Rebecca Yarros's Blog, page 5
December 31, 2013
Eight Months In.
First off, let me just say that today is the third day in the last two weeks that no one has had a fever or thrown up. I declare this a victory even as I'm knocking on the wood bookcase next to me.
Plague, be gone!!!!
Or at least, I hope it is. Any more of this crud and I'm either going to dip my house into a vat of lysol or set it on fire.
Right, so anyway, this last week has been a doozy. We hit the 8 month mark on Christmas Eve.
I had this whole post going, about how I was grinchy, and bah-humbug, and generally hating the Christmas season, but quite frankly, I felt like I'd been whining enough already, and chose to just stay silent here. After all, it's not like stomping my foot and throwing a tantrum was going to make Jason magically appear. Hell, if that worked, I'd have done it about a month in like some kind of demented Dorothy, clicking my heels and stuff.
No, not that Dorothy.
Yup, that's the one. Hey Jason, there's no place like home...
So yeah, being without Jason sucked. I mean, like... royally took me apart piece by piece and brought on tears as we watched the Polar Express on Christmas Eve. Happy 8 months down, right? And then there's this really weird combination of emotions in my head because Advon (Advanced Party), came home just prior to Christmas. Normally Advon doesn't throw me, but when those weeks in between mean they get to celebrate Christmas at home? Ugh. I'm thrown. Aaron heard about it, and starts asking, "Why do they get their kids for Christmas and we don't get dad? Is He coming home, too? Are you just surprising us? That would be so cool." And those green eyes tear up when I have to break his heart all over again, and make sure he understands there's zero chance of that happening so he doesn't expect it in the back of his mind. Well, then I want to tell the scheduler of this redeployment...
The irony? 6... yes 6 of my friends had husbands on Advon. So on one hand, I'm so excited for them! I love walking my friend through her dress selection, and hearing her bubble. It warms up my frigid little heart. ;) I want to jump up and down and hug them and and celebrate with them. I want them to be happy, because they deserve this so much. I want to see their kids faces and share in their joy on Christmas morning. But the other part of me just wants them to be happy where I can't see it. Immature, yes, but I'm in survival mode, peeps. Self-preservation above all. I'm genuinely happy for them; I'm just terribly sad for me, and I feel pretty darn guilty about that combination of emotions. I'm not perfect.
So, Christmas morning comes, and I hold it together and didn't cry when the kids all said they wanted him there. It was hard, because all six kids were here, and my aunt came up from Ohio to be with me, and all I could think was... he's missing it. He's missing what could be our last Christmas in this house, and it's our last Christmas with our oldest daughter before she heads to college (next year belongs to her mama).
That's right, peeps, she can decorate a gingerbread house AND keep up her social media. That's some 16 year-old skill right there.
The best part? Well, other than THIS view on Christmas Morning?:
This view: of watching Jason open his Christmas presents with us. Sometimes, when we're at our lowest, the universe has a way of giving us just enough to keep going, and pushing through. He wasn't here, but he was "here" in every way he could be, and I know it was breaking him not to be able to hug us, or sip on Mimosas and eat cinnamon rolls as is our tradition. But, I got to see his face, hear his voice, and he experienced it with us, which is a heck of a lot more than some spouses got.
My other favorite view? I can't show you because I'm not allowed to post pics of Princess Pumpkin. Let's just say that celebrating her first Christmas with us was amazing, and the love in my heart for her tiny self is too much to put to words. She got spoiled rotten by our families, by her brothers, by Santa, and by us. And she got an extra snuggle because I know while we're reveling in the joy of having her with us, it means that her biological parents struggle with missing her, especially at Christmas. Her favorite part? The wrapping paper, of course.
Let's share our cute, fuzzy-because-I-suck-at-taking-pictures-and-am-not-my-sister pictures: (Oh and forgive the Christmas Mess).
Oh, and my favorite present? When Jason asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I told him "more time. I need more time, because I'm drowning over here." It's true, with him gone, 5 kids to raise, books to write, edit, critique, a crazy hockey schedule, and a house to keep up? Well... sleep doesn't happen. I need more time.
Then I open this:
And suddenly my "I hate everything about life" Christmas goes to:
Don't know what it is??? Well, how about:
You still don't know what it is? Well, there's just no hope for you understanding my complete and utter dorkiness.
He found a way to make me giggle uncontrollably from 6,000 miles away. Add that to the acceptance letter from Hogwarts he sent me, and I'm a delighted kid again. God, do I love that man.
But I will say, that there was this moment, where we we hung up Skype and he went to work, this sadness crept in, and all I wanted to do was touch him, just reach through the screen and stroke my fingers across his face. It's just been so long since I've seen him, and Christmas drove that home. And while the kids were laughing, joking, ripping paper open, this sadness arched between Jason and I, because we both knew how hollow things like this are when we're not together. And our farewell Merry Christmas was far less happy, and more resigned.
But the day passed.
So while I sat, drinking Mimosa's with my aunt Bug (that's not her real name, but it is her actual nick-name) on Christmas night, well, this feeling of relief courses through me. It's over. We made it through Christmas. It's all downhill from here. There's nothing else really sad to miss, no other hurdle as daunting.
We made it.
So we're eight months in, which usually is where I hit my wall in a deployment. It's where I'm usually on the ground, begging for it to end. Well, in a shorter tour, it's actually ending.
There are elements to hitting a wall, true. I miss him so much I ache with every molecule in my body. I can barely remember the taste of his kiss, but if I close my eyes, I swear I can smell him, feel the way he wraps his arms around me, hear his heartbeat against my ear (yes, that's how tall he is). No, I don't remember what it's like to have help with the kids, or have someone run to the store for us. I don't really remember what it's like to tag-out during a kid argument, or have an extra set of hands to get ready for an away hockey game. But you know what I do remember? Love. I know that when he walks through those doors, my stress level drops about 13 billion points. I know that with one smile, I can turn to a puddle, and with one kiss, I'm nineteen again. I remember the sound of his feet on the stairs, the way he ducks his head so he doesn't hit the ceiling. I remember the sound of the kids' laughter as he tickles them, and the general... joy of this house. I remember being happy.
All he has to do is be here, and there's a euphoria in this house that is unmatched.
You know, sometimes it really irks me that I crave what is a civilian family's "normal," but then again, we have something coming that they don't. We have homecoming.
So yes, we're 8 months in, well, a little more than that now. I can see his return date marked on the calendar (in code people, we don't EVER tell our kids), and there's this tiny... spark inside me that's growing stronger with every breath, every day I mark off.
He's coming home. We're going to make it. I can literally see the end staring at me on the white board in the kitchen.
Hold on peeps, these posts are about to change in tone, because I'm embracing this moment, this breath of joy, this impending amazingness. I can't say this is our last homecoming, because I can't say that this is our last deployment. But I am going to revel in this feeling, because Jason is on the other side of it.
We're 8 months in. The hard part is behind us. He's coming home.
Thanks for taking this ride with me. Oh, and happy New Year's Eve. ;)
Plague, be gone!!!!
Or at least, I hope it is. Any more of this crud and I'm either going to dip my house into a vat of lysol or set it on fire.
Right, so anyway, this last week has been a doozy. We hit the 8 month mark on Christmas Eve.
I had this whole post going, about how I was grinchy, and bah-humbug, and generally hating the Christmas season, but quite frankly, I felt like I'd been whining enough already, and chose to just stay silent here. After all, it's not like stomping my foot and throwing a tantrum was going to make Jason magically appear. Hell, if that worked, I'd have done it about a month in like some kind of demented Dorothy, clicking my heels and stuff.
No, not that Dorothy.
Yup, that's the one. Hey Jason, there's no place like home...
So yeah, being without Jason sucked. I mean, like... royally took me apart piece by piece and brought on tears as we watched the Polar Express on Christmas Eve. Happy 8 months down, right? And then there's this really weird combination of emotions in my head because Advon (Advanced Party), came home just prior to Christmas. Normally Advon doesn't throw me, but when those weeks in between mean they get to celebrate Christmas at home? Ugh. I'm thrown. Aaron heard about it, and starts asking, "Why do they get their kids for Christmas and we don't get dad? Is He coming home, too? Are you just surprising us? That would be so cool." And those green eyes tear up when I have to break his heart all over again, and make sure he understands there's zero chance of that happening so he doesn't expect it in the back of his mind. Well, then I want to tell the scheduler of this redeployment...
The irony? 6... yes 6 of my friends had husbands on Advon. So on one hand, I'm so excited for them! I love walking my friend through her dress selection, and hearing her bubble. It warms up my frigid little heart. ;) I want to jump up and down and hug them and and celebrate with them. I want them to be happy, because they deserve this so much. I want to see their kids faces and share in their joy on Christmas morning. But the other part of me just wants them to be happy where I can't see it. Immature, yes, but I'm in survival mode, peeps. Self-preservation above all. I'm genuinely happy for them; I'm just terribly sad for me, and I feel pretty darn guilty about that combination of emotions. I'm not perfect.
So, Christmas morning comes, and I hold it together and didn't cry when the kids all said they wanted him there. It was hard, because all six kids were here, and my aunt came up from Ohio to be with me, and all I could think was... he's missing it. He's missing what could be our last Christmas in this house, and it's our last Christmas with our oldest daughter before she heads to college (next year belongs to her mama).
