saw her expression change from amusement and into a sad face with her bottom lip sticking out. She said, "My daddy!" Her voice broke like she was going to cry. And then, "I love Daddy. I miss Daddy." I remembered that I wasn't the only one dealing with time apart.

We were able to call him late that night and talk for a minute. She told him she couldn't sleep because her tummy hurt, and she got to hear his voice for a little while. Her breathing slowed, relaxing in the comfort of that phone call. She closed her eyes and fell asleep right afterwards, and I let her drift off in my bed. Her stomach was probably fine all along, but we both pretended it wasn't. That moment with her daddy helped her heart.

April is the "month of the military child". I never think of her as one, to be honest. We don't live on a post, and she hasn't had to live through a deployment in her two and a half years. But I was reminded that night how she is one.

And how's she's so very brave.

Falling In At Night

"Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, 

which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, 

and falling in at night. I miss you like hell." 
— Edna St. Vincent Millay

"Maybe," 

he wrote me,

"sometime after the next paycheck,

you should go get your hair cut

or get a manicure

and all that stuff to help you relax

because you are pretty much on your own

till I'm home."

"Maybe,"

I told him.

"I'd rather just have you."

The Weekend

"When someone is in your heart, they're never truly gone. 

They can come back to you, even at unlikely times." — Mitch Albom

I zipped Millie's coat and gathered my own, getting ready to brave the cold to take a couple trash bags outside. She noticed a package from Grandma sitting at our doorstep, so we set everything down again to peek inside it first. I had barely gotten the front door closed when she exclaimed, "Pa-pa!" My dad walked in, followed by a boy in uniform. Millie jumped up and down. I looked at Sky for a second, in all the confusion, then (I'm told) said blankly, "What are you doing here?" He grinned.

Somehow, my dad and Sky had managed to pull of a surprise. I laughed at him as I hugged his rough nametape against my cheek, and thanked him for the bouquet that Millie had promptly taken from him before I could really see it. My dad said goodbye, Millie pulled Sky's hand and begged for him to play, and I stopped to take in the moment that everyone else seemed to accept as uneventful. My Valentine's Day started about 13 hours after everyone else's had ended.

He was here for two and a half days, and we tried to make the most of them. We ate good food, and took delicious naps when Millie did. I grabbed his hand anytime I felt the baby begin to kick, and he got to see the tiny ripples it would make on my belly when it danced. We read Millie's new favorite book together, and exchanged secret smiles as she would take the book from us and 'read' it herself. We went to our favorite greasy spoon in town and watched them pour pancakes and sizzling eggs onto the long griddle. And on the last night, my dad kept Millie for a while so we could have a quiet date night eating fried pickles, walking lazily through Target, and sipping iced Starbucks. I think we held hands the whole two and a half days.

(Sky and a baby with a mouth full of bacon)

A visit like this is sort of an extended goodbye. The bags stay packed at the door. The clock rolls around and around five times as fast as a regular weekend. There were those lonely but thankful twinges that happen when I know I'm blessed and that blessing is going to be far away for a while. It was so good. And I was relieved that it was so good, that it felt like a miniature honeymoon of sorts. It was a part of love I hadn't felt for years, and it came rolling back in a unexpected flurry.

And now the house is quiet again. Completely settled. It's almost as if it didn't even happen, but my heart knows better. The clock ticks more noticeably than before. And I think to myself, I can't do this again, but the again part reminds me that I've done it before. He didn't want to wake me when he left because he didn't want me to cry. He should know by now that I'm good at holding it in until I close the door behind him and feel the empty parts of the house around me. It's one of those moments I don't really want to be in, but it needs to happen and it always does.

(my lovely bouquet)

It's a bit like I just imagined it all, but it was so very sweet. I've learned to be cautiously greedy with time; I will take whatever I can get. Those of you who have done this before know what I mean about the next goodbye being harder than the first- and yes, this certainly was- but maybe those twinges in my heart are worth it. For all the hard parts, the reassurance of that love and hope in our marriage is a beautiful thing.

A Slight Unraveling

"When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago." 

— Friedrich Nietzsche

After you've written the majority of a blog post as you stand dripping in a lukewarm shower, it's probably a good sign that it needs to be typed out...

