Tuesday, June 22, 2010
100 Days
At my daughters’ school (and surely elementary schools around the globe) the 100th day of school is kind of a big deal. They normally glance back at what they have done over the year, acknowledge how much they have grown and learned, and of course there is a party. I have found that grammar school is in a perpetual state of cupcake frenzy and forever looking for a reason to celebrate with frosty delights. I guess this is something that kind of carries over into adulthood. I mean who among us has not worked at a job where there is a person virtually assigned to discover the birthdays of co-workers so that we can meet in the break-room for cake to celebrate “Bob’s” birthday. No one really cares about Bob, but everyone loves cake. It’s kind of strange isn’t it? I have on more than one occasion known I was merely an excuse, a segue if you will, to “cake”.
Today is a very different type of 100th day; it is the 100th day of our current deployment. To be honest I didn’t really give it a lot of thought. I noticed last night that it was coming but I didn’t feel the need to bring any great recognition or celebratory response to its arrival. What would be the point? I would love to say that I feel some sense of accomplishment in how far we have come, but we are barely a quarter of the way done. To know that although we have done 100 days and we still have at least 265 still to go, well that is daunting to say the least.
But, today was a good day regardless of the reminders as to how long a year truly is. Today was also summer solstice – the longest day of the year. In Alaska that means up to 24 full hours of sunlight. In Anchorage things are not quite that extreme, but it still means nearly 19.5 hours of glorious daylight. And as much as I hate to cross this tipping point in the seasons, there was something akin to relief in crossing that threshold. Kind of like reaching the top of the mountain and finally starting back down the other side. Of course there is no real logic in this line of thinking. Yes, the days will begin to get shorter tomorrow, but in December when we still have 3 months to go we will start back uphill again in terms of solar measurement.
To celebrate solstice, the girls (minus 1 – our oldest is a camp this week – more details about this later) and I had a fun-filled day that included the library, the track, the pool and concluded with a hike and picnic. Overall, it was a very good day. However, I was reminded of the potential irony in my uphill downhill assessment of a deployment as I nursed an IT band injury on our hike. I have been stubbornly ignoring and running through a stressed IT band in my left leg for several weeks now…okay probably at least 2 months. My brother – the runner – tells me the only answer is to stop running until it heals. The thing is I don’t want to stop running, so I haven’t. I have cut way back which I thought was helping, that is until the 2 mile uphill hike today. The thing is, with every step up, each one slightly more aggravating than the last, I knew I would have to make an additional step back down. And for anyone who has ever had a problem with an IT band I think it is pretty universal that “down” is actually far worse than “up”.
So where does this leave me with my theory? Up was hard, but the view and the accomplishment from the top made it well worth it. Down was horrible and with no reward other than being done. What does this mean about deployment? Perhaps there isn’t even any real correlation. But I think there might be. The first half is really hard, but the second half may be even harder because even though you’ve reached the top, the distance back down is just as far. But here I am getting WAY ahead of myself. We are only halfway up the mountain – far too early to start thinking about the trek back down. 100 days. That does sound like something though doesn’t it? Yes, I think it is. I think perhaps I should be more excited, feel more accomplished. Maybe I will make cupcakes and we will celebrate.
Today is a very different type of 100th day; it is the 100th day of our current deployment. To be honest I didn’t really give it a lot of thought. I noticed last night that it was coming but I didn’t feel the need to bring any great recognition or celebratory response to its arrival. What would be the point? I would love to say that I feel some sense of accomplishment in how far we have come, but we are barely a quarter of the way done. To know that although we have done 100 days and we still have at least 265 still to go, well that is daunting to say the least.
But, today was a good day regardless of the reminders as to how long a year truly is. Today was also summer solstice – the longest day of the year. In Alaska that means up to 24 full hours of sunlight. In Anchorage things are not quite that extreme, but it still means nearly 19.5 hours of glorious daylight. And as much as I hate to cross this tipping point in the seasons, there was something akin to relief in crossing that threshold. Kind of like reaching the top of the mountain and finally starting back down the other side. Of course there is no real logic in this line of thinking. Yes, the days will begin to get shorter tomorrow, but in December when we still have 3 months to go we will start back uphill again in terms of solar measurement.
To celebrate solstice, the girls (minus 1 – our oldest is a camp this week – more details about this later) and I had a fun-filled day that included the library, the track, the pool and concluded with a hike and picnic. Overall, it was a very good day. However, I was reminded of the potential irony in my uphill downhill assessment of a deployment as I nursed an IT band injury on our hike. I have been stubbornly ignoring and running through a stressed IT band in my left leg for several weeks now…okay probably at least 2 months. My brother – the runner – tells me the only answer is to stop running until it heals. The thing is I don’t want to stop running, so I haven’t. I have cut way back which I thought was helping, that is until the 2 mile uphill hike today. The thing is, with every step up, each one slightly more aggravating than the last, I knew I would have to make an additional step back down. And for anyone who has ever had a problem with an IT band I think it is pretty universal that “down” is actually far worse than “up”.