That's right, peeps, she can decorate a gingerbread house AND keep up her social media. That's some 16 year-old skill right there.
The best part? Well, other than THIS view on Christmas Morning?:
This view: of watching Jason open his Christmas presents with us. Sometimes, when we're at our lowest, the universe has a way of giving us just enough to keep going, and pushing through. He wasn't here, but he was "here" in every way he could be, and I know it was breaking him not to be able to hug us, or sip on Mimosas and eat cinnamon rolls as is our tradition. But, I got to see his face, hear his voice, and he experienced it with us, which is a heck of a lot more than some spouses got.
My other favorite view? I can't show you because I'm not allowed to post pics of Princess Pumpkin. Let's just say that celebrating her first Christmas with us was amazing, and the love in my heart for her tiny self is too much to put to words. She got spoiled rotten by our families, by her brothers, by Santa, and by us. And she got an extra snuggle because I know while we're reveling in the joy of having her with us, it means that her biological parents struggle with missing her, especially at Christmas. Her favorite part? The wrapping paper, of course.
Let's share our cute, fuzzy-because-I-suck-at-taking-pictures-and-am-not-my-sister pictures: (Oh and forgive the Christmas Mess).
Oh, and my favorite present? When Jason asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I told him "more time. I need more time, because I'm drowning over here." It's true, with him gone, 5 kids to raise, books to write, edit, critique, a crazy hockey schedule, and a house to keep up? Well... sleep doesn't happen. I need more time.
Then I open this:
And suddenly my "I hate everything about life" Christmas goes to:
Don't know what it is??? Well, how about:
You still don't know what it is? Well, there's just no hope for you understanding my complete and utter dorkiness.
He found a way to make me giggle uncontrollably from 6,000 miles away. Add that to the acceptance letter from Hogwarts he sent me, and I'm a delighted kid again. God, do I love that man.
But I will say, that there was this moment, where we we hung up Skype and he went to work, this sadness crept in, and all I wanted to do was touch him, just reach through the screen and stroke my fingers across his face. It's just been so long since I've seen him, and Christmas drove that home. And while the kids were laughing, joking, ripping paper open, this sadness arched between Jason and I, because we both knew how hollow things like this are when we're not together. And our farewell Merry Christmas was far less happy, and more resigned.
But the day passed.
So while I sat, drinking Mimosa's with my aunt Bug (that's not her real name, but it is her actual nick-name) on Christmas night, well, this feeling of relief courses through me. It's over. We made it through Christmas. It's all downhill from here. There's nothing else really sad to miss, no other hurdle as daunting.
We made it.
So we're eight months in, which usually is where I hit my wall in a deployment. It's where I'm usually on the ground, begging for it to end. Well, in a shorter tour, it's actually ending.
There are elements to hitting a wall, true. I miss him so much I ache with every molecule in my body. I can barely remember the taste of his kiss, but if I close my eyes, I swear I can smell him, feel the way he wraps his arms around me, hear his heartbeat against my ear (yes, that's how tall he is). No, I don't remember what it's like to have help with the kids, or have someone run to the store for us. I don't really remember what it's like to tag-out during a kid argument, or have an extra set of hands to get ready for an away hockey game. But you know what I do remember? Love. I know that when he walks through those doors, my stress level drops about 13 billion points. I know that with one smile, I can turn to a puddle, and with one kiss, I'm nineteen again. I remember the sound of his feet on the stairs, the way he ducks his head so he doesn't hit the ceiling. I remember the sound of the kids' laughter as he tickles them, and the general... joy of this house. I remember being happy.
All he has to do is be here, and there's a euphoria in this house that is unmatched.
You know, sometimes it really irks me that I crave what is a civilian family's "normal," but then again, we have something coming that they don't. We have homecoming.
So yes, we're 8 months in, well, a little more than that now. I can see his return date marked on the calendar (in code people, we don't EVER tell our kids), and there's this tiny... spark inside me that's growing stronger with every breath, every day I mark off.
He's coming home. We're going to make it. I can literally see the end staring at me on the white board in the kitchen.
Hold on peeps, these posts are about to change in tone, because I'm embracing this moment, this breath of joy, this impending amazingness. I can't say this is our last homecoming, because I can't say that this is our last deployment. But I am going to revel in this feeling, because Jason is on the other side of it.
We're 8 months in. The hard part is behind us. He's coming home.
Thanks for taking this ride with me. Oh, and happy New Year's Eve. ;)
December 20, 2013
Fevers and Flakes
Okay, so maybe you're asking yourself, "what happened to the Christmas Acts of Kindness?" Yeah, well, that's really a long story, but let's just say that someone kinda... well..
And that's all I'm going to say on that for now. Yup. We'll come back to it when I can dig out the graceful part of my soul that wasn't shredded. If I can find it. But don't you worry, the kids and I are still doing the acts, we're just not telling anyone about them. =D
Any-who...
I think during every deployment, there is a day that nearly breaks us. The first deployment, it was when Jason was wounded. The second? When I fell down the stairs and fractured my ankle in three places. Last deployment? When we simultaneously moved into this house while having Brody MRI'd for a brain tumor. Now, nothing that bad has happened this deployment (knock on wood). But I had THAT day this weekend. Oh yes, and I'd like to tell you about it.
It starts... Wednesday night when Chase spiked a fever, the same sickness that took out about 1/2 his first grade class, and it went down hill from there. 102 temp, sore throat, hacking cough, puke.. you name it, this virus has it all.
We kept it pretty well contained... until, well, we didn't.
1:30 a.m Saturday morning? Brody walks into my bedroom, and before I can turn the light on, vomits all over the carpet.
Every mom loves the middle-of-the-night clean up at the foot of her bed, right? Yeah. So now Chase has it, Brody has it, and with a quick swipe of the thermometer, yup, mom has it too.
Oh, it's about to get sporty around here.
Enter Sunday, aka: Day from Hell.
Waking up to the sound of a snow plow just sets the tone for the day right:
Yup, a quick peek outside shows there's more snow. And then there's the fact that my temp is raging, I can't breathe through my nose, I feel like warmed over dog poo, and the kids generally hate each other in their sickness as well. We have 3 hockey practices between the two teams, but honestly?
Right. Self-imposed snow/sick/I-hate-everyone kind of day. So Jason hops online to Skype, which is nice because I don't really get to see him much anymore, and talks to the kids while I prep Princess Pumpkin's pre-nap-breakfast. After all, if she's asleep for 90 minutes, I can get the driveway and sidewalks cleared from these last 6 inches of snow. Something tells me the snow on the ground is the kind that stays until March. Sigh.
So as I pop open the massive deep freeze to pull out baby food (that's right, I've gone all hippy mama with Princess Pumpkin), I notice - it's dark in the freezer. I do the whole open door / shut door thing, like that's going to change the fact that it's not ON.
So I step to the side, and open our giant (6 kids, remember) refrigerator, and it's not on either. It's plugged in, but not on... and all I can think, is that the day is about to go to hell in a hand basket.
So I stick my face in the computer screen and ask Jason which fuse the frig/freezer are on, and then set out to the basement with Aidan. Why Aidan? Because in the 133 year-old cellar, well, Aaron is kind of like:
So yeah, we leave him upstairs and Aidan and I turn over every fuse labeled "kitchen." None of the others appear blown, so we head upstairs... and they still don't work. So I'm sick, and I'm really exhausted, and there's snow to blow, and now our food is going to go bad? Jason says, "just pull it out from the wall."
There's maybe 4 inches between the fridge, the wall, and the upright deep freeze. And this thing is massive. How the hell am I supposed to pull it out? I'm wiggling it inch by inch, doing this truffle-shuffle while Jason is on Skype, and I just lose it.
Come on. We're almost 8 months into this deployment and I'm DONE. Add that to the fact that I've been up all night with Brody, holding his head and cleaning up puke, and well, I'm not in my best frame of mind. Jason's all calm and what-not, and I just want him to be as upset as I am. I want him to see everything crumbling here, and really understand the general insanity I'm trying to hold together. I want him to value the amount of work, and tears, and loss of sleep I've endured for this deployment. Well, shit. I also want him to think I'm superwoman and can handle it all. Those two don't exactly walk hand in hand.
So I wiggle the freezer, then go wiggle the fridge, walking them both out inch by precious inch until they get to the end of their cords, and there's no where else to go, and I just want to yell at him that he's not here, and he's supposed to be. And my emotions run amok, overboard, into the generally insane side where I'm wondering why it is we've chosen a life where I'm pulling my hair out, sobbing from sheer exhaustion, and he's telling me he's bored because he has three days off.
That's so not true. Of course I care. I want him rested, and capable, you know, so he can hunt bad guys and handle himself while being shot at. I'm well aware that he has it worse than I do. Totally. But at this moment? Surrounded by puking kids and snow while I'm sick? Yeah. I'm all woe-is-me. And him giving me directions via-skype on pulling out this andre-the-giant-sized refrigerator? Yeah, I'm kinda like:
So we wiggle it out to about a 9 inch gap, and Aidan volunteers to slip between them and unplug them so we can at least get them hooked on an extension cord. But as he steps back there, what does he see?
A dead freaking mouse.
