Saying Good-bye

As a gardener, I have transplanted many things. In fact, once you get comfortable with it, plants can become like furniture: "You know, I think I prefer the black-eyed susan in the front yard, rather than the back." So I get the shovel and move it. I suppose it takes some skill to do this, but I no longer think about it too much because I have done it so many times. Most of the time, it works. Sometimes it doesn't. Some plants just don't take to it too well.

As an Army wife, I have transplanted people too. I have done this many times also, but unlike the plant stuff, I think about it, and think some more, every time. Some people take better to transplanting than others. I am a creature of habit and structure, so one of the stupidest things I could have done was marry a soldier. But...well...this love business can ruin your best laid plans.

The moving process is much more complicated and difficult for the women in my husband's life, than it is for him. Unlike us, he never truly integrates into the community, and the people he works with are very fluid and not always around for long. Unfortunately for me, I am the one stuck with the civilian dental and doctor visits and school volunteer work and seeing all of the same people all of the time.

Today was the last day of school for my girls. I said good-bye to all the people that I had gotten to know during my many, many hours of volunteer work there. It was painful and sad and has left me broken up and worn down. I will, in all likelihood, never see these people again. I will never see Bridget and Angela, the faithful teacher's aides who I assisted every day, all year, in the lunch room. I will never see my daughter's absolutely fantastic kindergarten teacher. I will never see Bob the elderly crossing guard again. I gave him a card yesterday telling him how special he had become to me these past three years. As I drove away today for the very last time, he said, "Thanks for my card, I will treasure it for the rest of my life." I know he meant that totally and completely.

While I didn't always like this duty station, there are things that I too will always treasure for the rest of my life. My heart is breaking. I am uprooting my girls, leaving a home that I have spent four years in (the longest time I have been in the same place since marriage), a home that we owned that is full of sweet memories. I am leaving behind people that will always hold a special place in my heart. The mind is funny. I have snapshots of past places and the people I remember are frozen in time for me. Years and years may go by, but for me, all my Kansas school friends will still be doing duty in the lunchroom, or making copies for teachers, and Bob will always be out there on the corner watching out for the little ones as they cross the street.

And now, with only a few days left, I am counting on my battle buddy to get us through this, to help me do what has to be done. I'll hold his hand, and we'll start a new chapter in a new place, and I will start all over again.

Following: A Love Story

Once upon a time, a girl met a man AND

Before she was quite sure how it happened,

She went crazy, crazy, CRAZY in love

With him

Like so many women before her

She followed the drum,

Followed her soldier

She saw INSPIRING beauty,

Met people from far and distant lands

Home was wherever she happened to be,

WITH him

Children showed up,

They got tickets for the train ride TOO

They didn't ask to get on the ride,

But the lovers put them on...anyway

Her love asked her once, many years later,

When they knew each other

Back and forth,

"Where I am going, will you follow?"

"Don't I always?," she said, at the time, with happiness in her heart

But now her heart is tired

And her feet have been still for too long

And her arms are sore from carrying the children

And her home is beautiful

Just ignore the "For Sale" sign

She doesn't know when she will have a home

That is HERS again

To paint, and change, and take care of because it is

YOURS

And her kids are SAD

Following is hard

Even when you are crazy, crazy, CRAZY

in love

The End

Homelessness in the Military or The Story of My Kids' Lives

When I met my husband, he had already been in the Army for several years. He readily admitted that he intended to pursue this career until retirement. At the time, I didn't care much because it was just good times and fun. But things quickly changed and marriage happened almost before we even knew each other's favorite colors. For the first couple of years of our marriage, I could pretend that he had a "normal" job and the idea of war and trainings and moves didn't affect us all that much, not even with a baby in the picture. Then 9/11 happened, and things became horribly real. The moves started to kick in and toting one, then two kids all over the country to visit relatives and find new homes wasn't always pleasant.

There were great things too. Like living close enough to the coast to be able to hear the sea lions barking at night. Being able to spend lazy Sundays walking the edge of Lake Ontario. Experiencing the crazy, powerful energy of a Kansas storm. Disneyland, Golden Gate Bridge, Chinatown, Niagara Falls. So many wonderful things I have seen because of this life, I can't even list them all.

Even the not so great things taught me stuff. Since it is almost always just us, we are pretty tight, the four of us. Randy and I truly enjoy each other's company, and because he is gone so often, he makes every effort to spend time with us when he is home. Family time is sacred. The deployment completely, totally sucked, but it made our marriage stronger. It made me stronger.

But...I have been setting up new households for a long time. Trying to create stability out of nothing, the only anchor my kids have. I lived in the same house until I finished college. I have childhood friends. I have a place to go back to, even as an adult. I read a quote from a military brat once. She was commenting on how people say you can't go home again, and how, for a brat, it is true because there is NO home to go back to. Just a sea of Army posts or military dominated neighborhoods. None of the people they knew when they lived there will be there anymore. It is a never ending ride of change.