Sky has been gone for a month now. One month of Millie and myself. The days rolled into weeks, and will keep rolling for quite a while longer. The two of us walked on a snowy street in campustown tonight, on the way to meet my dad for dinner, and all I could think was, "I'm so tired." I kept repeating it in my mind as if acknowledging it would make it go away. We fought the battle of campus sidewalks bravely, listening to the bells ring in the tower as we passed. When we approached the enormous old building that was our destination, she suddenly stopped cold in her tracks, snowflakes swirling around her and students pushing past us. She just didn't want to take any more steps. I didn't know how to tell her I understood.

It reminds me of being in labor, really. From the moment the first fears of it hit, and all through the pregnancy including those first contractions, I told myself that I could do it because other women had done it. They somehow get through the pain, survive it, and end up with a beautiful baby at the end. But as my contractions got stronger and the pain distorted any sort of complex thinking, I broke down from those things and could only tell myself, "This hurts." The light at the end of the tunnel was little match for those hours, and by the end of it all, I hardly believed Millie would ever get there. It was long and painful, and that was all I knew until she arrived.

Millie has been an altogether different baby since Sky left. There's no way to know what role that has in it, and what is just her fitting snugly into the place of a two year old, but just about every day has been a challenge with her. After I'm the only one correcting her all day (and feeling alternately justified and guilty for it), we start into the bedtime fights that sometimes last hours. When it's all said and done, I turn off my light, bunch the pillows up around me, exhale or cry, and think, "I wasn't the kind of mother I want to be today." And that, my friends, is not a good feeling. It's the kind of thing that leaves me drifting into sleep with those final conscious thoughts being sad ones, and waking up to remember where I left off the night before.

There isn't one thing I can point to- it's all of it. Taking care of her alone, schoolwork every day, pregnancy, fighting with the Army and despairing that we'll never get the paycheck we were promised, fighting for the insurance we were told we'd be handed- everything. It's that settled-into-my-bones tired that feels physical, emotional, and spiritual.

I know we'll get there. I know we aren't alone in it. Some nights, those things hold me together. But sometimes, like tonight, it's easier to lean back into the couch and break into pieces.

We'll try again tomorrow.

The Truth Under the Cape

If this guest post hits you anywhere near the way it hit me, you'll be sharing it after you read. 

In the moments I finished it, I had to wipe a few tears away.
Kim from She Is Fierce is a Canadian milspouse (and winner of awards as such),
has been incredibly kind to me personally, and has managed to write a post so dead-on in every way- both for milspouses and women in general, I think- that I truly hope you treasure it.

I'm not sure when I started taking myself too seriously, but I think it came to a head when I was standing in the office of the Canadian Forces Relocation Agent, ready to go through all our paperwork for our upcoming posting.


"Look"  I said all smugly "I have already picked up our official notice, listed our house on the market, signed with the Realtor, kept the house show-home ready with three kids at home, sold the house, signed all the paperwork and finalized our mortgage pre-approval with the bank.  By myself, because none of you thought it was a good idea to give us the notice even one week earlier when my husband was still home.  


So at this point, I barely even need your help.  Can you please just sign our House Hunting Trip papers so I can go?  I have a kid to pick up at school in 10 minutes."


That's right folks.  My “I-Can-Do-It-All” attitude had a field day this move.


I am woman.  Hear me PCS with one hand tied behind my back. (See that?  I used the American term just because it sounded better than Posting.  I can adapt, too!)


Just call me super-wife with a huge chip on my shoulder.  


Able to handle cross country postings alone and spring field exercises during dance recital season in a single bound.


I used to add up all the time Dh was gone and recite it like a serial number.


3 months here, 6  months there, 5 months somewhere else...a total of x months home out of y months married = what?  Some kind of medal owed to me?


When did I start walking around like I had to win some kind of championship in keeping-my-crap-together?


Then one day a friend of mine with many, many more years experience in this life just asked 'why would you want to keep track of all that?'


And I didn't have a good answer.


What was I trying to prove?


I feel like I've spent years trying to show everyone that I can handle it all.  So much wasted time and useless words trying to portray the wife who is always long suffering and independent.  Wearing his deployments and absences like some kind of badge of honour that I earned all by myself.


When the truth is, every single time I've tried to prove I can do it alone, I failed.

I am not, in fact, as 'super' as I pretend to be when I throw on my mask and cape and walk out into the world each day.


What I am sometimes is full of a stubborn pride that it might somehow make me a better person if I can do it all completely on my own.