I'm guessing that's why no amount of scrubbing out the refrigerator was killing the "something isn't right" smell. Of course I can't fit back there, and Aidan already IS back there, so he suggests a shovel. Operation "remove dead mouse" ensues, and it's bagged up. You know what I hate? Mice. You know what I hate more? Dead mice. UGH. So we run all these cords to the frig/freezer, and call it good until we can figure this out.
So I walk into the music room on my way to the living room and I notice my scentsy warmer isn't working. Yeah, folks, that's right, it's the scentsy warmer that tips me off. We'd flipped all the WRONG fuses. It's the flippin' music room. Why on earth is all that stuff on that circuit?
So, okay, back down to the basement, flip the switch, and we're good to go. Well, except the part where we move the frig and freezer BACK out, send Aidan back behind to unplug them from the extension cord from the plug and get them back into the wall where they belong.
I'm now sweating (fever, remember), my hands hurt from gripping the sides to wiggle, there's a dead mouse in a bag on my kitchen floor, and I feel like an utter moron because I didn't just flip every freaking fuse the first time.
I feel so freaking stupid.
Right. So Jason can see that I'm at my limit... which could have something to do with the way I flipped my lid and told him that this was our last deployment. Yeah, like we have a choice in that, right? Well, that doesn't stop my logic-less tirade in which I inform him that I'm done. D-O-N-E. Done.
Right. Okay, I'll admit, I don't handle being sick well. But any mom on the planet can tell you that if you're sick - there's no respite, no time to rest, no chance to sleep it off. Oh no, when mom's are sick, chances are it's because we have been nursing our tiny humans back to health, which means we're not sick alone. But sick or not, we still have to be able to get out of our driveway, so now it's time for...
Right. So Princess Pumpkin is down for her nap, so the Bigs and I head out to shovel the driveway/sidewalks. I figure they're 9 and 10, right? That's totally old enough to help mom clear some snow. But they're not all about it. Oh no, they're whining, and cranky, and for every time they complain, it just hardens my resolve to make them help. I'm terrified of raising little, spoiled, entitled boys who grow up to be spoiled, entitled men, so yes, they will shovel, even if all they do is clear a 4X4 section. So whine away boys, it's not going to change the amount of work that has to be done. Only problem is, while I'm snowblowing? They're throwing snow by the shovel-full at each other... onto the driveway I've already cleared. And now it's covered again. And maybe I'm wondering if it's considered child-slavery if I make them shovel it all up again.
So I'm snapping at them, because the whole, "work ethic" lesson is basically blowing up in my face, and I'm sure the neighbors think I need a straight jacket and all. And Aidan has to pull a jerk card. "Fine! I won't throw snow at Aaron! I'm just going to go inside!"
Awh, HECK no. You will not be going inside, because I'm not manipulated that easily. As a matter of fact, I'm about to give your butt a smaller shovel, so THERE.
Did I mention that I'm super graceful when I'm sick?
Right. So after they make a bigger mess for another 1/2 hour, I finally just send them to the back yard, and ask them to clear a path from the back porch to the garage. I figure if they're back there throwing snow at each other and making a bigger mess, well, then at least I can't SEE it.
45 minutes later, we're in the clear. So we head inside, and my head is throbbing, my temp is back up, and I'm all sweaty and icky from the massive amount of shoveling / snowblowing, because what? I didn't get the deck put on the riding snowblower, so all I have is the itty bitty walk-behind. But we're done, and all I want to do is basically:
And I have these visions, like if Jason were here, it would be all:
But, yeah, right. If there's one thing that being married to Jason these last almost-dozen years has taught me? Well, when it comes to deployment:
Totally. But for today? Yeah, I'm totally going with the whiny option and lamenting the fact that I'm all alone. Well, kind of. I mean, there are 5 kids living here, so I'm never really alone, you know? So I pour everyone some cider, we make some lunch, and an hour later, Aaron walks in with a 102 fever.
That's kid number three down for the count.
So I medicate him, and get him put to rest, and by now, it's time for Princess Pumpkin to wake up from her 2nd nap of the day, and wait for it....
Yup. She's spiking a temp too.
Okay, so now the only healthy kid is Aidan, who is still in jerk-mode. And thus the afternoon goes, keeping track of who got medicated when, who is throwing up where, and trying to basically not die, because I'm just as sick as they are.
But alas, the day comes to an end. THANK GOD. And amid the hacking, coughing, temperatures and vomit, I get all of them put to bed.
So I go back to toss a load of laundry in (remember, vomit, people, VOMIT), and what? The M'er F'ing pipes are frozen to the washer. No big deal, it's only happened dozens of times since we bought this house. I use our totally classy method of taking my hair dryer to it for a minute, then walk away, then repeat twice more. I hear the water flow, and we're ready to rock and roll. Just an annoyance, right? Right. Laundry in, bad day is coming to a close.
A little bit later, Jason wakes up in Afghanland and hops on Skype to check on me. Let me just say, for a guy who hasn't been skyping so often, can a girl get a warning? I look like absolute crap, and I'd like him to want to come home, as opposed to running the opposite direction from the hot mess I look right now. So anyway, I'm telling (or yelling, whatever) him about how the day has gone, and I ask him to hold up a second so I can toss another load of laundry in.
I go back to the washing machine, and I can still hear water running. But the washer is off. Huh. Odd. So I toss another load in, and press start, and it goes, but I can hear the water is running from behind it? Wait. Huh? Why is there steam coming out of the little plumbing hole thing?
Wait...
I burst the fucking pipe. Pardon the actual F'bomb drop, but really? At this point? Dropping the F'bomb on the blog is pretty much my least worry.
Right, so I come back in, and I ask Jason "sooo, if I burst the pipe, the washer wouldn't still work would it?" And we both think, nawh it wouldn't. But it's working, so now I'm confused. So Jason tells me that I need to go down to the basement, check it out, and maybe trace the lines and shut off whichever one I might have just burst. That's right, the super creepy 133 year-old basement with spiders and shit, at midnight.
Sooooo, flashlight in-hand, down to the basement I go. Yup, I can see the water running in the five inch space where I can see the pipes behind the crawlspace.
It's the hot water. How do I know? Because it's actually steaming. So I stick my hands up through the spider webs, cringing, I promise, and shut off the valve, and the water mercifully stops running. Score, at least we can avoid a midnight call to a plumber, because that sounds like SOOOOO much fun the week before Christmas.
You know that straw that broke the camel's back? Yeah, there's no more camel, it's lost in a freaking haybale. I'm at max capacity for... crap.
So I come back upstairs, and Jason is trying his best to keep a level head, telling me that it's going to be okay, and at this point, well, I'm just not very nice, and I'm more like:
And basically this too:
Right. This is just like... I can't even figure it out. Maybe it's the cost of the beautiful things going on in our life? Maybe it's just normal life, but I feel so much less able to cope with it because I'm missing Jason. Who knows. It just sucks. All I can think, is that I haven't seen my husband in 8 months, and I'm just...
Tired.
I'm exhausted. I'm waking up more exhausted at 6 am to get Aaron on the bus, because I'm struggling to get everything done work/house/kids wise during the normal waking hours. I'm lonely. I'm stressed. I'm incredibly jealous of the girls who live close to family, whose in-laws come up, or parents come over, and it's a ridiculous, illogical emotion for me to be having. It's Christmas, we're stuck here without Jason, and I want to go home to my parents and my sister. I would kill for more than 5 1/2 hours of sleep. I want Jason home. I'm done. So done. But the problem is, during a deployment, "done" really isn't an option. You don't get to call up the Army and be like, "it's been fun, but I think our little experiment is finished now."
Nope. We endure, because these men we love, they're worth it. Well. I think so. I don't really remember what it's like to have him here dependably, but I have these vague memories of a warm, fuzzy feeling. Right?
So I finish my totally wenchy tirade, which basically ends like:
And poor Jason is like:
But we both know there's absolutely nothing he can do.
So I take a breath.
It's not his fault, and I know it... when I'm being logical. He would much rather be here, dealing with a busted pipe, than being shot at by terrorists. I'm being totally unfair, and giving into an emotional reaction. But the day has just been so... bad.
We're so close to this being over. Close - like I can see the date he's coming home on our 2 month calendar system. We just have to hold on. Well, I need to hold on. He just needs to get here faster. ;)
So you know the good thing about bad days? They come to an end. I dry my tears, make a list, hang up with Jason and head up to bed. I stop in and kiss each of our 5 kiddos here, and revel in the fact that they are happy, semi-healthy, warm, and no one has thrown up in the last five hours. I thank God I got the water stopped, and that the cold water still works to the washer, so it's not that big of an issue in the immediate sense. I'm thankful for my friends here, who immediately hop up to say, "let us come help," even though I'd rather die than infect them with the plague that's taken us down. In the midst of all this insanity, I'm simply... thankful. You know, when I'm not being incredibly ridiculous and cranky.
Well, at least until the next semi-crisis comes along, right? Until then, I sleep, and tomorrow will be better.
Well, kind of. It's now Friday, and yes, it's taken me four days to write this blog.... doh! And what? Aidan is curled up next to me, because our lone hold-out against this virus has given in, and has been throwing up since 3 a.m.. The good news? The other kids are healthy again.
The better news?
Mama's not sick anymore, which means I can give him the care he needs.
Hurry home, Jason, and kick the deployment gnome out.... pretty please?