So where does this leave me with my theory? Up was hard, but the view and the accomplishment from the top made it well worth it. Down was horrible and with no reward other than being done. What does this mean about deployment? Perhaps there isn’t even any real correlation. But I think there might be. The first half is really hard, but the second half may be even harder because even though you’ve reached the top, the distance back down is just as far. But here I am getting WAY ahead of myself. We are only halfway up the mountain – far too early to start thinking about the trek back down. 100 days. That does sound like something though doesn’t it? Yes, I think it is. I think perhaps I should be more excited, feel more accomplished. Maybe I will make cupcakes and we will celebrate.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Thank God for Good Friends!
Thank God for good friends! A night without kids. I don’t even know what to do with myself. When I told my girlfriend (who has so graciously offered to keep the girls for the night) that I plan to first head to the gym she asks, “On your night without kids that’s what you’re going to do? Go to the gym?” I answered, “Exactly – go to the gym, WITHOUT kids.” While I am incredibly thankful that our base offers a facility with both workout equipment for me, and a playground for the kids, it is still not the same as going to the gym to work out and totally dedicate myself to the task at hand. I am forever aware and even distracted by what the girls are doing. As I run on the treadmill, I watch. I constantly watch. I count; one, two three….one, two, three…one, two, you get the idea. It is working out in pseudo-insanity, paranoia-ridden state. So tonight a quick 5K accompanied by the indulgence of wearing headphones seemed like bliss!
I could not decide what to do with the rest of my evening and wrestled between going to the movies and going fishing. I took the girls fishing last night (I am sure to have a much longer and more thoroughly detailed separate blog about that disaster later) and thought it might be nice to go alone tonight and get a little solo practice in before our next attempt at the life aquatic. In the end I decided to come home, draw a bath, pour a glass of wine and start a new book. After my relaxing soak I rented “The Road” on Direct TV and although I should have been prepared having already read Cormac MaCarthy’s apocalyptic downer I still found myself in clenching my teeth in anxiety wanting to hold my girls close to me.
And that leaves me here. Still only a little after midnight so I know my insomnia will keep me up for at least a few more hours, and I am unsure what to do with myself. There is so much to be done and so little motivation to do it. I know it has been forever since I blogged. I would apologize for such a lapse only I am not really sure who that apology would go to. I guess anyone who might be curious for an update. I have wanted to write so many nights and have simply not been able to put my blog high enough on my priority list for it to happen in a long time. I feel somehow guilty taking time away from my other obligations to write.
Ah and there is the answer! My phone just beeped to notify me that I have a text message. I am almost certain it is the hubby with a request for me to call him. There is something so odd about getting a text message from Afghanistan. I’m not sure why that is. Just the notion of all those little letters traveling through cyberspace from one country nearly a world away all coming together to form coherent words and meaning on my little phone resting on the bed seems somehow magical. I will give an update and list excuses for my long absence. I will, but right now I must call my hubby! And then to bed – maybe I will even sleep in tomorrow – what a crazy thought!
I could not decide what to do with the rest of my evening and wrestled between going to the movies and going fishing. I took the girls fishing last night (I am sure to have a much longer and more thoroughly detailed separate blog about that disaster later) and thought it might be nice to go alone tonight and get a little solo practice in before our next attempt at the life aquatic. In the end I decided to come home, draw a bath, pour a glass of wine and start a new book. After my relaxing soak I rented “The Road” on Direct TV and although I should have been prepared having already read Cormac MaCarthy’s apocalyptic downer I still found myself in clenching my teeth in anxiety wanting to hold my girls close to me.
And that leaves me here. Still only a little after midnight so I know my insomnia will keep me up for at least a few more hours, and I am unsure what to do with myself. There is so much to be done and so little motivation to do it. I know it has been forever since I blogged. I would apologize for such a lapse only I am not really sure who that apology would go to. I guess anyone who might be curious for an update. I have wanted to write so many nights and have simply not been able to put my blog high enough on my priority list for it to happen in a long time. I feel somehow guilty taking time away from my other obligations to write.
Ah and there is the answer! My phone just beeped to notify me that I have a text message. I am almost certain it is the hubby with a request for me to call him. There is something so odd about getting a text message from Afghanistan. I’m not sure why that is. Just the notion of all those little letters traveling through cyberspace from one country nearly a world away all coming together to form coherent words and meaning on my little phone resting on the bed seems somehow magical. I will give an update and list excuses for my long absence. I will, but right now I must call my hubby! And then to bed – maybe I will even sleep in tomorrow – what a crazy thought!
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Spring? Where?
So for anyone keeping track, yes that shoveling snow count just went up again. And judging by the rate at which it is piling up outside right now I am guessing it will once again jump up tomorrow. Ah springtime in Alaska! I’m not really complaining. I think when you move to Alaska you pretty much know what to expect. Snow in April should come as no surprise, and if it does well – you obviously did not pay too much attention in Geography class. At 61.22˚latitude Anchorage lies further north than Stockholm, Sweden; Oslo, Norway and even Helsinki, Finland. We are actually only about 3˚ latitude south of Reykjavik, Iceland. I say again - "Iceland." Point being, we are up there.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Hammy is Dying
Raul the family hamster is on his last legs, literally. Two of his four waifish limbs are no longer serving any sort of transport purpose at all. They merely drag behind him in a sickly fashion. I have actually envisioned creating one of those little pet carts that you see amputee dogs pulling out of toothpicks and tinker toys but I can’t say that thought is fully in the interest of hammy’s health as much as it is my depraved curiosity and sense of humor.