Do you know where stubborn pride has found me? 
-Mid panic attack, unable to breathe enough to even call someone for support while watching the news.  
-Sprawled out on my bed with a pillow over my head trying not to hear the colicky baby I am terrified I might hurt if I have to pick him up again.
-Lying on the bathroom floor listening to the sound of my 2 kids playing downstairs, while I vomited and contracted in pre-term labour, barely able to walk on my own.


God never intended for us to be a fortress unto ourselves.  Sometimes, He gives us strength beyond measure to rise up when we have no other way, it's true.  But sometimes we become so independent as Military wives we forget that we need to also recognize the times when instead, He opens a door where He has placed someone to help.

My need to prove I can do it alone has found me vastly unable to follow through.


Every. 
Single. 
Time.
 
The truth is that while I have grown, accomplished and learned more about what I can do in His strength in the past 13 years than I ever could have in another life, there is one lesson that sticks out more than others. 
Sometimes. I. Can't.


When there's been absolutely no other way to calm my fears, quiet my baby or get to the emergency room, I've first had to swallow my pride and do something every single army wife person needs to learn to do at some point in their life.

I’ve needed to ask for help.  

And you know what? 


I can still balance the schedule of a family of five and the budge of one, too.  I can do it while he's home or deployed and I can do it on either end of this beautiful country.  I have learned more about strength, determination and perseverance than I could have imagined.


But the truth is, it's OK for even Super-Wife to ask for help.

In fact, sometimes it's the safest and strongest decision you can make.

And I promise.  

No one will ask for your cape back.

3

(via)

Sky,

You're not here now. The Army has you doing other things, things they say are more important.

But just remember, if only before your eyes close tonight-

You were fastening the shiny buttons on your uniform. I was sipping some Starbucks and adjusting my birdcage veil. We were nervous during the vows and unsure of how to cut the cake. But everyone went home, and it was just us. The clock starting ticking.

And now it's circled 'round and 'round until 3 years have passed since that morning in January. You're there and I'm here, but we're still together. That's all that really matters, isn't it?

Happy Anniversary.
-Erika

The Long and Short of It

My guest blogger today is here to continue the While He's Away series, and she's writing 
about the part of separations that doesn't get talked about enough, in my opinion- the shorter ones. 
The lovely Mrs. McDancer from McDancing Through Life explains 
how the length of time away doesn't always mean an easier or harder time.
(And while you're checking out her blog, be sure to read this post.)

When you love someone who is serving in the military, inevitably there will be separations. Long or short, they can be rough. A little less than a year after we became a couple, the husband was deployed to Afghanistan. That was both the longest and shortest year of my life. I felt a weird paradox where the days dragged on, but the moments quickly slipped away. That year had some huge moments including an R&R wedding and a baby born en route to moving home to my parents, but those are all stories for another day.

After making it through a deployment, I cockily believed that any separation shorter would be a piece of cake, but I soon found myself eating those thoughts.  This summer we had a relatively short separation, in military terms, but it too held its own set of hardships.  During the deployment, we had regular communication; I was spoiled by phone calls, emails, and even the occasional Skype session, but for the month long separation this summer all we had were good old snail mail letters. The day that my husband had to turn in his phone and say goodbye, I was sitting at a pediatric neurologists office, learning that my son had potentially suffered a stroke or else had another {also totally scary sounding} issue with his brain. How do I tell my husband news like that over the phone in a 5 minute conversation, especially when we had to wait a month for an MRI that would give us the answers. I guess you just keep calm and carry on, but believe me, for that month of uncertainty, all I wanted was to tell my husband my fears and anxieties and have him reassure me. Instead, I spent the month trying not to drive myself crazy and my son and I spent the month keeping as busy as possible.

Often I downplay the hardships of shorter separations. I don‘t want to be told to put on my big girl panties or seem weak and needy.  I know that I am capable of thriving on my own, but that doesn't mean I have to love doing it! Long or short, it is hard to be apart from the person with whom I've built a family, but such is the life of a military wife. Thank goodness for all the amazing people I've met along the way who keep me sane in this world of insanity!

You Are Not an Octopus

In the vast ocean of blogs out there, it's hard to make a lasting impression. 

Kate from Lima Oscar Victor Echo has managed to do that for me. 

Her posts are always memorable because they are so honest, and heartfelt, 

which can be difficult to find in blogland. She's definitely a lady I would love to meet someday- 

her quiet strength and determination make me admire her very much, including as she handles her husband's current deployment. I'm thrilled she's here to share with you today.