And that's all I'm going to say on that for now. Yup. We'll come back to it when I can dig out the graceful part of my soul that wasn't shredded. If I can find it. But don't you worry, the kids and I are still doing the acts, we're just not telling anyone about them. =D
Any-who...
I think during every deployment, there is a day that nearly breaks us. The first deployment, it was when Jason was wounded. The second? When I fell down the stairs and fractured my ankle in three places. Last deployment? When we simultaneously moved into this house while having Brody MRI'd for a brain tumor. Now, nothing that bad has happened this deployment (knock on wood). But I had THAT day this weekend. Oh yes, and I'd like to tell you about it.
It starts... Wednesday night when Chase spiked a fever, the same sickness that took out about 1/2 his first grade class, and it went down hill from there. 102 temp, sore throat, hacking cough, puke.. you name it, this virus has it all.
We kept it pretty well contained... until, well, we didn't.
1:30 a.m Saturday morning? Brody walks into my bedroom, and before I can turn the light on, vomits all over the carpet.
Every mom loves the middle-of-the-night clean up at the foot of her bed, right? Yeah. So now Chase has it, Brody has it, and with a quick swipe of the thermometer, yup, mom has it too.
Oh, it's about to get sporty around here.
Enter Sunday, aka: Day from Hell.
Waking up to the sound of a snow plow just sets the tone for the day right:
Yup, a quick peek outside shows there's more snow. And then there's the fact that my temp is raging, I can't breathe through my nose, I feel like warmed over dog poo, and the kids generally hate each other in their sickness as well. We have 3 hockey practices between the two teams, but honestly?
Right. Self-imposed snow/sick/I-hate-everyone kind of day. So Jason hops online to Skype, which is nice because I don't really get to see him much anymore, and talks to the kids while I prep Princess Pumpkin's pre-nap-breakfast. After all, if she's asleep for 90 minutes, I can get the driveway and sidewalks cleared from these last 6 inches of snow. Something tells me the snow on the ground is the kind that stays until March. Sigh.
So as I pop open the massive deep freeze to pull out baby food (that's right, I've gone all hippy mama with Princess Pumpkin), I notice - it's dark in the freezer. I do the whole open door / shut door thing, like that's going to change the fact that it's not ON.
So I step to the side, and open our giant (6 kids, remember) refrigerator, and it's not on either. It's plugged in, but not on... and all I can think, is that the day is about to go to hell in a hand basket.
So I stick my face in the computer screen and ask Jason which fuse the frig/freezer are on, and then set out to the basement with Aidan. Why Aidan? Because in the 133 year-old cellar, well, Aaron is kind of like:
So yeah, we leave him upstairs and Aidan and I turn over every fuse labeled "kitchen." None of the others appear blown, so we head upstairs... and they still don't work. So I'm sick, and I'm really exhausted, and there's snow to blow, and now our food is going to go bad? Jason says, "just pull it out from the wall."
There's maybe 4 inches between the fridge, the wall, and the upright deep freeze. And this thing is massive. How the hell am I supposed to pull it out? I'm wiggling it inch by inch, doing this truffle-shuffle while Jason is on Skype, and I just lose it.
Come on. We're almost 8 months into this deployment and I'm DONE. Add that to the fact that I've been up all night with Brody, holding his head and cleaning up puke, and well, I'm not in my best frame of mind. Jason's all calm and what-not, and I just want him to be as upset as I am. I want him to see everything crumbling here, and really understand the general insanity I'm trying to hold together. I want him to value the amount of work, and tears, and loss of sleep I've endured for this deployment. Well, shit. I also want him to think I'm superwoman and can handle it all. Those two don't exactly walk hand in hand.
So I wiggle the freezer, then go wiggle the fridge, walking them both out inch by precious inch until they get to the end of their cords, and there's no where else to go, and I just want to yell at him that he's not here, and he's supposed to be. And my emotions run amok, overboard, into the generally insane side where I'm wondering why it is we've chosen a life where I'm pulling my hair out, sobbing from sheer exhaustion, and he's telling me he's bored because he has three days off.
That's so not true. Of course I care. I want him rested, and capable, you know, so he can hunt bad guys and handle himself while being shot at. I'm well aware that he has it worse than I do. Totally. But at this moment? Surrounded by puking kids and snow while I'm sick? Yeah. I'm all woe-is-me. And him giving me directions via-skype on pulling out this andre-the-giant-sized refrigerator? Yeah, I'm kinda like:
So we wiggle it out to about a 9 inch gap, and Aidan volunteers to slip between them and unplug them so we can at least get them hooked on an extension cord. But as he steps back there, what does he see?
A dead freaking mouse.
I'm guessing that's why no amount of scrubbing out the refrigerator was killing the "something isn't right" smell. Of course I can't fit back there, and Aidan already IS back there, so he suggests a shovel. Operation "remove dead mouse" ensues, and it's bagged up. You know what I hate? Mice. You know what I hate more? Dead mice. UGH. So we run all these cords to the frig/freezer, and call it good until we can figure this out.
So I walk into the music room on my way to the living room and I notice my scentsy warmer isn't working. Yeah, folks, that's right, it's the scentsy warmer that tips me off. We'd flipped all the WRONG fuses. It's the flippin' music room. Why on earth is all that stuff on that circuit?
So, okay, back down to the basement, flip the switch, and we're good to go. Well, except the part where we move the frig and freezer BACK out, send Aidan back behind to unplug them from the extension cord from the plug and get them back into the wall where they belong.
I'm now sweating (fever, remember), my hands hurt from gripping the sides to wiggle, there's a dead mouse in a bag on my kitchen floor, and I feel like an utter moron because I didn't just flip every freaking fuse the first time.
I feel so freaking stupid.
Right. So Jason can see that I'm at my limit... which could have something to do with the way I flipped my lid and told him that this was our last deployment. Yeah, like we have a choice in that, right? Well, that doesn't stop my logic-less tirade in which I inform him that I'm done. D-O-N-E. Done.
Right. Okay, I'll admit, I don't handle being sick well. But any mom on the planet can tell you that if you're sick - there's no respite, no time to rest, no chance to sleep it off. Oh no, when mom's are sick, chances are it's because we have been nursing our tiny humans back to health, which means we're not sick alone. But sick or not, we still have to be able to get out of our driveway, so now it's time for...
Right. So Princess Pumpkin is down for her nap, so the Bigs and I head out to shovel the driveway/sidewalks. I figure they're 9 and 10, right? That's totally old enough to help mom clear some snow. But they're not all about it. Oh no, they're whining, and cranky, and for every time they complain, it just hardens my resolve to make them help. I'm terrified of raising little, spoiled, entitled boys who grow up to be spoiled, entitled men, so yes, they will shovel, even if all they do is clear a 4X4 section. So whine away boys, it's not going to change the amount of work that has to be done. Only problem is, while I'm snowblowing? They're throwing snow by the shovel-full at each other... onto the driveway I've already cleared. And now it's covered again. And maybe I'm wondering if it's considered child-slavery if I make them shovel it all up again.
So I'm snapping at them, because the whole, "work ethic" lesson is basically blowing up in my face, and I'm sure the neighbors think I need a straight jacket and all. And Aidan has to pull a jerk card. "Fine! I won't throw snow at Aaron! I'm just going to go inside!"
Awh, HECK no. You will not be going inside, because I'm not manipulated that easily. As a matter of fact, I'm about to give your butt a smaller shovel, so THERE.
Did I mention that I'm super graceful when I'm sick?
Right. So after they make a bigger mess for another 1/2 hour, I finally just send them to the back yard, and ask them to clear a path from the back porch to the garage. I figure if they're back there throwing snow at each other and making a bigger mess, well, then at least I can't SEE it.
45 minutes later, we're in the clear. So we head inside, and my head is throbbing, my temp is back up, and I'm all sweaty and icky from the massive amount of shoveling / snowblowing, because what? I didn't get the deck put on the riding snowblower, so all I have is the itty bitty walk-behind. But we're done, and all I want to do is basically:
And I have these visions, like if Jason were here, it would be all:
But, yeah, right. If there's one thing that being married to Jason these last almost-dozen years has taught me? Well, when it comes to deployment:
Totally. But for today? Yeah, I'm totally going with the whiny option and lamenting the fact that I'm all alone. Well, kind of. I mean, there are 5 kids living here, so I'm never really alone, you know? So I pour everyone some cider, we make some lunch, and an hour later, Aaron walks in with a 102 fever.
That's kid number three down for the count.
So I medicate him, and get him put to rest, and by now, it's time for Princess Pumpkin to wake up from her 2nd nap of the day, and wait for it....
Yup. She's spiking a temp too.
Okay, so now the only healthy kid is Aidan, who is still in jerk-mode. And thus the afternoon goes, keeping track of who got medicated when, who is throwing up where, and trying to basically not die, because I'm just as sick as they are.
But alas, the day comes to an end. THANK GOD. And amid the hacking, coughing, temperatures and vomit, I get all of them put to bed.
So I go back to toss a load of laundry in (remember, vomit, people, VOMIT), and what? The M'er F'ing pipes are frozen to the washer. No big deal, it's only happened dozens of times since we bought this house. I use our totally classy method of taking my hair dryer to it for a minute, then walk away, then repeat twice more. I hear the water flow, and we're ready to rock and roll. Just an annoyance, right? Right. Laundry in, bad day is coming to a close.