In short, hammy is dying. There are no two ways about it. And to be honest, I kind of wish he would hurry it up. I know that sounds horrible, but caring for my girls’ geriatric hamster is as heartbreaking as it is time consuming. Not to mention the fact that I am guilt ridden by suspicions that I may be partially at fault for his irreversible demise. I fear that a severe lack of vitamin D leaking into his dark basement abode has surely played a role in the development of his bow-legged gait. And winter sun in Alaska is well…lacking to say the least. It is killing me to watch hammy slowly expire. I clean his cage regularly, I make sure he has fresh food and water, and I consistently take a warm wash cloth to his little eyes that seal shut with mucus almost as quickly as I can clean them. Yes, that’s right; I said I am cleaning hamster eye mucus. Now can anyone sympathize with my situation or am a just a horrible person? What I feel also needs to be pointed out is the fact that Raul (named by Lynn after one of the characters from “Phantom of the Opera”) is surprisingly not “Mommy’s” hamster. As many young children will do mine have shirked the responsibility of pet rearing which was once novel and exciting, leaving Mom to do the dirty work. Hubby has been begging for an English bulldog for years and fearing that the same situation will also arise, I have declined his requests. I must admit that over Christmas I almost gave in. Thank God that I did not, or I would now be raising 3 children, 1 hamster and 1 bulldog, solo. No thanks.
According to petsdoc.com, there is nothing unusual happening. Hammy is two and a half years old making him approximately 75 years old in human years. (The photo is one of hammy in more youthful days.) His dismantled gait, waning appetite and augmented sleep are all signs of impending passing. The life expectancy of a hamster is apparently only 2-3 years. In this case hammy has lived a good, long and full life. On top of everything else he is truly the only other adult companion I have at home. Unfortunately I do not speak hamster so my recent need to vent and participate in mature and intellectually stimulating conversation is left unmet.
One of the hardest aspects of a deployment is the loss of nighttime conversation. After the dishes have been put away, kids tucked into bed and the other end of day activities attended to, it is so nice to just crawl in bed with your partner and well, vent. Lately my emotional vent has been blocked due to lack of outlet. Friends and family have been the unfortunate victims of random 30 second phone calls meant only to let off a little steam. I feel like a little boiling teapot someone is holding their finger over so it can’t whistle. Eventually the steam burns the finger just enough that it lifts for a quick second letting out a quick shriek before I start to cool down again. This is not intended to mean that the only conversation I miss is the “bitching” for lack of a better word. I wish sharing JOY as well. I ran over 7 miles last week, the furthest I have ever run. I couldn’t wait for hubby to call so I could share my accomplishment. Three days later and still no contact with hubby, the excitement had faded and the run become a distant memory.
I am so thankful to have such wonderful friends and a supportive family that are always willing to listen whenever I need them. The problem is that you don’t want your friends and family to have to listen. That is a special privilege reserved for that dedicated person you marry who will love you no matter what late night, absentminded, crazy thoughts role out of your head. I know I am not alone in this. I am sure that my complaint is not much different than that of the single hardworking parent, recent divorcee, or someone who has lost a spouse or partner. My Mom lost her husband unexpectedly a little over a year ago and I know that she knows exactly the way I feel every night when she crawls into bed. The difference is of course that the other side of her bed will never again be filled by the love of her life, and the vacancy in mine is a temporary condition. This makes me feel guilty for even complaining.
The petsdoc website states that hammy will soon pass away peacefully in his sleep. Until then I will do my best to care for him and make his final days as tranquil and enjoyable as possible. I have loved the little guy. Hubby and I would sometimes get him out after the girls went to bed and let him run free for a little bit – something we would never allow the girls to do – mostly out of fear for hammy’s little life. We were like little kids ourselves stretching out our arms or legs out to each other to block him in and watch him run. Hammy has been a good little pet and although he is not really “Mom’s” I think that Mom will feel his passing more than anyone else, despite the wretched things I have said. Until then I guess I had better start taking advantage of any adult chat time I may have left and go check on hammy downstairs in his cage. And although I do not speak hamster, I bet Raul is a very good listener.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
What's Going on in Your Car?
You know that super annoying person meandering down the road in front of you with their turn signal on? Well today that person was me. Cruising down the road grooving to a little Lauri Berkner Band I glanced down to see that my right turn signal was still on indicating my exit from the highway about a half-mile back. I quickly checked the rearview mirror – yep someone behind me. It may not have felt so embarrassing except that I was certain they had seen my blond ponytail bouncing up and down as Dani and I boogied to our hip toddler tunes.
When I see “that” car going down the road, and it’s not me, I have to wonder where are they going? Why don’t they notice their signal? Did they just turn? Did they intent to turn but then didn’t? Did they bump it inadvertently? Are they lost? Confused? If the vehicle in question is a mini-van all is instantaneously forgiven. There is an immediate assumption that behind the wheel of that caravan rides what remains of some flustered mother’s sanity. She’s probably being pummeled in the back of the head by somebody’s stuffed animal (if she’s lucky that is – there is always a chance for hard plastic and potentially lethal Transformer or flying Matchbox car) trying to shout over the multiple voices competing for airtime, all the while trying to remember why she was so excited about those two purple lines so long ago that transformed her carefree college days into this minivan prison. I’m quite certain the turn signal never even makes a blip on her radar.
