Thoughts on Army Wives

I do not usually chose to refer to myself as an Army Wife. It seems artificial to define myself by what my husband chose to do with his life way before I was even a part of it, and I'm pretty sure we've discussed this before so I'll let that lay. HOWEVER, this is not a "team" that I don't want to be on. I do. Some of the toughest women I know are on this team and I'm proud to be associated with them. But we need to discuss something that is running rampant among us.

Comparison.

Between jobs. Deployments. Hours logged at work each week.

Right now, there are many Soldiers from our post deployed to Afghanistan. They've been gone for several months and are, mercifully, on the downhill slide.

Recently, another brigade from here deployed to Korea. There is so much infighting on Facebook groups and in hushed circles about how this really isn't a deployment because they're not going to a war zone. Alright, I get it, and in recent years, I might have agreed. But the Army is quite different now than it once was, and perhaps so am I. Also, it is, by definition, a deployment. And while I think we can all agree that Afghanistan is more dangerous than Korea, does it really matter when a child is crying itself to sleep because it misses it's mom or dad? I think not.

The need to compare, to make ones circumstances worse than that of their peers seems to be a disease afflicting my fellow military spouses, and I am exhausted by it. Every single one of us has had to grit our teeth and endure far more than we ever could have imagined. I don't understand the inability to respect that. To celebrate the power we wield.

My friend Karen recently posted on her blog about the day that the Army told us to hold her beer and watch this. The day that our Soldiers, who were supposed to come home from a very deadly 12 month deployment in mere days, were extended by 4 more months. It ruined all my plans. I was forced to cancel our wedding. It was that day that I learned the Army was the boss. She has remained so.

But they all came home eventually. And that day was probably the best day of my entire life. Sorry to my children.

I learned that lesson again, though with much less surprise, when after delivering my first child, my husband left us in the hospital for a month long trip where he wouldn't even be able to call home.

But he was there for the delivery, and thank God, my mom was able to cover down for him on the home front. I can't even imagine having a baby without my husband. I rain praise down on any woman I have known who has had to.

And several months later when EVERY SINGLE ONE of my friends' husbands came home early from a deployment thanks to a force cap in Afghanistan, except mine, who had been requested to stay and finish out the full year, I learned it again. It was probably the most alienated and alone I have felt in all of my time as the spouse of a Soldier.

But he came home safely, for a third time. So many didn't. My husband didn't DIE. HE CAME HOME. How can one wring a complaint out of that?

And I learned it once again that time that was 3 months pregnant, sick as a dog, and receiving a 2,800 square feet of house load into an 1,800 square foot house with my 1 and 4 year-olds stuffed into an already rickety pack-and-play ALL DAY LONG so they didn't bolt while the movers unloaded ALL THE THINGS while my husband was already at work. On day 2 at a new post.

But I unpacked a box at a time, had the means to buy a new pack-and-play and eventually got over the all-day-sickness associated with my pregnancies. And had a fantastic baby, with my husband again, in attendance.

And I have probably learned this lesson a hundred other times that I can't even recall now because to me, they're simply part of life.

The memories of all the times over that first deployment that I closed my eyes and prayed desperately for his safety have carried me through the last decade. I can assure you, America, that exactly ZERO things seem as bad as wondering if a person you love is dead or alive. And no breath is deeper than when you find they've made the casualty notification and it wasn't at your house. Nor is any ensuing guilt more raw. Maybe I just lucked out in learning the lesson early on: Someone always has it worse. Yeah. I had to cancel my wedding. So what? We got married eventually. But some pretty important guests were missing.

In every friend group, in every Bunco club, on every deployed spouses Facebook page, some people  always seem to have it especially bad. And someone always has it worse. And those who have had it the worst would probably remind us that whatever we're pissed about in this moment is trivial to the feeling of seeing the Casualty Notification Officer show up on their front porch.

Words I Hate (In No Particular Order)

Hubby, hubs, hubster, any derivative thereof.
Preggo
Salve
Fester
Crispy - but mostly because I don't like the sound of my own voice saying it.