I'm a goal setter, a list maker, an "if I don't have a purpose I'll just start drooling", so when my husband came home with definite start dates for this deployment, I immediately starting throwing things in the "deployment goals" file. Things like lose 30 pounds and learn French, finally finish the 3 year old's baby book and maybe you know, decorate the entire house. 3 days into the deployment I caught a horrible stomach bug that lost me 4 pounds in 12 hours, and my very high energy daughter still needed a mommy. I broke. How was I supposed to do this? Alone? I realized two very practical things that day: I need a battle buddy, and I need to be realistic.

Most of my friends live in my computer and the rest of them have been left at past duty stations or moved on to others. Their encouragement is invaluable and knowing that they are all a call or tweet away is amazing, but having a literal extra set of hands when you need it is crucial. I know that in sweet Erika's case, an extra set of hands that actually understands what you are going through, or is going through it as well is near impossible to find, but find someone. The stomach bug, the first real grocery trip in 3 weeks, the hair cut, the walk around barnes and noble to remind yourself that you are more than a mom and a wife with a deployed husband - they are inevitable. You are not an octopus. Don't be afraid to say you need help. It isn't a sign of weakness, it's a sign of maturity.

This isn't our first deployment, so when I realized my goals were slightly out of reach, I felt like a failure. I've done this before so why can't I do all the things? My mantra was "thrive, not survive", but after a month of absolutely insane behavior on my daughter's part (I call it the "my daddy just left and I hate the whole world and will destroy all happiness" phase), even just surviving seemed unattainable. This is when the word REALISTIC became my best friend. When your spouse is home, do you have days where you can barely make it to lunch before eying the wine? Do you have moments where you say forget it, I'm running away to Spain? Do you ever feel completely overwhelmed with your other half right next to you? Do you (preaching to myself here) really think that those moments, those days, those failures are just going to go away when your sweetheart (and let's be honest, his extra set of hands) is thousands of miles away? Unreachable for days? Disconnected from your world? Show yourself some grace. Keep the goals, by all means, strive for better, stay busy, but don't think surviving and rolling in garbage are synonymous. Sing it at the top of your lungs like the happy exclamation that it is: I will survive! Call the good days thriving and the bad days surviving. Either way, you are amazing.

In the Middle of It

Today's post is from Kathryn at My Life as a Reserve Army Wife. 

I was excited to get her perspective since we're both Reserve wives, 

which often adds a different dimension to these times away. She's also a mama to two, 

and talks all about the different ways she's handled her husband's absences 

with lots of practical tips. I'm glad to glean some ideas and hope you can, too. 

Nothing can prepare you for your military spouse leaving. Whether it’s for a deployment or just a training; you never know what you are capable of handling until you are in the middle of it.


I know I could not have survived my husband going to EBOLC or his deployment without my mother, my biffle, and my best army wife friend. They were my rocks. When I needed to scream, vent, cry or just have a break from being alone, they were there. There aren't words to describe how valuable these people were to me during these times.

From playdates to fighting off woodpeckers, to Olive Garden dates, hospitals, giving birth and everything in between they helped to keep my sanity in check.


I think one of the hardest things was to try and explain to our 2 year old where daddy was and why he wasn’t home. He had been away on a lot of trainings before his deployment so our son was used to seeing daddy home for a little bit, then gone, but he always came home again soon. Once that time frame was up in his mind, it was hard to explain why daddy couldn’t come home. We had decided to tell him that daddy was “at work, playing army” and that he would be home as soon as he was done. Generally that calmed him down and satisfied him. It was the nights he was sick and only wanted daddy that were the hardest. The trying to decide how to help make him feel better and if you should call off work the next day; those decisions are hard when you have no one to bounce ideas off of. What I found that worked the best was when our son was missing daddy more than normal, he was allowed to sleep in our bed, on daddy’s side. I think that helped him feel closer to him. Also, having him talk to daddy on Skype always helped.

It’s amazing, there are decisions you will make while your spouse is gone that you don’t even have to think about. Like the order in which to get the kids dressed, or what do to with the baby while you are taking a shower (her bouncy seat worked wonders for us), and then there are the other ones where there isn’t such a clear answer and you have to do the best you can. But I think as long as you can have a good support system and trust in yourself and your gut, you can do anything. It’s amazing what a person can go through and survive.