As for everyone else signaling turns they never intend to make, what is going on? I can’t tell you how many times I drive down the road and mentally teleport into a passing car. I’m sure this isn’t very safe, but I’m only gone for a second, just wondering. Where are they headed? A shiny red Volvo goes by, the family inside is all dressed up…are they headed to church? A funeral? An old beat up Dodge truck goes by with a young couple inside – the girl inside is practically on the young man’s lap and she is laughing. I smile. Hubby had a truck like that when we first started dating. My mind rides shotgun with them for a second while simultaneously returning to my own memories of a similar experience.
I love to glance around at the cars I share the pavement with. I love to wonder about the lives of the people inside. But most of the time I am caught up in my own world, distracted by the contents of my own vehicle. Life is like that I guess. We often think and wonder about what’s going on with other people but for the most part we stay in our own cars.
While researching what other military wife blogs are out there, I came across one written by a Marine wife who goes by the name “Mrs. P”. She has kept a blog throughout her hubby’s deployment. She has written about their time apart and the excitement of marriage that only a newlywed knows. She has written about her pregnancy and the birth of their first daughter which her hubby witnessed over the phone. Her most recent blog is entitled “2 Weeks”. This is how long it has been since her husband was killed in action in Afghanistan. Now I am riding in her car. All of the sudden what has been going on in my world seems pretty trivial compared to what is going on in someone else’s. I cannot imagine the grief of this 23 year-old wife and mother who was counting down to her husband’s return just weeks ago only now to be recounting how long he has been gone.
I want to remember Mrs. P. Her world is not my world and I know that. But what she has lost, and what her family has sacrificed makes me that much more grateful for all I have. As caught up as we all get in our own lives I think it is important that we take time to remember that we are not the only ones on the road.
So when you see that crazy person with the turn signal on cut them a little slack. We don’t always know what is going on in the other person’s car. I hope that it is just Dani and I rockin’ on down the road, but it might not be. Remember that you’re not the only one out there and the ride for some is not as smooth as the ride for someone else. Appreciate what’s riding with you in your car. As I glance back at that fuzzy green coat and pigtails I crank up “Rocket Ship Run”, and I know there’s no other car in the world I’d rather be driving.
For anyone interested in reading Mrs. P's Blog - www.alittlepinkinaworldofcamo.blogspot.com
When I see “that” car going down the road, and it’s not me, I have to wonder where are they going? Why don’t they notice their signal? Did they just turn? Did they intent to turn but then didn’t? Did they bump it inadvertently? Are they lost? Confused? If the vehicle in question is a mini-van all is instantaneously forgiven. There is an immediate assumption that behind the wheel of that caravan rides what remains of some flustered mother’s sanity. She’s probably being pummeled in the back of the head by somebody’s stuffed animal (if she’s lucky that is – there is always a chance for hard plastic and potentially lethal Transformer or flying Matchbox car) trying to shout over the multiple voices competing for airtime, all the while trying to remember why she was so excited about those two purple lines so long ago that transformed her carefree college days into this minivan prison. I’m quite certain the turn signal never even makes a blip on her radar.
As for everyone else signaling turns they never intend to make, what is going on? I can’t tell you how many times I drive down the road and mentally teleport into a passing car. I’m sure this isn’t very safe, but I’m only gone for a second, just wondering. Where are they headed? A shiny red Volvo goes by, the family inside is all dressed up…are they headed to church? A funeral? An old beat up Dodge truck goes by with a young couple inside – the girl inside is practically on the young man’s lap and she is laughing. I smile. Hubby had a truck like that when we first started dating. My mind rides shotgun with them for a second while simultaneously returning to my own memories of a similar experience.
I love to glance around at the cars I share the pavement with. I love to wonder about the lives of the people inside. But most of the time I am caught up in my own world, distracted by the contents of my own vehicle. Life is like that I guess. We often think and wonder about what’s going on with other people but for the most part we stay in our own cars.
While researching what other military wife blogs are out there, I came across one written by a Marine wife who goes by the name “Mrs. P”. She has kept a blog throughout her hubby’s deployment. She has written about their time apart and the excitement of marriage that only a newlywed knows. She has written about her pregnancy and the birth of their first daughter which her hubby witnessed over the phone. Her most recent blog is entitled “2 Weeks”. This is how long it has been since her husband was killed in action in Afghanistan. Now I am riding in her car. All of the sudden what has been going on in my world seems pretty trivial compared to what is going on in someone else’s. I cannot imagine the grief of this 23 year-old wife and mother who was counting down to her husband’s return just weeks ago only now to be recounting how long he has been gone.
I want to remember Mrs. P. Her world is not my world and I know that. But what she has lost, and what her family has sacrificed makes me that much more grateful for all I have. As caught up as we all get in our own lives I think it is important that we take time to remember that we are not the only ones on the road.
So when you see that crazy person with the turn signal on cut them a little slack. We don’t always know what is going on in the other person’s car. I hope that it is just Dani and I rockin’ on down the road, but it might not be. Remember that you’re not the only one out there and the ride for some is not as smooth as the ride for someone else. Appreciate what’s riding with you in your car. As I glance back at that fuzzy green coat and pigtails I crank up “Rocket Ship Run”, and I know there’s no other car in the world I’d rather be driving.