There you have it America. For posterities sake.

The Days Run Together

So listen.

I don't know what it is I do all day, but I keep myself pretty busy.

Erik will come home from work and ask what I did.

And you know what?

I don't have any damn idea.

I fed kids breakfast.
I packed at least one, sometimes two lunches.
I mainlined some coffee.
I dropped off Kid 1 at school and drove home.
Fed kids a snack.
Fed kids lunch.
Dropped off Kid 2 at school and drove home.
I changed Kid 3 and put him in bed.
-- the 2 hours between the above errand and the below errand are always kind of a blurred line between productivity and laziness, guilt or accomplishment --
I woke up Kid 3 and took him to go pick up Kids 1&2.
I fed kids.
I then took kids to the park or ballet or whatever errands or extra curriculars we have that week.
I fed kids.
I bathed kids.
I put kids in bed.
I collapsed on the couch.

I went to college guys. You know what I learned there that helps me here. Time management. Because nothing I learned there can help with the insane way kids are doing math now.

W
T
F

This girl.

Can We Talk For a Minute About Donald Trump?

Yeah, I don't want to either.

I want to want to. I'm fatigued.

So here's this instead:

When we were at Disney a few weeks ago (which I should post about but I'm not going to) my Garmin activity tracker fell off when I scooped Nash up and carried his tantruming behind down the sidewalk since he wouldn't hold my hand. I WAS SO PISSED I WASN'T GOING TO GET SOME AWESOME BADGES FOR ALL THE STEPS I'D TAKE OVER THE COURSE OF OUR TRIP. Did I mention it happened on Day 1? Also it was my watch, so that was also super lame. Anyway, when I came home, a friend offered me her FitBit Charge 2+HR which I love so much more. It vibrates at me when I haven't moved enough (the Garmin chirped and there's enough damn noise going on here that I never heard it.) ANYWAY, literally as I was typing the Trump thing it vibrated and said "Feed me 209 more steps this hour" and I swear to God, I stood up, walked down stairs and fed myself a string cheese. Then I marched in place as I ate it. Goal achieved while consuming a snack. This is a lifestyle I can get behind.

Communion

When it came time for communion at the church I attended for the first 20+ years of my life, there were men who'd pass the plates around from pew to pew. We'd take the bread as it was passed and wait and take the cup together. I am assuming this was because it was a pretty big church given the size of my town and waiting for everyone to go up to the front would have taken eons.

I was seriously about 29 years old before I went to a church that regularly had you come up front for communion. And the church we attend now does it this way as well. We go up front, get the cup and the bread and go back to our seats in a wildly disorganized fashion, and wait there to partake together.

But last Sunday was different. I'm not sure if it's because there's a new head chaplain or the especially brutal flu season, but we were passed the plates by ushers this week.

Now I have attended this church for nearly 3 years. I KNOW that we take the bread and the cup together.

But when I was handed that communion plate on Sunday, I took that cracker and stuffed it in my face as quickly as possible as the usher waited with the plate of cups. Just like I did ever Sunday from my 9th until my 23rd year. I sat trying to hide my crunching and giggling to myself as I was supposed to be praying, and then decided to own it when everyone broke the bread and I just sat there.

It seemed to funny to me that of all the things I'm sure my parents would have liked to think I reverted back to from my decidedly Christian upbringing, the only thing that is really an automatic reaction is consuming the body of Christ as quickly as possible so I can keep the juice train flowing.

Also, I just realized how creepy it is to write "consuming the body of Christ."

Tribe, Part 2.

I wrote recently about my fantastic group of friends here.

Now I'm writing about the saying goodbye.

As always happens, "the Army goes rolling along," and so must we. But it's happening in spades to our little friend group. Half of us are leaving and taking half the children in our little village. I have never seen such a mass exodus from one group at one time, but I'm sure it's not really uncommon. Especially now that the Army is trying to move everyone during the same 2 spans each year, instead of all willy-nilly all the time.

Up until recently, we too thought we would be on our way out the door this summer, which I felt would somehow help soften the blow for my children. Moving = New Adventure. 

