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Reunions: Expectations and Reality

 Posted by on March 19, 2012 at 15:17
Mar 192012
 

Kelli

Reunions are the best! Planning, preparing, and dreaming about reunions are what helps me through separations. It isn’t just “deployments” that call for a reunion either. Anything that takes my husband from home for an extended period of time rates a reunion.

In the early years of our marriage, a few days apart rated a special reunion. We were young, childless, and in love. Now he needs to be gone a minimum of two weeks to rate more than a high five and “glad you’re home” when he walks through the door. We are still in love, but no longer young or childless. Plus, separations became part of our family’s culture. We figured out the formula and what worked for us.

But oh, those times when your heart aches to see your sweetheart and it’s just days away. It’s like Christmas, Easter, and the Fourth of July! However, on occasion it can be excitement and apprehension mixed with a little nausea. Especially if you have broken, wrecked, damaged, or mangled anything in particular that your spouse might have been partial to. It happens… Continue reading »

A Day in the Life: Daddy’s Home-Fantasy vs Reality

 Posted by on March 7, 2012 at 08:00
Mar 072012
 

Kristi

I hate running. I’m not exaggerating; I’ve tried on several occasions to convince myself that I could be a runner and it never quite pans out. I love exercise and consider myself to be in pretty good shape, but I would like very much to reserve running for emergency situations only, like being chased by a rabid dog or the Boogie Man.  In grade school, we had to run a timed mile twice a year as part of our physical fitness test. A mile, as you probably know, is four laps around a track. On the first lap, I was bounding with energy (although I was keeping an embarrassingly slow pace). By the second lap, I would start to get that cramp in my side. By the third lap, I was still nursing my cramp and all I could hear was the slap of my feet against the track, the involuntary wheezing exhales, and my inner monolog telling me not to throw up. At the start of the fourth lap, I was sure that death was imminent, but for whatever reason I kept going, hoping all the way that I would not stumble over my own feet, throw up, or do something equally embarrassing that would forever brand me as a loser among classmates.

Nearing the end of my husband’s six-month deployment, I began to get that familiar fourth lap feeling. I was tired. My son was tired. Even our dogs were tired. Much like that glorious home stretch of that last lap, though, I started to perk up a bit because I could see the finish. Even though I was stumbling over my own feet and moving more like a limp noodle than an athlete, I’d somehow summoned some super-strength and kicked into a sprint toward the finish. My husband was on his way home, and I was sure that everything would be easier with him. Continue reading »

A Day in the Life: Preparing for Homecoming

 Posted by on February 10, 2012 at 11:00
Feb 102012
 

Kristi

Border control may be a hot political debate, but it’s also a sore subject at my house—I mean our house—right now.  I’ve been living alone for six months again, and while my husband has been deployed there’s been no armed guard making sure that my clothes respect the boundaries in the closet. The arsenal of beauty products that I use to keep from scaring small children with my “natural beauty” has slowly inched over onto my husband’s side of the counter; now that border is completely unrecognizable! And don’t even get me started on the kitchen. Aside from the three bites of Rice Chex and a sack full of Christmas candy leftover from my parents’ visit, I can’t name anything else my husband would eat voluntarily.

Trying to undo six months of peaceful man-space take-over in a week’s time is a daunting task. I went to the grocery store yesterday with list in hand and I still found myself standing in the middle of aisle seven asking my one-year old why I came down that aisle. He just proudly let out a squeal which, as cute as it was, was less than helpful. Needless to say, I’m going back to the store today.

Last night, after a long day of reorganizing and cleaning, I had a full-blown temper tantrum to rival even the brattiest four-year old. My feet were stomping, there was grunting, tears, and I may have even hit a household appliance with a cookbook. After a few deep breaths, I realized that I needed a new game plan because clearly my organization goals were unrealistic and my to-do list was a joke.

New plan: think like a man. Not once has my husband walked into our house and marveled at the freshly mopped floors or run a white glove over the top of tall furniture to check for dust. So, although I’d like to mop, dust, refinish a bookshelf, and triangle fold the toilet paper, time is not on my side and I need to get realistic.

I’m certain my husband would notice that his side of the bed has become the staging area for our closet reorganization. Did you notice I said our and not my closet? Let’s call that progress.  So, obviously the clothes need to return to the closet—on their designated side, of course.

What, dear? You say you don’t want to eat salad twice a day or have hummus and veggies for dinner three times a week? Noted. Groceries are of the utmost importance. With no one to cook for over the last six months, I just stopped cooking. Of course, I fed my son nothing but the best, but after chopping three different dinner entrees into bite-sized pieces to please a picky kid, I don’t have the time or energy to whip up something fancy for myself. In the battle of tired versus hungry, tired wins every time and I grab something quick and convenient. While my husband knows better than to expect a four-course meal every night, it’s only fair to have foods on hand that he enjoys. So, Operation Stock the Fridge is now in motion.

I’m trying—really trying—to remind myself that the house doesn’t have to be perfect. It was in tiptop shape when my husband returned from his last deployment only to be instantly returned to its lived-in status when my husband came through the door and dropped his pack on the floor of the kitchen where it sat for almost a week until I could no longer ignore it. My husband, and I’m assuming most husbands returning from deployments, don’t care if home looks like something from a Pottery Barn catalog or a Better Homes and Gardens feature. All they care about is that they’re home. They want to sleep in their own beds and eat the foods they’ve been craving for months.

We may want everything to be picture perfect for their return, but honestly, all they need to see is that the house is still half theirs. They want space for their man stuff in the bathroom, and their wardrobe, although defenseless against our obviously larger collection of outfits and shoes, deserves room in the closet.