For anyone interested in reading Mrs. P's Blog - www.alittlepinkinaworldofcamo.blogspot.com
Friday, March 26, 2010
Spiders
I am a girl and as such I feel that I should be allowed a certain number of ridiculous and irrational fears. Deployments steal your fears and I think it is unfair. Like the sharp ridges on your baby teeth that rip through the gums dull with time and wear so too do the jagged edges of your most innate fears. For me that phobia is spiders. I have always been afraid of spiders. Very afraid. I’m not sure what it is about them that so creeps me out, maybe all of those legs.
When our oldest child was a toddler she was terrified of dogs. Confusingly to me, the smaller the dog the more fearful she was. I remember researching this phenomenon and finding that this is commonly the case with toddlers especially concerning small animals because the child cannot predict the actions of the quick and energetic beasts. Perhaps this is also the case with my spider fear. They are quick and unpredictable. There is even the possibility that they are jumpers – shiver!
During my husband’s last deployment the girls and I lived in our newly purchased house in Missouri. It was our first home and we were ecstatic. We did not know that we would live there together for only a few months. Although we were the first owners of the home it had been built on the foundations of an old barn by a man who worked on it in his spare time. It took the hobbyist (and we would later learn – barely functioning alcoholic) six years to complete his work. Of the various issues and problems we encountered in our new home none was more concerning than the infestation of brown recluse spiders.
Apparently the builder’s slow craftsmanship gave the impression that the building was vacant creating a very inviting atmosphere for our eight-legged squatters. The spiders had been content to reside inside the walls until we moved in and started disturbing their once peaceful abode. The now working pipes and general “people noise” brought the curious spiders out of the woodwork to scrutinize their new roommates. Many mornings during the deployment I would awake to multiple spiders precariously clinging to the ceiling above my head. I would like to say that the toxic nature of this particular species of spider made them even more terrorizing but the truth is I found all spiders terrifying poisonous or not. My heart racing and sweat beading on my brow I would garner the courage to eliminate the spiders in defense of my children as any good mother would do. If ever there was a visitor present during such an encounter they would quickly be recruited to do the dirty work. On one occasion a visiting friend was in the bathroom changing her shirt when I burst in on her demanding that she kill the spider in the bedroom, now, now, NOW!!! As the deployment went on however the fear gradually began to dissipate. Eventually I could massacre a wall full of spiders without terror or remorse.
Last night I had a dream about my husband and spiders. I could see him but I couldn’t get to him. He was in some sort of a room and I was pleading with him from the outside of the doorway to come home. All around the inside of the doorway clung red, pulsing, fat-bodied spiders. The discussion had nothing to do with the spiders (although I am certain they served some symbolic purpose) but with his being deployed and my fears for his safety. I read once that dreaming of spiders is lucky. I think they are supposed to indicate future fortune. As often as I have had spider themed nightmares I should be a millionaire. In the dream I couldn’t get my husband to listen to me. If was like talking to him over the phone with that horribly long delay. I felt so helpless. I woke up my body shaking with phantom sobs and overflow fear. The girls were yelling for me from the kitchen with panic in their voices.
Groggily I threw on my robe and staggered toward the crisis. Ironically, their panic was spider induced. How there was a live spider on the kitchen ceiling in March, in Alaska, was more intriguing to me than the satirical situation. The girls chanted “kill it, kill it, KILL IT!” I stood on a chair and calming coaxed the spider onto a section of newspaper. I then opened the patio door and gently shook him onto the deck. Although I couldn’t bring myself to outright kill this miracle winter spider, I probably issued more of a death sentence then I was willing to admit by releasing him outside into the cold. And then it hit me. I’m not really scared of spiders anymore. I don’t really care about spiders one way or the other. I still “say” I’m scared, but I’m not, not really. I think it’s fair to say they still give me the willies, but the fear has been well, exterminated.
But it’s good to overcome one’s fears right? What concerns me is the general dulling of emotions that come with repeat exposure to negative situations. It’s not only my fears that I notice being exhausted it’s the good emotions too. I don’t want to lose what makes me, me. I fear that is happening more with each deployment. Well, at least I still have some fears:) I think there is a sort of defensive Novocain administered by the brain when it recognizes a painful situation is on the way. I don’t want to become this anesthetized person that doesn’t really feel life. I guess in a way I want to be afraid of spiders. They remind me that I’m alive.
When our oldest child was a toddler she was terrified of dogs. Confusingly to me, the smaller the dog the more fearful she was. I remember researching this phenomenon and finding that this is commonly the case with toddlers especially concerning small animals because the child cannot predict the actions of the quick and energetic beasts. Perhaps this is also the case with my spider fear. They are quick and unpredictable. There is even the possibility that they are jumpers – shiver!
During my husband’s last deployment the girls and I lived in our newly purchased house in Missouri. It was our first home and we were ecstatic. We did not know that we would live there together for only a few months. Although we were the first owners of the home it had been built on the foundations of an old barn by a man who worked on it in his spare time. It took the hobbyist (and we would later learn – barely functioning alcoholic) six years to complete his work. Of the various issues and problems we encountered in our new home none was more concerning than the infestation of brown recluse spiders.