I also found that if you don’t focus on the end, it makes things a little easier. Counting down days never helped me. It actually made it worse. I also found that planning at least one outing a week, or more, helped to get everyone excited and out of the house. Granted there were days I was cursing myself for leaving and of course there were days I was just plain cursing at everything. But you know what, you go to bed that day and when you wake up, it’s a new day and a new start. You will always be faced with obstacles, but it’s how you handle them that makes you strong.  If you are able to get out of bed each morning, have a plan, and when the going gets tough put on your big girl panties and deal with it the best way you know how. I also found making time for myself, whether it was to go grocery shopping alone or out to dinner with friends, those times are much needed. You need to take care of yourself too. Remember, you can do this; you just have to put your mind to it.


On the more practical side; we made sure that everything my husband did around the house we had a plan for it to be completed. For example; he’s in charge of mowing the grass, so we found a neighbor who needed some work and was willing to mow our lawn when he did his own. It was a perfect situation. We also set up delivery for our salt for our water softener, we have well water and with being pregnant, I wasn't allowed to lift that much.


In regards to money, we talked about how much we wanted to save and discussed any big purchases before they were made.


I think having all of these “little” things helped from making them into big things later on. I think it also helped to relieve some of the stress off of both of us.


I just think also being open and honest with each other about our expectations and what was important to us really helped. We knew where each other stood and I was able to make decisions at home with confidence.


The main thing is communication. I know it gets crazy as the time slips away quickly, but you must make the time to talk and know where each other stands and how things will get done at home. It is important for both of you.


Just remember, if you communicate and support each other, this time apart won’t be too bad; because we all know any time apart sucks.

I Got This

This post by Jax from The Harmon Squad was much-needed for me personally, 

and I hope it gives you some comfort, too. I don't label myself as such, but stepping back, 

I can see how I tend to be a bit of a perfectionist with some things. 

It's really freeing to have permission to relax a little, and that's what Jax writes about today.

I was pregnant with our second child when my husband joined the Army. Like every person that joins the Army, he left for several months right off the bat. And like everyone else, that meant I got left behind to hold down the fort.

It was hard, a trial by fire to be sure, but I did fine. Despite being pregnant and having a three year old I just pulled up my big girl pants and pushed through it. There were lots of unexpected twists (like there always are), but I would just say “whatever” and keep going.

This same pattern held through the first couple years of our life in the military. Lots of stuff would happen, dates would change, he would be gone longer than expected and I would just say “whatever” and keep pushing forward.

And I was proud of myself! I was impressed at how the military life and I were made for each other. There are lots of things that stink about this life, but I would get over it quickly and focus on the positive. “I got this” was my phrase.

Right now we are at our first duty station and out of all the places Rob could go, he got put in the brigade that has a testing mission. Which means no deployment (we have very mixed feelings about this fact), but TONS of field time. Like, he will leave for weeks at a time to go to the field several times a year.

I was doing just fine even when I got pregnant with our third child. I was beyond sick for most of the pregnancy, but managed to survive. I kept things together even when we unexpectedly got a new puppy when I was seven months pregnant. (she just showed up and we couldn't find any owners. Who gives up a husky puppy? Not us.) Even though a puppy was the last thing on earth I wanted, especially with a baby very close to being born, I just sucked it up and dealt with it.

THEN our third child was born. All our visiting family left, and here I was. TOTALLY OVERWHELMED. And here I am, five months later, STILL totally overwhelmed. I hear all the time “You are amazing!” “I don’t know how you do it!” etc., etc when the guys are in the field. And all I have to say to them is “I have NO idea.”

Well, I am going to tell you how I do it:

We don’t leave the house. Like, ever. This is made a lot easier by the fact that I home school our boys. The only time we leave is to run errands (which are all grouped together so we only leave ONCE) or to go to the dog park.

We eat a LOT of cereal. Some days we eat it for all three meals. I’ve started buying those giant bags of cereal because we go through it so fast.

My children will go DAYS without bathing. Basically, they get a bath when I notice their hair is starting to look slimy.

On days that don’t go so smoothly we will watch School House Rock and consider that school for the day.

I no longer volunteer. For anything. I feel bad, especially when they really need people to help with fundraisers and stuff, but I just can’t do it at this point in my life. When I am not feeding a baby every two hours I will reconsider it.

My car has several inches of trash on the floor. It will probably reach a foot before it gets cleaned out.

Laundry never gets folded. It gets cleaned, gets put in a heap, and we fish out what we need from that heap. This continues until it’s time to do laundry again, and the cycle repeats.