A little bit later, Jason wakes up in Afghanland and hops on Skype to check on me. Let me just say, for a guy who hasn't been skyping so often, can a girl get a warning? I look like absolute crap, and I'd like him to want to come home, as opposed to running the opposite direction from the hot mess I look right now. So anyway, I'm telling (or yelling, whatever) him about how the day has gone, and I ask him to hold up a second so I can toss another load of laundry in.
I go back to the washing machine, and I can still hear water running. But the washer is off. Huh. Odd. So I toss another load in, and press start, and it goes, but I can hear the water is running from behind it? Wait. Huh? Why is there steam coming out of the little plumbing hole thing?
Wait...
I burst the fucking pipe. Pardon the actual F'bomb drop, but really? At this point? Dropping the F'bomb on the blog is pretty much my least worry.
Right, so I come back in, and I ask Jason "sooo, if I burst the pipe, the washer wouldn't still work would it?" And we both think, nawh it wouldn't. But it's working, so now I'm confused. So Jason tells me that I need to go down to the basement, check it out, and maybe trace the lines and shut off whichever one I might have just burst. That's right, the super creepy 133 year-old basement with spiders and shit, at midnight.
Sooooo, flashlight in-hand, down to the basement I go. Yup, I can see the water running in the five inch space where I can see the pipes behind the crawlspace.
It's the hot water. How do I know? Because it's actually steaming. So I stick my hands up through the spider webs, cringing, I promise, and shut off the valve, and the water mercifully stops running. Score, at least we can avoid a midnight call to a plumber, because that sounds like SOOOOO much fun the week before Christmas.
You know that straw that broke the camel's back? Yeah, there's no more camel, it's lost in a freaking haybale. I'm at max capacity for... crap.
So I come back upstairs, and Jason is trying his best to keep a level head, telling me that it's going to be okay, and at this point, well, I'm just not very nice, and I'm more like:
And basically this too:
Right. This is just like... I can't even figure it out. Maybe it's the cost of the beautiful things going on in our life? Maybe it's just normal life, but I feel so much less able to cope with it because I'm missing Jason. Who knows. It just sucks. All I can think, is that I haven't seen my husband in 8 months, and I'm just...
Tired.
I'm exhausted. I'm waking up more exhausted at 6 am to get Aaron on the bus, because I'm struggling to get everything done work/house/kids wise during the normal waking hours. I'm lonely. I'm stressed. I'm incredibly jealous of the girls who live close to family, whose in-laws come up, or parents come over, and it's a ridiculous, illogical emotion for me to be having. It's Christmas, we're stuck here without Jason, and I want to go home to my parents and my sister. I would kill for more than 5 1/2 hours of sleep. I want Jason home. I'm done. So done. But the problem is, during a deployment, "done" really isn't an option. You don't get to call up the Army and be like, "it's been fun, but I think our little experiment is finished now."
Nope. We endure, because these men we love, they're worth it. Well. I think so. I don't really remember what it's like to have him here dependably, but I have these vague memories of a warm, fuzzy feeling. Right?
So I finish my totally wenchy tirade, which basically ends like:
And poor Jason is like:
But we both know there's absolutely nothing he can do.
So I take a breath.
It's not his fault, and I know it... when I'm being logical. He would much rather be here, dealing with a busted pipe, than being shot at by terrorists. I'm being totally unfair, and giving into an emotional reaction. But the day has just been so... bad.
We're so close to this being over. Close - like I can see the date he's coming home on our 2 month calendar system. We just have to hold on. Well, I need to hold on. He just needs to get here faster. ;)
So you know the good thing about bad days? They come to an end. I dry my tears, make a list, hang up with Jason and head up to bed. I stop in and kiss each of our 5 kiddos here, and revel in the fact that they are happy, semi-healthy, warm, and no one has thrown up in the last five hours. I thank God I got the water stopped, and that the cold water still works to the washer, so it's not that big of an issue in the immediate sense. I'm thankful for my friends here, who immediately hop up to say, "let us come help," even though I'd rather die than infect them with the plague that's taken us down. In the midst of all this insanity, I'm simply... thankful. You know, when I'm not being incredibly ridiculous and cranky.
Well, at least until the next semi-crisis comes along, right? Until then, I sleep, and tomorrow will be better.
Well, kind of. It's now Friday, and yes, it's taken me four days to write this blog.... doh! And what? Aidan is curled up next to me, because our lone hold-out against this virus has given in, and has been throwing up since 3 a.m.. The good news? The other kids are healthy again.
The better news?
Mama's not sick anymore, which means I can give him the care he needs.
Hurry home, Jason, and kick the deployment gnome out.... pretty please?
December 5, 2013
Days Four and Five of Christmas: M'er F'in Tree and Marshmallows.
I was going to skip tonight. Why? Because I'm tired and somewhat cranky. Alas, here I am, so let's see what shenanigans we can get into.
Right. Day 4. I'm feeling all ambitious.
Okay, so this week I'm out with my kiddos at an undisclosed location, basically making their insane little schedules work, and I start chatting up a new girl. My motto, since May, has been "give everyone a chance," but I kind of always keep Running Woman's advice in the back of my head and make sure I keep clear of the crazies. So yeah, she's chatting at me, lovely as can be, and I keep glancing at my phone, and I realize how rude I'm being, so I say, "I'm so sorry, I keep checking to see if my husband has come online yet." And she asks if he's deployed. I say, "Yep. We're 7 1/2 months in," to which she says...
"Man, I wish my husband would deploy."
RIGHT. So internally, I'm all:
And I'm pretty sure my eyebrows raise up at least an inch. But I'm being kind this month, right? My act of kindness is about to be letting this girl walk out of here without me ripping into her.
So I gently say, "Oh, let's not say that, okay?"
And she says, "No seriously, he hasn't gone in forever and he NEEDS to go."
And Now I'm just kind of like:
So I take a deep breath, because I'm really in no position to bury a body and hold Princess Pumpkin at the same time, and I say, "you really have to think before you say that to a spouse with a deployed husband. This is our 4th deployment, and in the last 16 months, I've only seen my husband maybe three of them. I can barely remember what he looks like when he's not skype-pixelated, so that's probably something you want to not wish for. This is not fun."
I kind of tuned out every other excuse that was given in regards to why he "needed" to deploy.
Ladies, if you're one of the fortunate in our Army life, you know - only one deployment under your skin, and you're feeling "itchy" or something because your husband's been home "too much," (Whatever the hecklo that means), then perhaps you should... well... hush up around those of us who still have a drawer of unwashed T-shirts because we're terrified he won't come home, and we'll lose his scent. Deployment isn't something you wish for. It's something you dread, you endure, and you conquer, but it is not something to be longed for.
Logic, ladies, logic.
But now, let's move onto the Christmas tree.
This thing is massive, and located on the opposite end of our adequately-large-with-5.5-kids house, and up two flights of stairs in the attic. So I kind of roll up my sleeves, and say:
I pull the tree over to the stairs, get in front of it, and then kind of ungracefully manage its fall down the stairs. Score. Then I slide it onto a beach towel, and drag it across the hardwood in the hallways, through the house, until I perform the same awesome stunt down the front staircase. So a few minutes, and a plethora of swear words later, the flippin' box is downstairs, but there's still four giant tuff-boxes up there. Right.
Okay.
So, I've got everything downstairs, Pumpkin is jumping happily in her jumper, and it's time to rock out this tree. I get it out, set it up... and out of the 9 levels of this damnable thing, ONE. Let's say that again... ONE strand works. Not only that, but every other light strand we have is a multi-colored, not white.
I know this seems small, but I just need something, anything to go a little easily on me right now. Especially since I'd kind of like to take this tree and burn it to the ground as opposed to having an 8 foot reminder that Jason is missing Christmas...again. So maybe I'm a little bitter, and maybe I'm not at my most graceful, but at this moment... I hate this M'er F'in tree.
So why not just go buy lights? Because it's now 2 pm, and Jason is getting on line in three hours to skype in as we decorate, which means I don't have time to wait for Aaron to get home, load up everyone, drive 35 min. away and get back in time to string up the lights so we can decorate.
So, I decide to head back up to the loft above the garage and dig through the exterior lights in the hope there's something? Well, there was.
I totally threw on outdoor net lights.
Yup.
So I wiggle the wires in, and Aidan looks at me and says, "aren't those like the lights that go on the bushes outside?"
And I just say, "Yep," and smile like:
So Boom. Tree lit. Ornaments out. Jason hops on Skype, and the tree gets decorated. Nothing like 4 kids who can't reach above 5 feet decorating our tree to bring out my non-existent OCD. ;) But hey, we got it done! We were home in Colorado last year, so it's been two years since I've seen our tree, and I can honestly say that I've missed it.
Just not as much as I miss Jason.
So happy Decorating, folks. ;)
Jason joining in where he can. ;)
Ta-da!!! Oh, and the bookshelf doesn't normally block Aidan's baby pic, but I had to move the book case to separate the sectional couch, to drag it over to the other side of the room... Yeah. I'm glad this tree is pretty. ;)
So today, the fourth (because it's actually now the 5th): I'm grateful for this deployment, because it reminds me how strong and randomly resourceful I can be when I need to. If Jason were here, he would have brought the tree down, and replaced the lights. If Jason were here, the house would be Clark Griswold'ed, and the decorating would be done. If Jason were here, the spirit of this season would fill me like always, instead of this empty void I feel when I think about him missing it again. Yeah, but he's not here, so I'm thankful that when I need to make it happen, I can. I'm also thankful the empty tree box was easier to take upstairs than the full one was to drag down.