Apparently the builder’s slow craftsmanship gave the impression that the building was vacant creating a very inviting atmosphere for our eight-legged squatters. The spiders had been content to reside inside the walls until we moved in and started disturbing their once peaceful abode. The now working pipes and general “people noise” brought the curious spiders out of the woodwork to scrutinize their new roommates. Many mornings during the deployment I would awake to multiple spiders precariously clinging to the ceiling above my head. I would like to say that the toxic nature of this particular species of spider made them even more terrorizing but the truth is I found all spiders terrifying poisonous or not. My heart racing and sweat beading on my brow I would garner the courage to eliminate the spiders in defense of my children as any good mother would do. If ever there was a visitor present during such an encounter they would quickly be recruited to do the dirty work. On one occasion a visiting friend was in the bathroom changing her shirt when I burst in on her demanding that she kill the spider in the bedroom, now, now, NOW!!! As the deployment went on however the fear gradually began to dissipate. Eventually I could massacre a wall full of spiders without terror or remorse.
Last night I had a dream about my husband and spiders. I could see him but I couldn’t get to him. He was in some sort of a room and I was pleading with him from the outside of the doorway to come home. All around the inside of the doorway clung red, pulsing, fat-bodied spiders. The discussion had nothing to do with the spiders (although I am certain they served some symbolic purpose) but with his being deployed and my fears for his safety. I read once that dreaming of spiders is lucky. I think they are supposed to indicate future fortune. As often as I have had spider themed nightmares I should be a millionaire. In the dream I couldn’t get my husband to listen to me. If was like talking to him over the phone with that horribly long delay. I felt so helpless. I woke up my body shaking with phantom sobs and overflow fear. The girls were yelling for me from the kitchen with panic in their voices.
Groggily I threw on my robe and staggered toward the crisis. Ironically, their panic was spider induced. How there was a live spider on the kitchen ceiling in March, in Alaska, was more intriguing to me than the satirical situation. The girls chanted “kill it, kill it, KILL IT!” I stood on a chair and calming coaxed the spider onto a section of newspaper. I then opened the patio door and gently shook him onto the deck. Although I couldn’t bring myself to outright kill this miracle winter spider, I probably issued more of a death sentence then I was willing to admit by releasing him outside into the cold. And then it hit me. I’m not really scared of spiders anymore. I don’t really care about spiders one way or the other. I still “say” I’m scared, but I’m not, not really. I think it’s fair to say they still give me the willies, but the fear has been well, exterminated.
But it’s good to overcome one’s fears right? What concerns me is the general dulling of emotions that come with repeat exposure to negative situations. It’s not only my fears that I notice being exhausted it’s the good emotions too. I don’t want to lose what makes me, me. I fear that is happening more with each deployment. Well, at least I still have some fears:) I think there is a sort of defensive Novocain administered by the brain when it recognizes a painful situation is on the way. I don’t want to become this anesthetized person that doesn’t really feel life. I guess in a way I want to be afraid of spiders. They remind me that I’m alive.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Running to Afghanistan - Not going to happen!
I decided - just for the sake of curiosity to see if I could "run" to Afghanistan while my hubby is gone. I thought that would be a nice goal to work on - symbolic, distracting and health oriented. So I googled a distance mapper and found some devastating news. It is 5,474 miles from where I sit typing to the far away city he will be working in. That means that means I would have to run 14.99 miles every day to make it from here to there in 365 days. So I decided to try and find something more achievable. I searched for towns named "Soldier" thinking I could run to my soldier that way. The closest is in Iowa - still well over 2,000 miles away requiring a daily 7+ mile jaunt. Also NOT going to happen. So I've decided maybe I'll go with something fittingly more appropriate and run to "Chicken" Alaska - 321 miles away - and less than a mile a day. I'm exhausted already.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Running
Back to school! And thank God for that! Hubby chose to leave right in the middle of spring break, which was good because he was able to get in some extra time with the girls and bad because by the time he left they were bouncing off the walls – and my sanity with them! It was nice to get back into a little bit of a routine today.
Dani and I go to the gym on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. There is a wonderful set-up on our military base where they have a playground/gym facility all in one. Dani can play while I work out on the equipment which is arranged in viewing position. It’s a fantastic idea and I don’t know why more places are not doing this. I run a few miles and then do some strength training. I hate to run. I have always hated to run. My Dad was the high school cross country and track coach so I’m sure a mental health expert would have a great deal of commentary to make here. I also hate to floss and I hate to put away clothes. I run and I floss because I know they are good for me and I should do it to be kind to my body – and a little easier on the eyes of anyone having to stand next to me. I’m not sure why I put away the clothes. I can think of no real benefit in that. In some ways it would be easier to just leave the clothes strewn about to sift through as one needed something. I do not think we are at a socially acceptable stage however for this sort of adolescent behavior to continue beyond high school so I guess I will continue to conform and put away the clothes. I actually enjoy folding clothes – sort of mind numbing – calming methodical process. Yes, I quite like to fold clothes – I’m mentally drifting to a pile of warm towels right now…. My train has de-railed where was I? Ah yes! Running – so I hate to run. I have made a promise to myself that I will not run more than 3 miles on Mondays and Wednesdays, and make Friday my only 5+ mile day. I have been gradually breaking my promise to myself however and find that I am almost always running at least 3.5 miles now and creeping ever closer to 7 on Fridays. Not a big deal – but that little voice inside my head is screaming – YOU SAID ONLY 3 MILES!! And where is it all going? For what purpose? I have no desire to enter a race or anything silly like that. So why am I running further and faster? Because I can? I can see how people develop running addictions. There is something sort of soothing and mentally cleansing about running, that repetitive foot thumping and rhythmic breathing. My brother tells me that there is nothing you can’t run from if you just go far enough. I’m afraid to test his theory out on the open road or I may never come back.
