On His Way

My husband made it out of Iraq. Yay!

He's on his way home. It's an awfully long trip, with stops and all, but he's on his way.

Whew. I didn't realize how relieved I'd be once he was out of Baghdad.

This is a good way to start 2008!

Wrapping It Up

With this deployment about to be wrapped up, everyone keeps asking me if I am happy and excited.

I am. I really am. But I'm finding that I am very stressed and a little depressed too.

What most people don't know is that the reunion with your spouse can be one of the most difficult parts of a deployment. I know it sounds counterintuitive, but it does really make sense.

For one thing, it can be hard to get used to having someone else around all the time. Yes, I miss my husband tremendously. But life has gone on and I got used to doing things on my own.

Sometimes a returning husband can feel like they don't fit in and aren't really needed anymore. My own man has jokingly stated that I only need him for his paycheck.

And I think, worst of all, because we all set such high expectations for blissful reunion, we can feel let down if things aren't perfect. It's similar to post-holiday blues.

But my husband and I have been through the reunion stage three times before. We've learned how we need to communicate, and with a good understanding of what to expect, I think we'll get through it okay.

It's the kids I'm worried about.

They have grown so much since June. They have each had a birthday and are halfway through a grade that my husband hasn't been here for. My son has gotten used to being the only "man" around. And my daughter is suddenly having a very difficult time with being separated from Daddy.

She was absolutely beside herself last night. It started with her yelling out of nowhere that her life has been ruined.

She may have a small flair for the dramatic.

When I tried talking to her, she went on and on about how it's unfair that Daddy has to go away for no reason. I spent a lot of time trying to explain how that just wasn't the case. She is not inclined to believe me. I think she is a little affected by some post-holiday, daddy-missing blues. Now that the presents are all opened and played with, she wants him home now!

As for me, well, I feel disappointed in myself again. Every time my husband deploys I try to see it as an opportunity to focus on myself and reach some of the goals I've been putting off.

But here it is, more than six months gone by and I haven't done a single one of the things I had wanted to do. I didn't lose weight. I gained it. I didn't write a book. I got writer's block. I didn't start running. I feel farther away from becoming a runner than I ever have before.

I've learned a lot though. Mostly I've learned that I need to adjust my expectations. I can't put my life on hold just because my husband has deployed. But I have to accept that just getting the kids through each day is an accomplishment. A triumph, even.

And I've learned that dealing with a deployment with school-aged kids is a whole different beast than when the kids were younger. I really thought it would be easier. I was so wrong.

I am very happy. It may sound like I'm looking a gift horse in the mouth but I'm mostly just trying to prepare myself. This next week, though...

It's going to be a long one.

Christmas for Three

"This was, perhaps, the best Christmas ever."

So says my daughter. Yes, she really talks like that. Imagine her saying that with accompanying facial expressions and hand movements.

Everyone kept telling me that I should just postpone Christmas until my husband got home, but that's just not realistic. Imagine telling two little kids that Santa wasn't going to come for two more weeks. That's not how life works. I thought this holiday was a good opportunity to teach them that life goes on and you must roll with the punches. Adaptation is the key to survival.

But Christmas doesn't just happen. A parent has to make it happen. And making it happen on my own wasn't all that fun. I wouldn't say that I felt stressed about it. More like, resigned. And tired.

I stayed up until 2:30 a.m. on Christmas Even wrapping gifts and eating Santa's cookies. Who knew it would take so long when you're all alone?

But both kids proclaimed it the best day ever, and I'm just glad it's all over. Now I have ten days until my husband comes home. Yes, I have an actual date and time for his return now. It's nice to have that nailed down. Yay!

What's not nailed down is what is going to happen with the rest of our lives. So much is up in the air in terms of my husband's career and our future. I hate the "not knowing" You'd think I'd be used to it by now.

All Aboard the Polar Express

On the night before Christmas Eve I surprised the kids with a trip on the Polar Express.

We had to drive for two and a half hours through rural Texas to get to the train depot in Palestine, but it was worth it. I have never seen my son so excited.

They did an excellent job with it. Each car had chefs to serve hot cocoa and Rice Krispy Treats. They read The Polar Express. Santa met us at the North Pole and boarded the train for the trip back. He sat and talked with each child and gave them a bell. Then we sang Christmas carols all the way back.

You've never seen so many excited children in one place. But the parents were even more excited. You'd have thought the paparazzi had boarded the train with all the cameras at work.

It was pretty magical. Of course, the next morning when Uncle Patrick asked my son, "What did you do last night?" he replied, "Oh, I forgot. Um...I built a track for my trains."

And my daughter told everyone that they went to the North Pole, but she would only say the words "North Pole" while making air quotes with her fingers.