We are late to EVERYTHING. Everything! I feel terrible about it, but I think people are beginning to expect it of me.

I look pretty rough all the time. From my super dark circles under my eyes, to air dried hair (not a good look for me), to no makeup (ever), and this lovely postpartum phase where clothes don’t ft me I am quite the sight.

If we actually see anyone, it is always at a location that is not my house. I do not want to subject anyone else to the chaotic state it is in at all times.

I stay up waaay late every night. I hate doing it, but it is the only way to get anything done. It is during this time I prepare lessons, sweep the floor, pay bills, blog, etc. NOTHING gets done while the kids are awake.

The filing system I have employed for the last half of 2012 is the big plastic bag under my desk. Everything that needs to be filed gets shoved in it, to be actually filed at a later date. That will probably be in a year or two. (for now I just rummage through it if I need to find something)

Whenever anyone asks me “So what did you guys do this week?” I never have an answer. My life is a blur of just trying to survive. I know we do stuff, but in retrospect I can’t remember what that is. Thank goodness I take pictures, otherwise I will be an old lady and have no idea what happened during the years my children were young.

Basically, my life right now can be summed up by this little exchange that happened at the dog park one day:

Random lady: “You have your arms full, don’t you?” (as I have the baby in the sling, my two year old running away, the six year old yelling at the two year old for running away, me wrestling with our sixty pound puppy [I’m 100 pounds] as she tries to get into the dog park while I’m trying to go in the opposite direction to get the two year old, also while trying to shut the gate the two year old opened before running away)

Me: “You think?”

Ok, so I didn’t really say that.

Me: “Yes, I do.”

But at the end of the day, I am happy. I love my kids and that darn dog, and our life. I groan out of frustration frequently, and have learned to both ask and take help when offered, and you better believe the husband pulls his weight when he is home. But every time things get really hard I remember some advice I got at the beginning of our military career:

“It’s ok to stay at home in your pj’s and snuggle all day. This phase won’t last forever.”

It was said in response to Max and I dropping out of Joy School due to my morning sickness, but it is applicable to so many situations. There are so many good things in this world: things to do, to enrich your life, and on and on. But that doesn't mean they are all good for you. I had major mommy guilt over eliminating something that was good for my child because I couldn't handle it. But this person put it into perspective for me. I may feel like a total spaz right now, and we may be missing out on a lot of good things because I can’t do it all right now. But it will pass. They will grow and get more independent, certain things will get easier, and I may start to feel like “I got this” again. But for now all that really matters is that my husband and children know that they are loved.

So while my husband may return from his time in the field to a very messy house, he is greeted at the door by three very energetic little men, one extremely excited ball of fur, and one very tired wife who is thanking the heavens he is finally home.

And maybe next time that tired wife will be wearing something a little more attractive than sweatpants…

Jax and family. Make sure you also visit her photography site!

Only Three Weeks

One of the things I loved most about the guest posts this week is the lack of sugar-coating. 
These ladies tell it how it is, and today's post by Chantal from Scattered Seashells is no exception. 
I remember how intimidated I was taking care of Millie during Sky's first drill weekend after her birth- and that was just two days! I completely identify with her fears and feelings in this.

The first time I was left alone, truly alone, for a long period of time, with our daughter was in May 2012. She was five months old.

It sounds silly, coming from a military spouse who is used to her husband being gone. In my defense, though, I had gotten used to him being back. He came home from Iraq in June 2011, and I was 15 weeks pregnant (she was an R&R baby!) He only missed one appointment, my 12 week one, and from then he was there for everything: appointments, classes, and the birth. Once she was born, he was there to hold her and help me, only leaving for a few hours a day to go to work. We were in transition, moving to a new place and starting school. He was around a lot and I took advantage of it.

Anyway, part of his schooling required that he leave for three weeks with no communication at all. Whatever, I said, this isn’t anything new. I can handle it.

The day after he left, it was as though a switch flipped in my sweet five-month-old baby. Her already short naps shortened to only 30 minutes, which is not a long enough time for either of us. She started sleeping even worse at night too.

Couple the sleep exhaustion with the lack of spousal support or even someone to complain to, and it was a rough three weeks for me.

Though it wasn’t all bad. I was the one who got to experience every moment with our daughter at a time when she was changing so much (she learned to sit up days before he came home!) I set out schedules and followed through. We had some special moments together watching TV, cooking dinner, and doing various errands and activities.