Staying with no friend? Haven't come up with a tag for that.

Let it be said, however, that while most families at similar points in their service member's career are moving every year or two, we are very lucky to be here for another year, bringing us to almost 4.5 years in one place. What a treat for an Army kid to be at the same school for the first 3 years of his education!

Having been here for what seems like ages (our neighbors all around have us have turned over at least once, sometimes twice) I have been able to show my kids that once old friends move out, new friends move in. This has worked well for casual friends. I'm not sure how to broach this with friends that we see every day. Maybe it helps that they see friends come and go often in class. I don't know. I don't even know how to wrap this up cleverly.

I picked this, my kids didn't. I love this adventure. I hope my kids do too, because that's the only way the juice is worth the squeeze.

Now accepting tips and book recommendations.

My Tribe

I have a fantastic little tribe here at Fort Stewart. Several moms on our half of the street get together almost daily at the park for the kids to play and the moms to chat (and sometimes drink, because life). It's an interesting adult dynamic, because I can't think of any other friend in recent years that has known so much about the daily minutiae of my life as these ladies (aside from my husband). Seriously, the last time I had something like this I LIVED with the person (college roommate - nothing salacious!) (((In fact, one of the things I hate the most about having a long distance BFF is that I don't know the little things that go on in hers or her families life. But I digress.)))

Anyway, they know pretty much everything.

Which of my kids is a Wildling.
Which of my kids poops 7x a day.
Which of their kids swear they're going to marry one of my kids.
They can tell when one of my kids has had a bad day.
They feed them from their kitchens without hesitation. Knowing (and buying!) the snacks each kids mom finds appropriate.
They check on us continually if someone is sick.
They pick them up.
They drop them off.
They take them in.
They bring them home.
And I do the same.
I know which of their kids are bad sleepers and can tell when they've had a bad night.
I know when someone needs a dinner delivery because though she's fed her children, she's left herself with their PB&J sandwich crusts.
I trust these women to parent my kids almost exactly the way I myself would (sometimes better!)
We celebrate EVERY birthday together.
We celebrate every everything together.
They are my village.
They are my children's village.

Their kids run the same age gamut as my kids, and each one has it's own little bestie within the group.
Most of the girls are a little older than Piper, but she just thinks they're all SO awesome and squeals with excitement when someone offers a hand-me-down. And is always suggesting we give her hand-me-downs to the next youngest girl in the group, with the same sparkling eyes she had when she received them.
ALL of the kids stop and listen when G asks for their attention. One day he corralled ALL 11 other kids into a circle and passed out Popsicles. The moms wouldn't even be able to garner that kind of cooperation. (That kid is so charismatic, I wish he'd realize it.)
And every single "Driveway Kid" as we call them, calls Nash his nickname - Cubby. Which warms my heart like no other. Everyone loves little Cubby.

We have such a special group.

And we're breaking up. Because Army Life.

More another day. Because Mom Life.

Jaunarys

Judging from my blog entry history, it seems I try to get my life together every January. For the last ten or so years. My gosh that's hard to believe. I remember a few years ago - maybe it was 2014 - that I told myself I'd blog 3x a week and then have it professionally printed at the end of the year. I think I did okay for awhile.

But alas here I am again, thinking about how I have got to preserve these days that are passing at both a snails pace and faster than I can comprehend. That's probably why they say "The days are long, but the years are short." It's kind of mind-blowing how true that is. Because these days are painfully long sometimes, but the years seem to fly by before we know it.

My father-in-law told me once that the reason time goes faster when you're an adult vice when you're a child is that for an adult, ever year is a lesser part of the greater whole. Basically, years aren't worth as much to adults as they are to kids. Kinda like the pay differential between men and women. We're all doing the same thing, but somehow it's considered different. Okay, or not. Don't send me letters.

Anyway. These kids lives are passing quickly. My life is FLYING. I need to hold on. I need to remember. 

I need to blog more.

(((Also, don't think I didn't notice that it took until February this year to decide I'm going to get my blogging life back together. Hahaha! I'm already dropping the ball!!!)))