Kids. You can't live with them, you can't throw them under Santa's sleigh.

Middle Aged? Bring It On!

It's amazing to me how I could go from being a young mom with young kids to being a middle-aged mom with school-aged kids overnight.

Or at least that's how I feel now that my son has turned six-years-old.

I've never been one to complain about getting older. In fact, I revel in it. These last couple of years have aged me quite a bit, but up until my son was born, many people still thought I was a teenager.

You should have heard the whispers about me when I was pregnant with my daughter. Even I'll admit that I looked young, but I was twenty-six-years-old. Still, I'd hear strangers whisper, "Isn't that awful. Look at that poor girl. Teenagers today." And they'd shake their heads.

At first I wanted to yell, "I'm twenty-six and married, people!" but after a while I just laughed about it. Not that teen pregnancy is anything to laugh about. Just ask Mrs. Spears.

No, I live very much in the moment. I don't spend a lot of time looking back at the past, unless I'm in a sentimental mood. And I don't spend too much time obsessing about the future. Unless it is to dream about the day that my daughter is old enough to babysit.

I never did want my kids to stay babies forever. I am looking forward to seeing them grow up. Bring on the gray hair! Bring on the wrinkles! I haven't missed a single moment of the growing-up years so I'm ready for the next stages.

I only wish my husband could feel the same.

Happy Birthday, Baby Boy

Today is my son's 6th birthday.

It's hard to believe that only six years ago today I was screaming, "Get him out! Just get HIM OUT!"

He was being stubborn and had to be dragged into the world with forceps. Figures.

It can't be easy to be a late December baby, but he has never complained. Today at school was all about their Christmas program and class Christmas party. But he doesn't seem to mind. Heck, considering that he was due December 7 and we forced him out on December 20, it seems like he actually likes being a Santa Baby. (It helps that his sweet teacher made a special point to do all of the birthday-type things for him.)

He's a great kid with an adventurous spirit and kind heart. He's smart and strong and I love him to pieces. Even when he's pooping on the floor.

Happy 6th birthday, Baby Boy. We love you!

Gifted

Sometimes the most precious gifts are totally unexpected.

Tonight a friend called and left a voicemail. This voicemail was filled with some of the most wonderful things I have ever heard. The sentiments expressed made me cry. It was so touching. The fact that a friend took the time to call just to let me know how special and appreciated I am was overwhelming.

I am so thankful.

Isn't it funny how when we need friends the most, there they are? The last week has been a rough one for me. I'm fine and I'm feeling better every day, but I sure did appreciate that shot of love and the huge self esteem boost.

I also got to talk to my husband tonight. That always makes me happy.

I have about two and a half weeks left to go in this deployment. Because Christmas is between now and then, it seems like a much longer time. Tonight's good vibes make me feel like I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Home for Christmas

A dear friend of mine got a wonderful early Christmas gift this year. Her Army husband came home from Iraq a bit earlier than expected. They were supposed to return on December 30th but were able to make the trip home sooner.

He has been gone for fifteen months. I am so very happy for them.

She wrote me an e-mail today. She said now that she's past the finish line and hooked up to her oxygen tank and an IV, she's pulling out her pom poms for me.

She is no stranger to the life of a waiting wife. Her husband has deployed for more than a year twice before. But this was an exceptionally difficult deployment.

She was diagnosed with a severe medical problem. They have been trying to become parents for years and those plans were...well...they still have some hope. They would be wonderful parents.

He lost ten troops in his unit during this deployment. My friend sat with the widows, helped guide them through arrangements, and attended the funerals. She volunteers to do that job. She quit her paying job to be able to do it. And she tells me that it was a blessing to be able to attend those funerals.

As if that weren't enough for them to deal with, he temporarily lost his sight. He spent a short time in Germany to recover yet yearned to return to his unit the entire time because they needed him.

Their strength awes me. It humbles me.

And it makes my jealousy at his return feel doubly horrid. I'm so happy for her but I'm so sad for myself. It makes me hate myself.

It makes me hate myself more than I already do.

Great Moments in Parenthood, Part 2

My children have grown so much since last June that I'm afraid my husband won't even know what to make of them when he gets home from his deployment. Sure, they've grown a few inches each, but they've grown up even more.

My daughter especially has matured so much. The child who never, ever craved Independence is now starting to experiment with it a little.

And I've been experimenting with letting her have more responsibility. Some of those experiments have worked out well. Some haven't.

Like when I let her make lunch for the two of them and they ate an entire jar of peanut butter with four spoons. (I have no idea why it took four spoons.)

But these forays into responsibility have reminded me of one of my most embarrassing parenting stories. This one will get told to my daughter-in-law some day.