For today, my act of kindness? It's super simple. I grabbed my friend down the street, we'll call her Mrs. Letter Bee, some mini marshmallows when we went to the Amish Country store. She told me she likes them, so I snagged her a bag. How is this an act of kindness? It's simple consideration, and it was shown to me a couple days ago when another friend, who we'll call Mrs. Green Bay, showed up randomly with a gallon of milk because she'd been to the store and knows we go through it like water. Kindness starts with such a simple little spark, a considerate thought, an easy action.
For the Today, now the 5th (Because my computer died, my phone died, and well... it was overly ambitious of me to really think I could pull off posting EVERY day): I am grateful for this thought - as I sat here this morning, looking at this beautiful tree, I had the alarming thought of "How the hell am I going to get that thing back into the attic????" And then it hit me: I don't have to. It's not "soon" per-say, but Jason will be home in a respectable amount of time to have the tree box in the entryhall. On that thought: I don't have to have the oil changed in the car again, or even worry about the riding snow-blower deck (I use the walk behind), because he'll be here. My grateful thought is that there's this giant light headed toward me, and I know it's him making his way back to me.
For our act of kindness, we donated food to the local food drive. Why? Because I have four kids in this school district, and when they all take a can, they can start to make a dent. I can't imagine going to the cupboard and not knowing how I'm going to feed my kids. This is so minor, so easy a thing, but to someone else, it could mean everything.
So the Grinch has been momentarily stored away because of the beauty of this tree, and the excitement of these kids. Their little faces reflected in the ahem... net... ahem... lights, are a breathtaking sight, and as much as I kind of loathe this season at the moment, I know that it's not really about me, it's about them.
Santa hat on, ready to rock it.
All is Merry and Bright.
Right. Day 4. I'm feeling all ambitious. Okay, so this week I'm out with my kiddos at an undisclosed location, basically making their insane little schedules work, and I start chatting up a new girl. My motto, since May, has been "give everyone a chance," but I kind of always keep Running Woman's advice in the back of my head and make sure I keep clear of the crazies. So yeah, she's chatting at me, lovely as can be, and I keep glancing at my phone, and I realize how rude I'm being, so I say, "I'm so sorry, I keep checking to see if my husband has come online yet." And she asks if he's deployed. I say, "Yep. We're 7 1/2 months in," to which she says...
"Man, I wish my husband would deploy."
RIGHT. So internally, I'm all:
And I'm pretty sure my eyebrows raise up at least an inch. But I'm being kind this month, right? My act of kindness is about to be letting this girl walk out of here without me ripping into her.
So I gently say, "Oh, let's not say that, okay?"
And she says, "No seriously, he hasn't gone in forever and he NEEDS to go."
And Now I'm just kind of like:
So I take a deep breath, because I'm really in no position to bury a body and hold Princess Pumpkin at the same time, and I say, "you really have to think before you say that to a spouse with a deployed husband. This is our 4th deployment, and in the last 16 months, I've only seen my husband maybe three of them. I can barely remember what he looks like when he's not skype-pixelated, so that's probably something you want to not wish for. This is not fun."
I kind of tuned out every other excuse that was given in regards to why he "needed" to deploy.
Ladies, if you're one of the fortunate in our Army life, you know - only one deployment under your skin, and you're feeling "itchy" or something because your husband's been home "too much," (Whatever the hecklo that means), then perhaps you should... well... hush up around those of us who still have a drawer of unwashed T-shirts because we're terrified he won't come home, and we'll lose his scent. Deployment isn't something you wish for. It's something you dread, you endure, and you conquer, but it is not something to be longed for.
Logic, ladies, logic.
But now, let's move onto the Christmas tree.
This thing is massive, and located on the opposite end of our adequately-large-with-5.5-kids house, and up two flights of stairs in the attic. So I kind of roll up my sleeves, and say:
I pull the tree over to the stairs, get in front of it, and then kind of ungracefully manage its fall down the stairs. Score. Then I slide it onto a beach towel, and drag it across the hardwood in the hallways, through the house, until I perform the same awesome stunt down the front staircase. So a few minutes, and a plethora of swear words later, the flippin' box is downstairs, but there's still four giant tuff-boxes up there. Right.
Okay.
So, I've got everything downstairs, Pumpkin is jumping happily in her jumper, and it's time to rock out this tree. I get it out, set it up... and out of the 9 levels of this damnable thing, ONE. Let's say that again... ONE strand works. Not only that, but every other light strand we have is a multi-colored, not white.
I know this seems small, but I just need something, anything to go a little easily on me right now. Especially since I'd kind of like to take this tree and burn it to the ground as opposed to having an 8 foot reminder that Jason is missing Christmas...again. So maybe I'm a little bitter, and maybe I'm not at my most graceful, but at this moment... I hate this M'er F'in tree.
So why not just go buy lights? Because it's now 2 pm, and Jason is getting on line in three hours to skype in as we decorate, which means I don't have time to wait for Aaron to get home, load up everyone, drive 35 min. away and get back in time to string up the lights so we can decorate.
So, I decide to head back up to the loft above the garage and dig through the exterior lights in the hope there's something? Well, there was.
I totally threw on outdoor net lights.
Yup.
So I wiggle the wires in, and Aidan looks at me and says, "aren't those like the lights that go on the bushes outside?"
And I just say, "Yep," and smile like:
So Boom. Tree lit. Ornaments out. Jason hops on Skype, and the tree gets decorated. Nothing like 4 kids who can't reach above 5 feet decorating our tree to bring out my non-existent OCD. ;) But hey, we got it done! We were home in Colorado last year, so it's been two years since I've seen our tree, and I can honestly say that I've missed it.
Just not as much as I miss Jason.
So happy Decorating, folks. ;)
Jason joining in where he can. ;)
Ta-da!!! Oh, and the bookshelf doesn't normally block Aidan's baby pic, but I had to move the book case to separate the sectional couch, to drag it over to the other side of the room... Yeah. I'm glad this tree is pretty. ;)
So today, the fourth (because it's actually now the 5th): I'm grateful for this deployment, because it reminds me how strong and randomly resourceful I can be when I need to. If Jason were here, he would have brought the tree down, and replaced the lights. If Jason were here, the house would be Clark Griswold'ed, and the decorating would be done. If Jason were here, the spirit of this season would fill me like always, instead of this empty void I feel when I think about him missing it again. Yeah, but he's not here, so I'm thankful that when I need to make it happen, I can. I'm also thankful the empty tree box was easier to take upstairs than the full one was to drag down.
For today, my act of kindness? It's super simple. I grabbed my friend down the street, we'll call her Mrs. Letter Bee, some mini marshmallows when we went to the Amish Country store. She told me she likes them, so I snagged her a bag. How is this an act of kindness? It's simple consideration, and it was shown to me a couple days ago when another friend, who we'll call Mrs. Green Bay, showed up randomly with a gallon of milk because she'd been to the store and knows we go through it like water. Kindness starts with such a simple little spark, a considerate thought, an easy action.
For the Today, now the 5th (Because my computer died, my phone died, and well... it was overly ambitious of me to really think I could pull off posting EVERY day): I am grateful for this thought - as I sat here this morning, looking at this beautiful tree, I had the alarming thought of "How the hell am I going to get that thing back into the attic????" And then it hit me: I don't have to. It's not "soon" per-say, but Jason will be home in a respectable amount of time to have the tree box in the entryhall. On that thought: I don't have to have the oil changed in the car again, or even worry about the riding snow-blower deck (I use the walk behind), because he'll be here. My grateful thought is that there's this giant light headed toward me, and I know it's him making his way back to me.
For our act of kindness, we donated food to the local food drive. Why? Because I have four kids in this school district, and when they all take a can, they can start to make a dent. I can't imagine going to the cupboard and not knowing how I'm going to feed my kids. This is so minor, so easy a thing, but to someone else, it could mean everything.
So the Grinch has been momentarily stored away because of the beauty of this tree, and the excitement of these kids. Their little faces reflected in the ahem... net... ahem... lights, are a breathtaking sight, and as much as I kind of loathe this season at the moment, I know that it's not really about me, it's about them.
Santa hat on, ready to rock it.
All is Merry and Bright.
December 3, 2013
Day Three of Christmas: Good Days and Mittens
Day three. Short and sweet, because man, I'm exhausted. I made the mistake of staying up way too late last night with a book. Don't judge me, I got sucked in. ;)
Today was a great day. Normal, by any means, but after the insanity of yesterday, which seriously had me bursting into tears over mudroom mess... really. Tears. UGH. Anyway, normal was bliss. Hockey ran late, couldn't find my keys, kids nearly got run over in the pitch black parking lot, but hey General Fluffy Pants is fitting in, and Diesel hasn't eaten him (yet).
Today is a good day.
And I am grateful today for the good days. During a deployment, they occur less than the bad days. Bad days... well, usually they're kind of like:
So good days, the ones where I can think, "Hey I have this under control," are a beautiful thing. They are few and far, and usually require me hermitting a wee bit. Man, I love to hermit.