What’s most important is those tough three weeks taught me that I could do it. I could take care of our baby without help. I could be a mom, through thick and thin, and come out triumphant in the end.

A Recipe for Bathtime, Not Disaster

The first guest blogger in my When He's Away series never fails to make me smile. 

Jennifer blogs at Life with the Lieutenant. She's currently in the midst of her husband's deployment,

 and she's very busy taking care of her son and daughter while he's gone. 

A toddler and a baby guarantees even small things can be big challenges. 

This post is typical Jenn- written like a conversation with a good friend, and always hilarious. 

Before Steve left for deployment, the single most terrifying thought I had was how on earth I would get the baby and the toddler in bed at the same(ish) time every night. If I needed to cry, for any reason, all I had to think about was giving those two a bath by myself. Need to talk my way out of a ticket? Squeeze some tears out because I burned dinner and we *have* to order pizza? Counter my eye-bags with some eye-puff? Think: BATHTIME.

Steve always took care of Sam's bath and bedtime routine. He's done it forever. It's their time and I know I can't compete. Nor do I want to. But when thrown into that role (quite forcefully, I might add, since Sam gets poop in the most interesting of places), it wasn't nearly as bad as I'd made it out to be in my mind. Here is the recipe for bathing two children- one toddler, one baby:

Ingredients
one baby
one toddler
bathtub
bath toys (aka your old plastic cups and anything that will hold water)
baby tub

Directions
Undress toddler and baby in bedroom. Take naked children with you into the bathroom. Begin by running the water and filling up the baby tub. Place baby inside tub and scoot him/her to the back of the tub. Plug the drain and continue filling up the big tub. Place toddler-child in the remaining portion of the big tub. Don't let the water get too high or the baby tub will float and tip over. Not that that's happened to me before. I just read it on a warning label somewhere... Immediately bathe both children. I know it's tempting to let them play and splash around first, but it's best to get the work out of the way while people are still in happy moods. Then, after bathing, sit back on the toilet and relax. Let them play. This can kill anywhere from five to thirty minutes, depending on how long your tub can keep water warm (mine maxes out around 12 minutes, 38 seconds). Once water has turned frigid and lips have a blueish tint, remove the toddler from the tub. Wrap him/her in a towel and give instructions to head to the bedroom but not to pee on anything. (Inevitably, they will pee on something. If you have two kids, you should know by now that this is not the time in your life to own nice things.) Lay a towel across your lap and sit on the edge of the tub. Lift baby out of the baby tub and wrap him/her. Continue to let the free-as-a-bird toddler run wild. Lotion up baby and get him/her ready for bed. Once baby is finished, stick him/her on the floor with a toy or two. Then grab the manic toddler and attempt to strap a diaper on while smothering with lotion of some sort. Try not to zip any flesh into the footed pajamas. I know you are getting excited that bedtime (aka freedom) is so close, but making careless mistakes like that will only further delay you from propping your feet up and breathing deeply. Focus. Comb hair, brush teeth, say prayers, and if you throw the toddler in bed, make sure the crib is set on the lowest mattress setting. The last thing you need is a toddler rebounding back out at you. At this point, you can pick up the (most likely overtired and sobbing) baby and finish the bedtime routine there. Feeding, rocking, burping, swaddling, crib. Make your escape. Go get comfy and try not to think about the fact that you've gotta do it all over again tomorrow.

Yields
Two clean(ish) children, a semi-soaked mom, and a completely destroyed bathroom

If you need any more instruction on the finer points of caring for two mini people on your own, head on over to my blog. 

Embrace the Suck or Bust?

His got his hair cut, his bags were packed, and now Sky is gone. He shipped off to his Army AIT (advanced individual training). This absence is going to take some getting used to, because while I can't list dates, I can safely say he won't be back tomorrow. I'm sure this blog of mine will soon record all my thoughts about it, but I'm saving those for the moment because I have other writers about to take the wheel. To help both myself and others in similar situations, I asked a few fellow bloggers to write about the ways they handle everything at home while their spouse is away. These ladies were separated from their husbands for various lengths of time and for various reasons, but have a common bond in their experience of getting through it. I'm honored that they are my guests during the next week's series, named When He's Away, starting Monday.

I planned on calling this special series "Embrace the Suck". (An explanation of the phrase "embrace the suck" for those who are unfamiliar with it- basically, it means that this situation (fill in the blank with anything) sucks, but that's the way it is. Embrace it. Deal with it. Get over it. It's a military way of simply saying, "Yeah, it's not fun, so what? Put on your big girl pants.") I made a little graphic, labeled all the posts with it, and was ready to go. But after I did, I felt a little convicted. It just wasn't sitting right with me.