My friend has tried to tell me that everyone moves around nowadays. The loss of a permanent home for my kids is not something I should lament. This is true. Lots of people move around in these modern times. But for us, it is not a possibility, but a certainty. One of the only certainties we have. When we move, we look at a place and think, "Well, this is home, at least for the next two or three years." And mostly, it is not even a choice to move, just something that we have to do.

I suppose I shouldn't complain about the trade-off. Randy supports us very nicely doing this career. And I knew what he did when we married. But my heart breaks for my girls. My girls that will never casually visit either of their grandmothers after school or spend weekends hanging out with cousins. My girls that miss so much time with their father. They won't have friends that trail them from kinder to graduation. We planted trees in our new home. My kids won't be able to carve their names in them once they are big enough because we won't be here anymore.

At night, when my husband and I lie together in bed, he often shares his dream with me of what our someday permanent home will be like. Sometimes he says, "The kids can do this, the kids can do that." I have to remind him that by that time, it will be too late. They won't be kids, they will be young women and getting ready to fly off on their own. I feel the time slipping by me and I am trying frantically to make it stop, but my chance to give them a childhood home is rapidly spiraling away. Sometimes, I want to scream and cry at him that I don't want to do this anymore, I just want to stop. But I don't because where he has gone, I have always followed.

My friend says that I focus too much on what they don't have, and not enough on the unique and wonderful aspects of what they do have. But it is hard not to do that when what they don't have seems so very, very important.

The Thrill of Cheating Without Actually Doing It

I am having an affair. I have been sneaking time away, trying to wait for moments to be with him. Fixing my hair and make-up when I know he might show up. Trying to act respectable at the neighborhood barbecue, knowing the whole time that the innocent comment he made was made for me and like me, not so very innocent. I hate that there are times where I go days without seeing him. Does he think of me when he is all alone? When I walk into a room, does his breath hitch and does a flicker of desire flow through him like it does me? These moments, our moments, make my face burn in delight with the guilty pleasure of loving him. All the more guilty because these wicked thoughts float in and out of my everyday moments, while I'm folding laundry and washing dishes; I dream of these secret times. No one would ever think it, to see us together--he's so cool, so even, and so very, very honest and true. And me, well, I am the PTA volunteer, the SAHM, a poster girl for cupcake baking, not corsets and lingerie.

Nobody is likely to know of this affair. How many people have affairs with their spouse?

Passion and lust are something that fire up early on, tempered by other practical feelings, such as "Will he call me tomorrow? Is he a good person? What if we had kids? Is he faithful? Does he leave his underwear on the floor? Will it last?" Life has a way of, if not smothering passion, at the very least lowering its flames to embers. So imagine my fascination with this feeling. This feeling that has hovered in the background of my life for so long, has now taken center stage. This gift discovered because of time. Time that is not spent feeding a baby, diapering a bottom, or helping someone open their juicebox. Being a mother is a beautiful thing, a thing I revel in, but being a lover has its own allure. I am not even sure when this affair started or how, but I know that when I turn to him at night, I am thinking "Yes, I remember you, I remember this." Except now, all those nagging questions have been answered. I know him truly, I love him deeply, and desire him completely. A long time ago, he was my lover first, my best pal second, and I now I feel like I have suddenly spun back in time and remember why we chose each other to begin with, why our marriage even happened.

To find this lover again--who had disappeared at times into other labels of husband, father, soldier, friend, lost in a maze of domesticity with my alter egos of mother and wife--is heaven itself. Thank you Lord for guiding me to choose him, for giving me the gift of a beautiful, wonderful, sanctified passion with my best friend.

The Reality of Memorial Day

"Col. McHugh died in Kabal, Afghanistan May 18 as a result of wounds
received from a terrorist car bomb.  He was assigned to Fort Leavenworth as the Chief of OPS Group A of the Battle Command Training Program."

This is from an FYI email my husband forwarded to me regarding the colonel's funeral services.  He was stationed at our duty station, and my husband had occasionally seen him around at work.  Col. McHugh was a high ranking military officer in a field that doesn't normally see casualties.  He had five children and one grandchild.  I am sure, very sure, that his wife was shocked.  Sometimes, as military wives, we like to pretend that when our husbands are off doing their jobs, that it is just a regular job, that they are safe, even if they are doing this job in a hostile area.  

I know that I felt this way and told myself every day that the chances of my husband dying in this war were low.  This was a true statement, but as Col. McHugh's death proves, a chance, even a small one, is still a chance.  I still like to pretend that maybe my husband won't have to go back there, but it is a sword that hangs over every soldier's head, no matter the job, no matter the rank.  It is part of our life.

The post community is going to ask for support as the funeral procession passes by on its way to the chapel.  I plan to go, with my daughter, and hold the flag, to honor this man who was part of our military family.  I don't think there is anything better to do to acknowledge Memorial Day.