I'm thankful for the moments during deployment that I think everything is really going to be okay. The ones where the boys remember all their boyscout stuff, have the hockey gear in the car, and don't harass me with how much they miss junk food. Good days, the boys aren't jockeying for dominance, Chase hasn't cried over 17 times, and Brody hasn't hit anyone with a hockey stick. Good days rock, and I am thankful for them.
Good days are days I can look at my boys and say, it's okay:
Every day is not like that. But today, I got the 8 foot Christmas tree out of the attic, down the hall, across the house, down the stairs and into the living room, where I managed to get the sectional apart, and now I'm all kinds of:
These days, the ones where everything is going to be okay? Yeah, they make up for the crap ones. As for our act of kindness? We totally hit up the mitten tree. There's one at our gym, and for a $5 addition to our cart at Walmart the other day, we were able to donate a pair of mittens so a little guy could keep his hands warm. Super simple to us, easy peesy. But so important to someone else. Kindness, even in the smallest of ways, matters, my peeps. Be kind.
Okay, now that my eyes are crossing I'm seriously headed to bed. I think tomorrow we'll talk about sleep deprivation and deployment. Cool? Cool.
Today was a great day. Normal, by any means, but after the insanity of yesterday, which seriously had me bursting into tears over mudroom mess... really. Tears. UGH. Anyway, normal was bliss. Hockey ran late, couldn't find my keys, kids nearly got run over in the pitch black parking lot, but hey General Fluffy Pants is fitting in, and Diesel hasn't eaten him (yet).
Today is a good day.
And I am grateful today for the good days. During a deployment, they occur less than the bad days. Bad days... well, usually they're kind of like:
So good days, the ones where I can think, "Hey I have this under control," are a beautiful thing. They are few and far, and usually require me hermitting a wee bit. Man, I love to hermit.
I'm thankful for the moments during deployment that I think everything is really going to be okay. The ones where the boys remember all their boyscout stuff, have the hockey gear in the car, and don't harass me with how much they miss junk food. Good days, the boys aren't jockeying for dominance, Chase hasn't cried over 17 times, and Brody hasn't hit anyone with a hockey stick. Good days rock, and I am thankful for them.
Good days are days I can look at my boys and say, it's okay:
Every day is not like that. But today, I got the 8 foot Christmas tree out of the attic, down the hall, across the house, down the stairs and into the living room, where I managed to get the sectional apart, and now I'm all kinds of:
These days, the ones where everything is going to be okay? Yeah, they make up for the crap ones. As for our act of kindness? We totally hit up the mitten tree. There's one at our gym, and for a $5 addition to our cart at Walmart the other day, we were able to donate a pair of mittens so a little guy could keep his hands warm. Super simple to us, easy peesy. But so important to someone else. Kindness, even in the smallest of ways, matters, my peeps. Be kind.
Okay, now that my eyes are crossing I'm seriously headed to bed. I think tomorrow we'll talk about sleep deprivation and deployment. Cool? Cool.
December 2, 2013
Day Two of Christmas: Aidan and General Fluffy Pants
Ah, day two, December 2nd.
December 2nd has always been one of my favorite days of the year, because it's my dad's birthday. Well, 9 years ago, since my mom was out of town, we made plans to have a dinner for him, but we didn't quite make it there because I became a little busy...
Aidan was born.
Instead, my dad brought ME dinner after he was born, and promised that Aidan was the best birthday gift he could have been given. Every year, my favorite conversation is the one between these two on the phone, "No, happy birthday to YOU!" Freaking love the men in my life.
So today, my Aidan Rex is 9 years old. My own personal Hulk, and what I am immensely thankful for today. Oh, he's not always easy, I'll tell you that, but he has the biggest heart of our kids. Aidan is like watching a little Mini-Jason run around our home. He's got Jason's compassion, Jason's hugs, Jason's smile, mama's eyes, and Jason's pressure-cooker temperament. He's the gasoline to Chase's fire, but he's also the first to say, "good morning, mama, you're beautiful." I think he knows better than to start off on me before I've had my coffee. ;)
He always knows when I need a hug, and he knows just how to push my buttons. He's the one I can always depend on, the first boy I ask for help, and he's the first to offer it. He may be the 2nd son, but he's also the most responsible (sorry Aaron). There aren't enough blog posts to tell you how much I love Aidan, or how thankful I am for his sheer existence in this world.
So yes, today, I'm grateful for Aidan, for gracing me with his love, and the gift of being his mama.
As for our act of kindness... well, I'd like to introduce you to someone:
Meet General Fluffy Pants.
I have to tell you, when Aidan decreed his name, well, I fell a little more in love with my own kid. Then I laughed a good long time. Yes, for our act of kindness, we adopted General Fluffy Pants today, and Aidan has a new companion. Why? Because Aidan has wanted one for FOREVER, so we skipped the pet stores and breeders and went straight to Craigslist, where a military family needed to rehome him. It was important to me to show Aidan (and the rest of the kids), that animals shouldn't just be bought and sold, but adopted, loved, and cared for. Sure, it's an act of kindness for him, to give him a home, but animals deserve kindness too. Plus, I think he brings way more to us with snuggles and that wiggly nose than we could ever give to him. We'll call this one our selfish act of kindness. ;)
Yes, I know, new book deal, new baby, new... bunny. Yeah, we're just rolling it in around here.
Happy 2nd day of December. Happy Birthday, Daddy. Happy Birthday, Aidan. Happy Adoption Day, General Fluffy Pants - we're a house full of boys, so one more doesn't phase us. We're so lucky to have you.
Gratitude and kindness, peeps. Yup.
December 2nd has always been one of my favorite days of the year, because it's my dad's birthday. Well, 9 years ago, since my mom was out of town, we made plans to have a dinner for him, but we didn't quite make it there because I became a little busy...
Aidan was born.
Instead, my dad brought ME dinner after he was born, and promised that Aidan was the best birthday gift he could have been given. Every year, my favorite conversation is the one between these two on the phone, "No, happy birthday to YOU!" Freaking love the men in my life.
So today, my Aidan Rex is 9 years old. My own personal Hulk, and what I am immensely thankful for today. Oh, he's not always easy, I'll tell you that, but he has the biggest heart of our kids. Aidan is like watching a little Mini-Jason run around our home. He's got Jason's compassion, Jason's hugs, Jason's smile, mama's eyes, and Jason's pressure-cooker temperament. He's the gasoline to Chase's fire, but he's also the first to say, "good morning, mama, you're beautiful." I think he knows better than to start off on me before I've had my coffee. ;)
He always knows when I need a hug, and he knows just how to push my buttons. He's the one I can always depend on, the first boy I ask for help, and he's the first to offer it. He may be the 2nd son, but he's also the most responsible (sorry Aaron). There aren't enough blog posts to tell you how much I love Aidan, or how thankful I am for his sheer existence in this world.
So yes, today, I'm grateful for Aidan, for gracing me with his love, and the gift of being his mama.
As for our act of kindness... well, I'd like to introduce you to someone:
Meet General Fluffy Pants.
I have to tell you, when Aidan decreed his name, well, I fell a little more in love with my own kid. Then I laughed a good long time. Yes, for our act of kindness, we adopted General Fluffy Pants today, and Aidan has a new companion. Why? Because Aidan has wanted one for FOREVER, so we skipped the pet stores and breeders and went straight to Craigslist, where a military family needed to rehome him. It was important to me to show Aidan (and the rest of the kids), that animals shouldn't just be bought and sold, but adopted, loved, and cared for. Sure, it's an act of kindness for him, to give him a home, but animals deserve kindness too. Plus, I think he brings way more to us with snuggles and that wiggly nose than we could ever give to him. We'll call this one our selfish act of kindness. ;)
Yes, I know, new book deal, new baby, new... bunny. Yeah, we're just rolling it in around here.
Happy 2nd day of December. Happy Birthday, Daddy. Happy Birthday, Aidan. Happy Adoption Day, General Fluffy Pants - we're a house full of boys, so one more doesn't phase us. We're so lucky to have you.
Gratitude and kindness, peeps. Yup.
December 1, 2013
Day One of Christmas: Family and Cupcakes.
Ah, the holidays are upon us. Give me a second, and I'll tuck away my inner-Grinch. Yeah, okay, he's put away. Nice boy.
Okay, so Thanksgiving hit me like a ton of bricks. This isn't my first Thanksgiving sans Jason, or my first away from home, but this time, it felt like I had been stripped raw, bare. By the time Wednesday came around I was pretty much rolling around in a giant cloud of self-pity and this scene:
Yeah, that actually pretty much happened. All I could think was, "if this is how I feel at Thanksgiving, how am I going to make it through Christmas?"
I'm exhausted. I'm beat down in just about every way freaking humanly possible until what's left of me is hardly recognizable. That's the truth.
But Wednesday night rolls around, and while I've been insisting on some hermit time, a friend of mine asks me over for Thanksgiving, and another friend comes too, and then another.
Sitting at that table, I couldn't help but think of what I'm grateful for. You see, this deployment has chewed me up, spit me out, and left me reevaluating everything I know, but this moment? Well, I'm happy. Happy because it hits me: I still have great friends up here, just some of the roles have changed, and some haven't. And suddenly, my attitude just... evolved.