Once I thought about it, I realized that I didn't want that to be the focus of this week, or this time Sky is gone. I'm sure I'll have plenty of embracing the suck moments, but this overall time needs to be about more than just enduring. I'll be full time in school again, and it will be interesting to couple that with being the only one taking care of Millie and getting more and more pregnant. But I'm trying to sop looking at it as, "This is so hard, and I need to brace myself" and instead start thinking, "This is a lot- however, not only did all my guest bloggers get through similar or much harder things, but it's an opportunity for me to do well and trust God."

So, yes. Millie and I will doubtless spend some days in our pajamas. We will eat macaroni and cheese more than I care to imagine. If those things happen because I'm busy with school and taking care of her, it's okay. I don't want to look back on these days as something I struggled through every second, but as a challenge that I beat. 

That's my goal- sad days, rough moments, and extreme exhaustion are likely to occur at some points of this journey- but the two of us will be just fine. And it's my hope that, if you ever find yourself in a similar circumstance due to the military or any other kind of separation, my guest bloggers may help inspire you to know you will be just fine, too.

This Time

"Time is the longest distance between two places." 

— Tennessee Williams

We walked from the small wooden porch to the damp and silent street, flooded with yellow lamplight. It was 4am. He handed me the blue t-shirt he had worn a couple days earlier, crumpled and smelling of his cologne. The two of us stood next to my car, feeling as if we were the only ones on earth awake. Over and over in my head, I told myself not to cry, but tears were spilling down without any effort or notice. He tried wiping them away as more filled my eyes, and we just looked at each other for a moment before I buried my head in his chest. I couldn't help but picture the button down he wore fading into a dusty uniform.

He told me that he would be okay, and that he would take care of my brother, too. He promised me he would come home safely. I wanted to stare at his face to remember everything, inhale the scent from his hair so I wouldn't forget it. I kept thinking about his boots that would be in sandy Afghanistan instead of in this muddy Illinois small town. And I didn't really understand how it was possible to be filled to overflowing with wild hope, fiery love, intense fear, and pure dread all at the same time. When we finally let go, I drove away trying to get enough air to inhale. I made a a few blocks before the roads became blurry the rest of the way back to Champaign. I prayed a lot during that dark drive home.

But this time, there is no deployment. The only physical danger would come from a training accident, not from a war filled with an enemy's bullets or roadside bombs. This time, the months of separation are only because of a school on a post states away. There won't be the extreme heat and cold from weather in the Middle East- just the easy temperatures in a southern state. There will be phone calls and Skype chats, the kind of contact that can be hard to come by during some deployments.

This time, though, he and I are changed. I'm not sure we are that boy and girl who didn't know how to say goodbye. Instead, we're a pair with a little girl who needs her favorite blanket and monkey to sleep, and a baby still forming, six months from its first cry. We are two people with a history. We've been up and down so many times, I've lost count long ago. And though this time won't be the length of a typical Army deployment, it will still be the longest we've been apart since that first goodbye.

It should be easy in comparison. But I find myself awake at night, wondering what it will mean for us. While Sky can take every moment as it comes, I want to plan everything out in my life, down to every last detail. Life doesn't usually allow for that, however. There is no planning to this, even with the weeks of notice we've had. I don't know what to plan for anymore.

Someone mentioned it didn't seem like I will miss him much when he leaves. I will miss him. Of course I will. It is a strange and uncomfortable way to miss someone, though, when so much feels unsettled. What has happened between us isn't something that gets resolved immediately and disappears. It's something that takes so much time, so much rebuilding of trust, so much effort. It's not something done well over long distance. My worry this time doesn't spring from attacks in a dessert. It comes from what's already happened here in Chambana. This isn't the blog post that is supposed to be written before a farewell, and I know that. This is just real life. I want to miss him in that bittersweet, wistful way. I guess I'll only know once it happens.

He will be gone soon. The suitcases and green duffel are sitting in a lonely corner as a reminder. This time, we are both fighting for something. Guns and tanks are easy ways to battle, but preserving a marriage takes everything the two of us have. It's the most important war we can wage. I'm trying to borrow just a little of that wild hope from last time, needing it to see us through. I'm even praying to feel a bit of that passion and sorrow when we wave goodbye this time.