Dani and I go to the gym on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. There is a wonderful set-up on our military base where they have a playground/gym facility all in one. Dani can play while I work out on the equipment which is arranged in viewing position. It’s a fantastic idea and I don’t know why more places are not doing this. I run a few miles and then do some strength training. I hate to run. I have always hated to run. My Dad was the high school cross country and track coach so I’m sure a mental health expert would have a great deal of commentary to make here. I also hate to floss and I hate to put away clothes. I run and I floss because I know they are good for me and I should do it to be kind to my body – and a little easier on the eyes of anyone having to stand next to me. I’m not sure why I put away the clothes. I can think of no real benefit in that. In some ways it would be easier to just leave the clothes strewn about to sift through as one needed something. I do not think we are at a socially acceptable stage however for this sort of adolescent behavior to continue beyond high school so I guess I will continue to conform and put away the clothes. I actually enjoy folding clothes – sort of mind numbing – calming methodical process. Yes, I quite like to fold clothes – I’m mentally drifting to a pile of warm towels right now…. My train has de-railed where was I? Ah yes! Running – so I hate to run. I have made a promise to myself that I will not run more than 3 miles on Mondays and Wednesdays, and make Friday my only 5+ mile day. I have been gradually breaking my promise to myself however and find that I am almost always running at least 3.5 miles now and creeping ever closer to 7 on Fridays. Not a big deal – but that little voice inside my head is screaming – YOU SAID ONLY 3 MILES!! And where is it all going? For what purpose? I have no desire to enter a race or anything silly like that. So why am I running further and faster? Because I can? I can see how people develop running addictions. There is something sort of soothing and mentally cleansing about running, that repetitive foot thumping and rhythmic breathing. My brother tells me that there is nothing you can’t run from if you just go far enough. I’m afraid to test his theory out on the open road or I may never come back.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Day 1 Done
I wrote "365" on my calendar a week ago when we first got the news regarding this deployment. We were totally blindsided by all of this. My husband had been home from a 2 month school only 3 days when we found out that he would be serving a year in Afghanistan. We were in fact on our way to the elementary school to pick up our two oldest daughters so that we could celebrate a welcome home Daddy dinner when the phone call came. My husband was still on the phone with his commander when I stumbled out onto the sidewalk into the biting Alaska cold to meet the girls. I felt sick to my stomach. The smile on a waiting friends face instantly vanished upon seeing mine. I tried to fake a little grin and wave but I couldn't do it. She's a military wife and she knew without words what my face meant. I could feel the tears starting to well up - and I am NOT a crier!!! When she came in for the hug I did a quick double tap on the back and was out. I had to get myself together for the girls. My 6 year old Lynn was out the door with the bell full of smiles and stories about the day. I had forgotten that our 9 year old Brynne had choir practice and would need to be picked up an hour later. While my husband went back to pick her up and after I had made a snack for the other two, I quickly retreated to the downstairs bathroom and had a quiet racking sob on the floor of the bathtub. The thought of telling the girls - I just couldn't - I cannot explain this even now what that feels like to tell a child their Daddy is leaving again for an amount of time so massive they cannot fully comprehend it. To a child a year is a lifetime. But of course we did tell them. Little eyes darted back and forth from Mom to Dad to each other with confusion and disbelief. And then of course the tears came. Except for Lynn - she rarely cries. She reminds me of myself. She told me just tonight that she doesn't like to cry, she feels things on the inside unless they hurt so bad that she can't help it. In a way this makes me even sadder than her big sister who is a faucet of emotions. And Dani the four year old, well - how do you explain this to a four year old?
At some point I am going to start posting fun, joyous and humorous things - I promise! Right now I feel beaten. I am angry, I am sad, I am everything that is expected of a woman in my position I suppose. Today I crossed "365" off the calendar though so we are already one day closer to making it through this.
At some point I am going to start posting fun, joyous and humorous things - I promise! Right now I feel beaten. I am angry, I am sad, I am everything that is expected of a woman in my position I suppose. Today I crossed "365" off the calendar though so we are already one day closer to making it through this.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Hours to go
He sleeps in a cocoon of little girls. This is a pre-deployment ritual. It makes me sick to think that we have done this so many times there is actual routine to it. We have only a couple of hours until he leaves for the airport. There is something eerily familiar between these last few hours of time we share and those awaiting execution. You can’t help but acknowledge the clock every few minutes trying to make every last second count. And how do you do that? How do you try to put into a few minutes what you will miss in a year? I don’t know. We rocked the band tonight (i.e. Band Hero – a favorite family activity), got take-out from our favorite pizza place, watched a movie, ate candy (a rare treat) and danced in the living room to music so loud the neighbors are surely hating us. No matter, it will be a while before we hold such a shindig again.