Back in the Spring of 2006, I struggled with whether or not my kids should be allowed to play behind our house on their own. Our backyard opens right up to a playground where I can look out at them from any room in my house. My kids are very well behaved and I can trust them to follow rules. Plus, we live on a military base for goodness sake. You couldn't ask for a safer neighborhood.

So I decided to have a trial run where they played outside while I cleaned in the kitchen. My daughter was supposed to watch her little brother and I spent most of my time watching them too. I only glanced away now and then while I emptied the dust pan or put away a dish.

I glanced up from one of these chores only to see my son's lily, white butt. He might as well have been wearing a sandwich board that read, "Judge my mother!"

"Oh no!" I exhaled as I ran toward the back door.

I made it to that sand box in record time.

"Honey! Are you watching your brother?" I yelled as I sprinted.

"Yes," she yelled back."

Yeah? Are you watching him take his clothes off?"

"Ack!" she screeched. "He's naked!"

As I ran by the little pile of clothes he had left in the grass, I snatched them up. My plan was to cover him and race back to the house. But his jeans and underwear were wet. So I ended up wrapping him up in my arms and scooting the two of us into the house as quickly as I could.

Apparently, he was too busy playing to come into the bathroom. And naked is fun.

We are not a naked family!

Needless to say, they weren't allowed to play outside without my constant supervision for quite a while. And now when the little girl from next door tells me, "We're not allowed to play in the sand because kids pee in there," I can say, "I know," with great authority.

Do the Math

My husband called from Iraq this morning. I haven't heard from him in a while and it was great to hear his voice. It would have been greater if it wasn't five o'clock in the morning.

"Mello? I mumbled.

"Hey, Hon. It's me. What time is it there?"

He's been deployed for six months with his boots on the ground in Iraq for the last five and he still hasn't figured out the time difference!

We talked for a little bit, but I'm not really at my best in the morning. Heck, I'm useless until 10 most days. 5 a.m. is more than I can handle. At one point I sort of remember saying, "You say stuff now."

He laughed at me and offered to call back after I had dropped the kids off at school. "I'll talk to you between 8 and 9," he said in farewell.

He called at 12:30.

"Do you have any idea what time it is here?" I asked him.

"Nope, I haven't a clue," he replied.

"Well, let's see. It's 12:30 here so...one, two, three..."

But he interrupted me. "Honey! Don't even bother. If I haven't figured it out by now, I'm not going to."

It's a good thing he sent flowers today.

Yes, he really did send me flowers. Orchids, in fact. Just because he loves me. He liked the "race" post I wrote yesterday. Maybe that inspired him. I can't tell you how happy his simple words and sweet gesture made me feel. His timing was perfect. I needed a lift.

What can I say? He gets me. He just can't count backwards.

I do have some constructive criticism for the flower delivery person, though. If you're going to leave flowers without ringing the bell (In fairness, he may have rung the bell but I didn't hear it because I was sleeping. What? I was up at 5 a.m.!) don't prop the box up on the screen door.

I was trapped inside my house! At least until I remembered that I had a back door.

The Race without Training

Recently I was talking to a fellow military wife about dealing with deployments. We've both had our fair share so I shared with her my favorite analogy.

Deployments are like races. Except you can never really train for them.

Let's say that a seven month deployment is like a seven mile race. Being in the last mile doesn't really make it easier. In fact, it might be the hardest part of the race because you are already so, so tired.

"And that last mile is uphill!" my friend added.

She's right. It's uphill, and maybe it's started raining so it's a slippery slope. And worst of all, they keep moving the finish line. You're never really sure where it is.

And then your shoe falls off!

The major difference is that you can quit a race. You can throw up your hands and walk off the course. You can say that you did well enough and feel proud that you even made it that far.

Quitting a deployment is not an option. There is no choice. You're in it for the long haul whether you like it or not. You may feel pure joy when you cross the finish line but some of the hardest work is still ahead of you.

I'm just glad I'm not racing alone.

Spinning the Holidays

In the newsletter that my son's Kindergarten teacher sends home every Friday, she has asked for parents to come to the class and share some of their families' holiday traditions.

Is it sad or just pathetic that I can't think of a single thing to share?

Oh sure, we celebrate the holidays just like everyone else. We celebrate Christmas by exchanging presents, decorating a tree and hanging stockings. The problem is that we celebrate Christmas just like everyone else.

I can't think of one unique thing that we do.

Hmmm, maybe I could take the kids on a little field trip to the post office. I spend 75% of my Christmas preparation time there anyway. Or maybe I could bring in my laptop and show the kids how the bank has made it extra easy for me to obsess about our seasonal finances online. That's how I spend the other 25% of my time.