I know the key to being happy is being thankful. For concentrating on the multitude of blessings we have instead of focusing on what we're lacking, or what we've lost. So I choose happiness, and thankfulness, and general badassery. Yup, that's not a real word, but I used it.
So anyway, Thanksgiving has come and gone, and I kind of get another smack down last night before Aidan's birthday party: another reminder of how things have changed up here in my life, and my heart breaks all over again. But instead of breaking down, this time I pick myself up and remember to be grateful for what I have, and it doesn't hurt quite as badly. I totally distracted myself from my own pain. Score.
Plan Concentrate On Gratitude is working. Oh, but wait, Christmas is upon us. Now, I have to admit, with Jason deployed, I look around at our non-deployed neighbors and friends and they're all:
And I'm over here like:
And then I smack myself upside the head. Because didn't I just say I was choosing happiness and general badassery? That means there's no moping allowed that it's Christmas and Jason is gone, and ... stopping that train of thought right THERE.
So what do I usually do to kick myself out of a funk? I think of something nice I can do for someone else, because if I'm concentrating on how to help someone else, I'm not focused on the craptastic time we're having over here.
Oh, did I mention my kids' Christmas list? Aaron walked in the kitchen with Aidan and says, "yeah, I'm getting that (insanely expensive gift) for Christmas," and I'm all:
And I say, "don't you mean you asked for that?" And he replies with, "Yeah, but I'll get it."
Yeah. I have half a mind to take their lists, shred them, and use them for composting, or whatever. However, I also know that he's 10, and it's not my job as a parent to destroy his Christmas, but it IS my job to make him truly understand the meaning of it, far deeper than, "Yeah, it's Jesus's birthday." Sigh.
So here we go.
This year, we're counting to Christmas a little differently. Sure, they still have the chocolate advent calendars, because I'm secretly 5 years-old at heart, but we'll be doing something much sweeter with our time.
Welcome to our Christmas Acts of Kindness. This is kind of like my birthday acts of kindness, except we're doing them as a family, one-a-day until Christmas. Why? Because when I was coming up with 32 acts for my birthday, I saw how my thoughts changed. I stopped focusing on me, on this deployment (he left 11 days after my birthday), and I started to see how many opportunities there were around me for kindness. It changed me - and I like it.
Why am I telling you this? It's not for recognition; even though we're keeping them anonymous, I'm sure some of you might find yourselves as the recipients of this fun. No, I'm telling you this because I watch the blog numbers. I know how many of you read these posts, and I'm hoping, even if it's the simplest thing, that you'll join us for a day or two and perform your own acts of kindness.
Fun fact: when I told my sister about this, she already had the same idea. Without planning it together, we're both on that same path. See, kindness is all around us.
So, in the month of December, I'm coming at you EVERY DAY, telling you what we've done that day as our Act, no matter how big or how small, and my hope is that you'll jump in with your own. Leave me a comment, a thread, a thought, because it's the season peeps! And even if you're not all about the religious base of this holiday (which we are, but we're cool with all sorts of peeps), then just think:
So you'd better make sure your name is on the nice list. ;)
So what am I thankful for today? This circus-insane family we're building and the love both Jason and I have for it, and each other, that holds us together even 6,000 miles apart. There's simply no greater joy than snuggling these kids... well, there is that first five minutes of quiet after they all go go sleep... that's pretty joyous too. ;)
And what was our Act of Kindness? Cupcakes. Today was Aidan's birthday party, so we bought (that's right peeps, I'm so not-awesome that I didn't MAKE) cupcakes, and I made sure we bought a ton extra. Then we took them to the lovely couple that owns the concession stand at the rink, because they're amazing. They were some of the first people to notice that Little Miss Pumpkin had arrived, and they've watched our boys come up through hockey for the last three years. They're kind, and they deserved a little kindness. It was super simple to give it to them, and the smile and thanks we got? That definitely put a little fuel in my kindness tank. Then we gave a box to the guy who sharpens the skates too, just because.
So Day One? It's Family and Cupcakes. Tomorrow? Well... that's a whole other day to see the amazing chances all around us to be kind.
Happy December, you guys, and to the girls I spent Thanksgiving with? Thank you. You guys saved me, whether or not you realized it. Milspouses amaze me, and you guys are absolutely the proof.
Okay, so Thanksgiving hit me like a ton of bricks. This isn't my first Thanksgiving sans Jason, or my first away from home, but this time, it felt like I had been stripped raw, bare. By the time Wednesday came around I was pretty much rolling around in a giant cloud of self-pity and this scene:
Yeah, that actually pretty much happened. All I could think was, "if this is how I feel at Thanksgiving, how am I going to make it through Christmas?"
I'm exhausted. I'm beat down in just about every way freaking humanly possible until what's left of me is hardly recognizable. That's the truth.
But Wednesday night rolls around, and while I've been insisting on some hermit time, a friend of mine asks me over for Thanksgiving, and another friend comes too, and then another.
Sitting at that table, I couldn't help but think of what I'm grateful for. You see, this deployment has chewed me up, spit me out, and left me reevaluating everything I know, but this moment? Well, I'm happy. Happy because it hits me: I still have great friends up here, just some of the roles have changed, and some haven't. And suddenly, my attitude just... evolved.
I know the key to being happy is being thankful. For concentrating on the multitude of blessings we have instead of focusing on what we're lacking, or what we've lost. So I choose happiness, and thankfulness, and general badassery. Yup, that's not a real word, but I used it.
So anyway, Thanksgiving has come and gone, and I kind of get another smack down last night before Aidan's birthday party: another reminder of how things have changed up here in my life, and my heart breaks all over again. But instead of breaking down, this time I pick myself up and remember to be grateful for what I have, and it doesn't hurt quite as badly. I totally distracted myself from my own pain. Score.
Plan Concentrate On Gratitude is working. Oh, but wait, Christmas is upon us. Now, I have to admit, with Jason deployed, I look around at our non-deployed neighbors and friends and they're all:
And I'm over here like:
And then I smack myself upside the head. Because didn't I just say I was choosing happiness and general badassery? That means there's no moping allowed that it's Christmas and Jason is gone, and ... stopping that train of thought right THERE.
So what do I usually do to kick myself out of a funk? I think of something nice I can do for someone else, because if I'm concentrating on how to help someone else, I'm not focused on the craptastic time we're having over here.
Oh, did I mention my kids' Christmas list? Aaron walked in the kitchen with Aidan and says, "yeah, I'm getting that (insanely expensive gift) for Christmas," and I'm all:
And I say, "don't you mean you asked for that?" And he replies with, "Yeah, but I'll get it."
Yeah. I have half a mind to take their lists, shred them, and use them for composting, or whatever. However, I also know that he's 10, and it's not my job as a parent to destroy his Christmas, but it IS my job to make him truly understand the meaning of it, far deeper than, "Yeah, it's Jesus's birthday." Sigh.
So here we go.
This year, we're counting to Christmas a little differently. Sure, they still have the chocolate advent calendars, because I'm secretly 5 years-old at heart, but we'll be doing something much sweeter with our time.
Welcome to our Christmas Acts of Kindness. This is kind of like my birthday acts of kindness, except we're doing them as a family, one-a-day until Christmas. Why? Because when I was coming up with 32 acts for my birthday, I saw how my thoughts changed. I stopped focusing on me, on this deployment (he left 11 days after my birthday), and I started to see how many opportunities there were around me for kindness. It changed me - and I like it.
Why am I telling you this? It's not for recognition; even though we're keeping them anonymous, I'm sure some of you might find yourselves as the recipients of this fun. No, I'm telling you this because I watch the blog numbers. I know how many of you read these posts, and I'm hoping, even if it's the simplest thing, that you'll join us for a day or two and perform your own acts of kindness.
Fun fact: when I told my sister about this, she already had the same idea. Without planning it together, we're both on that same path. See, kindness is all around us.
So, in the month of December, I'm coming at you EVERY DAY, telling you what we've done that day as our Act, no matter how big or how small, and my hope is that you'll jump in with your own. Leave me a comment, a thread, a thought, because it's the season peeps! And even if you're not all about the religious base of this holiday (which we are, but we're cool with all sorts of peeps), then just think:
So you'd better make sure your name is on the nice list. ;)
So what am I thankful for today? This circus-insane family we're building and the love both Jason and I have for it, and each other, that holds us together even 6,000 miles apart. There's simply no greater joy than snuggling these kids... well, there is that first five minutes of quiet after they all go go sleep... that's pretty joyous too. ;)
And what was our Act of Kindness? Cupcakes. Today was Aidan's birthday party, so we bought (that's right peeps, I'm so not-awesome that I didn't MAKE) cupcakes, and I made sure we bought a ton extra. Then we took them to the lovely couple that owns the concession stand at the rink, because they're amazing. They were some of the first people to notice that Little Miss Pumpkin had arrived, and they've watched our boys come up through hockey for the last three years. They're kind, and they deserved a little kindness. It was super simple to give it to them, and the smile and thanks we got? That definitely put a little fuel in my kindness tank. Then we gave a box to the guy who sharpens the skates too, just because.
So Day One? It's Family and Cupcakes. Tomorrow? Well... that's a whole other day to see the amazing chances all around us to be kind.
Happy December, you guys, and to the girls I spent Thanksgiving with? Thank you. You guys saved me, whether or not you realized it. Milspouses amaze me, and you guys are absolutely the proof.