We had an early birthday party for Daddy tonight as well. We picked up an ice cream cake and wrapped presents that should have waited another two weeks. We laminated wallet sized photos for Daddy to take with him, and signed a birthday card with a farting English bulldog on the cover. Daddy was hoping for a real puppy this year but I am now glad that I never made any follow up phone calls that would have left me with three girls and a daily yucky jowl routine.
The night has ended with a campout in the living room in front of the crackling fireplace. Each of us talked about how we are feeling about Daddy leaving. We are sad. The 4 year old, 6 year old and I were talking about this while Daddy played a game of sudoku in the other room with our nine year old. When the 4 year old heard them coming she goes, “shhhh we shouldn’t talk about this anymore cause it will make Daddy sad.” How sweet a daughter we have to think about how Daddy must be feeling. And Daddy is sad, sadder to go than I have ever seen him. We talk about what we want to do when Daddy gets back. Always looking forward – always – if you stand still and analyze where you are at for too long the sadness will eat you alive. Should Daddy get a job where he doesn’t have to do away? Where should we live? The 6 year old shouts, “California!” The 4 year old yells, “China!” When asked I explain that it doesn’t matter to Mommy where we live – home is wherever my family is.
We have four hours until his ride comes and I cannot sleep. I am a chronic insomniac so this is nothing new, only tonight is different. The pit in my stomach will only be relieved by his going and knowing that we will finally be counting down the days until he comes back. The waiting truly is the hardest part. Who warned us about that? Was it Tom Petty? What a strange and wise man. I like to tangent off to humor and sarcasm when things get to heavy. If I’m not careful my train will derail entirely. I don’t know if I can go back out there. Mr. Petty, that is the hardest part. To see him sleeping with his three little girls trying to breath them in enough to hold their scents, their smiles, their love to sustain himself for a year away from them. In the morning it will be a dream. I will look at the spot where they now lay and it will once again be a dance floor, a gymnasium, an orca training facility, a boring everyday living room. Tonight it is a shrine. Please let the countdown begin. The waiting is killing me. It’s like a tug of war you know you’re predestined to lose. You just want to let go before you suffer any more rope burns. I’m letting go so let’s get going. 365 – or until the Army says so – to go.
We had an early birthday party for Daddy tonight as well. We picked up an ice cream cake and wrapped presents that should have waited another two weeks. We laminated wallet sized photos for Daddy to take with him, and signed a birthday card with a farting English bulldog on the cover. Daddy was hoping for a real puppy this year but I am now glad that I never made any follow up phone calls that would have left me with three girls and a daily yucky jowl routine.
The night has ended with a campout in the living room in front of the crackling fireplace. Each of us talked about how we are feeling about Daddy leaving. We are sad. The 4 year old, 6 year old and I were talking about this while Daddy played a game of sudoku in the other room with our nine year old. When the 4 year old heard them coming she goes, “shhhh we shouldn’t talk about this anymore cause it will make Daddy sad.” How sweet a daughter we have to think about how Daddy must be feeling. And Daddy is sad, sadder to go than I have ever seen him. We talk about what we want to do when Daddy gets back. Always looking forward – always – if you stand still and analyze where you are at for too long the sadness will eat you alive. Should Daddy get a job where he doesn’t have to do away? Where should we live? The 6 year old shouts, “California!” The 4 year old yells, “China!” When asked I explain that it doesn’t matter to Mommy where we live – home is wherever my family is.
We have four hours until his ride comes and I cannot sleep. I am a chronic insomniac so this is nothing new, only tonight is different. The pit in my stomach will only be relieved by his going and knowing that we will finally be counting down the days until he comes back. The waiting truly is the hardest part. Who warned us about that? Was it Tom Petty? What a strange and wise man. I like to tangent off to humor and sarcasm when things get to heavy. If I’m not careful my train will derail entirely. I don’t know if I can go back out there. Mr. Petty, that is the hardest part. To see him sleeping with his three little girls trying to breath them in enough to hold their scents, their smiles, their love to sustain himself for a year away from them. In the morning it will be a dream. I will look at the spot where they now lay and it will once again be a dance floor, a gymnasium, an orca training facility, a boring everyday living room. Tonight it is a shrine. Please let the countdown begin. The waiting is killing me. It’s like a tug of war you know you’re predestined to lose. You just want to let go before you suffer any more rope burns. I’m letting go so let’s get going. 365 – or until the Army says so – to go.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Getting Started
I’m not sure where to start. I’ve just scanned the internet to see if there are blogs out there written by Army wives and I see that indeed there are. I don’t know how or even if mine will be different. While each experience is inherently unique, it is something that only we can truly share and understand – we; the spouses, the children, significant others, mothers and fathers who wait. I started to write “left behind” because that is how it feels, but I know that isn’t fair. I can hear my husband in the living room packing his bags. I’m having sort of a mini-internal meltdown and somehow feel dead all at the same time. I think that with every deployment I lose a little more of myself. Sometimes I wonder how much I have left. This is not our first rodeo and I feel like it should be getting easier, but it doesn’t. I think maybe it gets even harder. Part of me feels selfish for writing this expecting anyone else to read it or even to care what goes on in our little world. Another part of me feels selfish for not having done it sooner, for not letting the rest of the world know what really goes on inside the life of a military family. Either way, I think I’m going to do this. I think I’m going to measure a year in all the sad, bizarre and hopefully joyful ways that I can think to do it. Soon we begin 365 all over again.
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