Maybe I could bring in a fire extinguisher and talk about fire safety. Between burning candles under a shelf, using the oven for the first time in months, and letting the Christmas Tree dry out until it is a pile of brittle pine needles, almost burning down the house has become a sort of family tradition.

Oooh, maybe I could put on a little skit for the kids entitled Stupid Fights We Have around the Holidays. Or maybe I could call it How Mommy and Daddy Test Their Marriage Every Year. What? It has a happy ending, I swear!

Oh! I could bring in a scale and let the kids chart how much weight I'll gain in December. That would be a good math lesson.

In an attempt to avoid inflicting all of the things that will send my kids into therapy twenty years from now on everyone else's children, I think I'll ask my kids what holiday tradition they would like to share.

Seeing what they come up with could be the most entertaining thing I've done all year.

And We Hit a Wall

That's it. My daughter is done. Absolutely and completely done. She actually stood in our house today with her face straining to the roof and bellowed, "I just can't take it anymore!"

I sort of saw it coming. Sort of. You just never know with my daughter.

A couple of days ago she told me that she only wanted one thing for Christmas. "All I want is for Daddy to come home."

There isn't much you can say to your child when all she wants is her Daddy back and there is no way he'll be out of Iraq and home in time for Christmas. I find that the straight answer works best. Not even Santa can bring Daddy home for Christmas. Daddy has to stay in Iraq.

Tonight's desperate episode all began when I sent her back to her room to redo her homework.

She stood on the stairs and took dramatic I-can't-believe-my-mom-is-so-mean breaths until I raised my voice. "Enough with the drama. Go!"

She was only gone a few minutes when I heard her desperate wail. Apparently, she just can't take it anymore. At first I didn't even realize what she was talking about. In bewilderment, I asked, "What can't you take anymore?"

"I can't take Daddy being away for one more day!" Then she burst into tears.

It's funny how she misses Daddy the most when Mommy is being mean. But she ran into my arms and sobbed and cried. What could I possibly say?

"I know, honey. I miss Daddy too, but he won't be back for a few more weeks and we have to just keep living our lives day to day."

"I know," she sobbed. "But you don't know what it was like at school today! I missed him so much so I put his picture on my desk. I didn't get in trouble but it didn't help!"

I let her cry it out for a while but my son struggles with that. He hurts to see her hurt and he tries in his own five-year-old way to help.

"Maybe Daddy will be back next week," he says.

But I can't let that false hope fester. "No, he won't, but maybe you could e-mail him."

"No, no," my son insisted. "I saw a big sign that said that a big group was coming home January 2. Maybe Daddy will be home then."

Never mind that he can't read yet.

None of the normal things we military moms do to help our kids with separations are working with her. She doesn't want to write him or send him anything. I'm not sure why. She has been so amazingly mature these last few months that I sometimes have to remind myself that she is only eight-years-old. She wants her Daddy. Nothing else will do.

I did the only thing I could think to do. I sent her to finish her homework.

My son summed up his own feelings then. "I miss Daddy too, but I don't get sad about it."

"Why is that, Buddy," I asked him.

"Because I have so many other people who love me too." He and I are a lot alike.

My daughter has struggled to fall asleep tonight. Her brain and her heart are in overdrive. And that's how we're alike.

Deck the Halls

Once upon a time I had a beautiful Christmas tree with twinkling, white lights and coordinating blue and silver trinkets.

Once upon a time I had a beautiful Christmas tree with twinkling, white lights and coordinating red and gold baubles.

Then I had children.

Now I have a Christmas tree with blinking, multi-colored lights and more kid-made paraphernalia than you can shake a candy cane at.

The truth is, my beautiful Douglas Fir is now kind of ugly. And I wouldn't trade it for the world.

We might have to compromise on the dozen inflatable monstrosities in our yard though. A mom can only take so much.

The Silver Lining

Here's a little secret kept closely guarded by military wives everywhere.

There is an upside to your husband's deployment.

When you're alone for months and months you make all of the daily decisions by yourself. This can drag on you after a while. But sometimes it is a huge benefit. Like when you want to do something that your husband usually hates.

For example, today I bought a real Christmas tree.

And I don't have to listen to my husband complain abut the cost, or dragging it home, or taking care of it, or vacuuming up the needles, or stringing the lights.

There is a teeny tiny little place deep inside of me that glows proudly whenever I do something alone that I would usually depend on my husband to do. It would have been so easy to forgo a Christmas tree at all this year and just fly back to my mother's house instead.

Today I learned that a seven-foot tall Douglas Fir isn't nearly as heavy as it looks.