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!

Excused

Hubby has received his "Juror Excusal Notice" hahaha.

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.

And yet, I have to say, I love it up here. The beauty of this state is truly beyond words and although the winters are cold, they are by no means unbearable. The coldest we have every personally witnessed was -32˚ two winters ago. Yes, there is a negative sign in front of that 32, and yes, that is cold but honestly once it gets below zero you’re really not going to be hanging out outside for very long anyway so in a way it doesn’t really matter how cold it gets. The girls go out to recess until -10˚ and snow pants and winter “gear” are necessities the majority of the school year. Both Hubby and I grew up in upstate Pennsylvania so cold is kind of in our blood. I love living in an area with prominent seasons. The difference in Alaska is not so much the intensity of the winter season as it is the duration. Winter arrives in early October and lasts through well….what is today? Still snowing. So what else is there to do but watch it fall. The beauty of a long winter means one day waking up and finding out it is already May or maybe even June, and when you’re already kind of wishing away a year any surprise that denotes the passing of time is a welcome one.

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.

Jury Duty

Hubby got a summons for jury duty yesterday. Something seems incredibly funny about that. I asked him if he thought they'd send him home to let him serve, but he doesn't seem to think they will :)

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

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.