Memorial Day is not about hotdogs and hamburgers or swimming pools and days off.  It is about all the soldiers and military who have given up so much so that we can squander that day stuffing our face with potato salad.  I wish that every American would take a moment to remember that, to remember that there are children with no father or mother, widows and widowers, parents who have lost children.  All because some have given the ultimate sacrifice in the effort to preserve our freedom.

Thirty something ain't so bad

Life is good right now at this moment. I never thought that my thirties would wax so lovely. Yes, I can see the subtle, early effects of gravity. Effects that I know will only get worse. Sure, I had to finally break down and highlight my hair in a valiant attempt to camouflage the gray that mocked me every morning in the mirror. And my body just can't take eating junk food except in extreme moderation. The effects of that, well, I find those harder to live with than the effects of gravity. Maybe because it is something under my control.

But not all the physical changes have been bad. My twenty something self thought that my love life was good, great even. Boy, I hadn't seen anything yet. I have a stable, loving relationship and nothing can deepen an intimate encounter like that can. It frees you up to truly relax and not worry about stupid little things that really can suck all pleasure out of the whole experience. By your thirties, you know exactly what does it for you and how to get there. And a man who knows you inside and out, can take you there and back again. Which leaves me with the sad fact that there are a lot of twenty somethings out there having really bad sex.

It is not just the physicality of it. The mechanics are the same no matter what, but the level of intimacy changes. My thirties have taught me to appreciate my husband more. Thirty something Jen will take 40-something Randy any day over the 30 year old he was when we first met. He's always had a steadiness and graceful masculinity that I find appealing, but in his maturity, it has grown into something deep and male that calls to me. Younger men seem so callow and stupid. I guess I don't have it in me to go cougar.

He's not perfect. Neither am I. But he's perfect for me even if he really irks the heck out of me sometimes. The thing is, I know he's going to do things that piss me off, and now, it is easier to shrug my shoulders and say, "I love him anyway." Ten years ago, it wasn't so easy to do that. But I've learned to appreciate all the fantastic things about him, which greatly outnumber the annoying. I've learned that I don't want to hike through life with anybody else. I married him because I loved him and wanted him, but getting married is easy; it is the sticking with it that can have its tumultuous spots. After a decade of ups and downs and numerous, military induced separations, I am confident of our staying power. He's my best pal and my sounding board.

My kids are growing. The baby stage is over, and sometimes my heart breaks over that and yet, as it weeps, it revels in this growing freedom to discover myself and to rediscover the deep love I have always had for my husband.

Aging also gives you a gift. It eludes most people in their youth: An acceptance, an appreciation of what lies before you. By this point, I have learned that I control very little in life. Letting go is hard to do, but so liberating once it is done.

So, yeah, the thirties have turned out to be better than I thought, which makes me think that the forties look very promising.

Why deployments suck

February is the month my husband deployed. I have been very blessed. We have had time to heal from the deployment, but I still think about it at this time of year.

A deployment is something that is impossible to explain to a civilian family. I have had civilian wives tell me, "My husband travels a lot too, so I know what it is like." Uh, no, you don't, trust me. Your husband can call you when he feels like it, he could come home for weekends and special occasions, he doesn't have to wear his uniform 24/7, and the biggie: I seriously doubt anyone is trying to kill him and his co-workers. So it is not the same, not at all.

The time leading up to the deployment is almost as bad as the deployment itself. Something like standing in front of a firing squad, the main thought being, "Just do it already!" You know it is going to happen, you know you can't stop it (although I think every spouse secretly thinks that some miracle might happen and your spouse won't have to go--I think we believe that up until we see them walk away with all their gear over their shoulder). So mostly you just want it to start. The sooner it starts, the sooner it ends. And there is a tumult of feelings where you want to cling so desperately to your husband and yet at the same time you want to withdraw into yourself to test how it feels to be alone. Everything you do has a pall over it, knowing that next year, the anniversary, the birthday, the Christmas, will be one that you have to do alone.

The night before a deployment is a sad attempt to grasp time as hard as you can and slow it down. You want to be together, but you can't shake the fear that this could be the last time. The last time you touch, the last time he runs his hands over your body. Even if the rational side of you knows that the chances are very good that he will come back to you, even if you know that...the fear still sits in the corner of your mind, until your last time together just breaks your heart and leaves you with tears silently running down your face, praying he doesn't notice. Praying he could just disappear into you, and you could keep him safe forever. Praying that morning waits.

But it doesn't. You never really know how much you love someone until you think you might never see them again. I dropped my husband off outside the area where all the other soldiers were waiting to deploy. We kissed good-bye in the parking lot. A hard kiss, a long hug, the stuff of romance, but there is nothing romantic about watching your husband walk away from you. There is nothing romantic about knowing that a year stretches before you.

There is nothing romantic about knowing that one day you will probably have to do it again.