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.

Why I started a blog

This fall my life will be changing in a dramatic way. I will be home alone for the first time in almost ten years. I have spent ten years being a SAHM. I gave up a promising teaching career (well, not monetary promising, but fulfilling promising, plus, I was good at it!!!). I gave up a life outside myself so that I could devote my energies to my infant daughter, who turned into a preschooler with a sister. I don't regret this. Not one single bit. I love being the one who raises my girls, the one who takes care of them all the time.

My Catholic faith teaches that we all have a calling, a vocation. After my first child was born, I realized my true vocation. It was being a wife and mother. This may sound silly, but I did feel the power of the Holy Spirit telling me this was right. I felt so completely fulfilled devoting myself to their care. I loved being a mom. I rarely missed the concept of "me time." Of course, I was raised in a culture where "me time" and motherhood were never believed to go together. I can hear my mother's friends now, "Me time? Que es eso? You're a mom, no hay 'me time.'" I tend to agree with them. If you have a kid, it is fully committing yourself to another's welfare, it is thinking outside and beyond yourself.

And now, my little one will probably be heading off to kindergarten soon (I say probably because she and school haven't mixed well so far, so...we will see how that goes). Once she does this, I will be ALONE all day!!! This hasn't happened to me since....gee...I can't even remember. The last time I was free from my motherly duties I was in the ICU. From my hospital bed I was busily directing my mother and husband in exactly what needed to be done and how to find the things needed to do so.

Now I am so close to some freedom. So close that I desperately need to find something to occupy myself. What do mommies do when they are laid off or get their hours cut? I am trying to dig deep down into my being and discover a little remnant of me. I have always enjoyed writing and have decided that I should take all the little story ideas I have and finally do something about them because now I can. In addition to my little stories I thought that maybe if I forced myself to write on a regular basis, it would be a good exercise for me. Sort of like your middle school English teacher made you keep a journal because it is good writing practice. Thus, the birth of my blog!!

In spite of my hatred of blogs and bloggers and all things blog, here I go starting one. I am trying to figure out a theme for my blog and am still working on that. Right now I am kind of liking the "why" concept, and I am flirting with a hate blog where I would just bitch and moan continually about things. Why? Mostly because I am good at that.

I do know that somewhere, buried under all the momminess and wifely stuff is a person who used to have ideas and thoughts and a self-concept beyond motherhood. I am going to find her again. At least during my hours off. The rest of the time I am still very happy being MOM.

Why I hate Facebook.

Has anyone noticed that Facebook is just a bone yard of old acquaintances that you never talk to in real life?  I got a FB page at the urging of an old friend, albeit an old friend I had maintained a relationship with for the most part.  Once you actually have an account you have access to so many more things than when just surfing as an outsider.  You can add friends, read their wall, see their info, comment on their status updates, play Farmville, and explore the whole psuedo social world that is FB.  Here's the thing:  I don't care.  I have a whopping total of three friends and two of those really should not count because they are relatives (well, one is my BFF of 25 years who has moved into family realm), the last is my friend who urged me to get the page.  

She has lots of "friends," as most people do.  When I first started, I took a perverse pleasure in perusing the friends lists of other people I knew.  I hadn't seen these people in, at minimum, a decade, most more than that.  It was sort of funny to see how they had changed or not.  But did I want to connect with these people?  No, not really.  A lot of them I wasn't crazy about talking to in high school, much less now.  If I wasn't your friend then, why would I want to be now?  But then I am the same person who had zero interest in attending my high school reunion, so I suppose it is to be expected.  

What I cannot fathom is the need some people have to look backwards?  Doesn't it make your neck hurt?  I know some people who really, really love connecting back to all these old friends from high school.  Their wall looks like a virtual version of my junior year English class.  But I really don't care what some fool I knew almost 20 years ago made for dinner.  And I don't really care to walk down memory lane on a computer.

I think that this phenomenon of FB tends to trick people into thinking that these people are the same as real life friends.  Uh, they're not.  I think it keeps us from reaching out to actual real life people that are sitting right in front of us.  While we frantically FB and connect with all these people we may never see, what happens to our kids, our spouse?  While we tend our virtual farm, what happens to the real life dog and the houseplants?  I suppose the whole thing is fine in moderation and something of a time killer, but for many it becomes a time sucker, in more ways than one.  We can become guilty of losing precious moments to our computer and at the same time get pulled down memory lane, reminiscing about our first love, an old flame, or the guy you crushed on but never got, and now those things are all just a mouse click away!  Hey, remember when we went to prom together?  Remember the good times in geometry?  Hey, how about remembering the good times right in front of you, how about making new memories instead of re-living the old ones with people you haven't seen in decades!

I know there are people who have friends on FB beyond the "good old days" friends.  I get that, but those friends deserve real time.  A phone call, a real life visit, not just a quick status update on the screen.  If that is all your friendship is, then maybe you aren't really friends.