So, one more time for emphasis, it doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be home. On that note, I’ll begin my day of treaty negotiations in the closet, hair product corralling in the bathroom, and round two at the grocery store.

A Day in the Life: Homecoming with or without Kids

 Posted by on February 6, 2012 at 11:00
Feb 062012
 

Kristi

Around 6:30 a.m. on the eve of my husband’s homecoming; I woke up refreshed from my five whole hours of sleep. I spoil myself. On the agenda: make a “Welcome Home” sign, shave my legs, pick out a homecoming outfit, carry out my usual mommy duties, and clean the house so unbelievably well that the President and the Queen of England could show up at the same time unannounced and I wouldn’t have one speck of dust to be embarrassed about.

With coffee in hand, at 6:41 a.m., I realized that I had no poster board, which presented a problem with the sign-making situation.  Deep breath. A quick run to the store could solve that problem, but first, I decided to raid the medicine cabinet for some sort of ointment for this itchy spot on my arm that had been there for two days. I was 99 percent sure it was just a stress pimple, and I’m just thankful that it bypassed my face and took up residence on my arm. Pimples can be itchy, right? Totally normal!

…Right?

My son woke up and had breakfast, and we made a poster board run and managed to get home by 10:00 a.m. I finally convinced my son that he really did want to take a nap, and I took a second to text a picture of my increasingly gross arm to my dad who has no medical training, but magically always has a diagnosis. I half expected a sarcastic response about sucking it up; instead I got a message convincing me to see a doctor. Ever experienced panic-induced laughter? Sorry, but unless my arm was literally going to fall off, I didn’t have time to see a doctor. I could pencil in an appointment for next Wednesday. How’s that?

I really tried, but I couldn’t ignore my dad’s advice. The itching was persistent and the voice in my head kept steering me towards the worst-case scenarios. After a few Internet searches and one desperate call to a dear friend down the street for last minute childcare, I headed to the urgent care center.

Pimple? No. Spider bite? Yes.

After a few hours bouncing between the urgent care center and the pharmacy, I was back on track with my to-do list. The only problem was that it was already 4:30 p.m. What happened to my relaxing last day of deployment? I should have been getting a pedicure, washing my hair like I was around this time for the last homecoming. Instead, I was dealing with a fussy 1-year old, a messy house, a disgusting arm, and time that wouldn’t pause long enough to give me a break.

I couldn’t help but be jealous of myself at this time during the last homecoming. I hated that I had enough time back then to get completely wrapped up in facials, bubble baths, pillow fluffing, picking the perfect outfit, selecting mood music, and the emotions of the whole situation.

What a difference one baby makes! This time around, it still hadn’t even hit me that I would see my husband in less than 24 hours. Instead, I felt like I was rounding the last curve of a marathon without the endurance to sprint for the finish…just trying not to throw up, trip, and fall over the finish line. I had to keep it together and make sure my husband knew just how much we missed him, but time was running out.

When my adrenaline started giving out for the night, the “Welcome Home” poster was still blank, toys were everywhere, and I hadn’t even showered. My son was sound asleep, my arm was still attached, and we’d made it to the last 15 hours of deployment. I’d call that a victory. Trying to focus on the big picture, I did what I could to set myself up for success on homecoming day, stumbled to bed, and hoped that I had the energy to wake up when my alarm went off at 6:00 a.m. the next morning.

I did. Homecoming day began just like any other crazy day. My son and I magically arrived on time, properly groomed and fully dressed (minus the shoes that my son pulled off 20 minutes before daddy’s arrival).

When we locked our eyes on daddy and all was forgotten—minus that persistent itching on my arm. The exhaustion and chaos from 24 hours ago seemed to be just a bad dream.

The moment we had our first family hug in six months made me realize that one thing hadn’t changed from the first, kid-free, homecoming to the second kid-centered homecoming. Even without dedicating 24 hours to mutating into a pinup girl, I managed to look and smell presentable. Amazingly, my son and I made it to this precious moment a little stronger and a little more patient (by 1-year old standards, anyway). In the heat of battle I made sacrifices, allowed petty details to consume me, and endured the hits that just kept coming, but the drama of separation couldn’t hold a candle to what really mattered…family.

By 7:45 that evening, both of my boys were sound asleep. Though I’m used to calling it a night closer to midnight, I found myself fighting a losing battle with my eyelids. The adrenaline that’s kept me going for months recognized that it was no longer needed. It was shutting down, and I was finally allowed to just breathe a deep sigh of relief and rest. We were complete again, the house was still standing, we had no permanent scarring, and we were all thankful to be here, in this moment, together!

Father’s Day: Toothbrushes and toilet paper

 Posted by on June 18, 2009 at 11:00
Jun 182009
 

Last year, I flew my 3 year-old son MJ to Atlanta to visit his grandmother while I joined my Reservist unit for drills.  Then I went back to Atlanta and spent a few days, before my son and I headed home.

During the three weeks we were away, my husband lived the life of a bachelor.  No getting up at 6 a.m. with our son on weekends or endless honey-do taskers from me. Apparently, he also enjoyed not going to the grocery store because he didn’t go once in three weeks.

Mike picked us up at the airport.  Heading out, I should have realized we had absolutely no food at home as soon as he said, “Why don’t we go out for dinner, you’ve had such a long day.”  And if that didn’t tip me off, the next question was a give-away, “What color was your toothbrush again?”

Turns out Mike used his toothbrush to help the delivery guy clean a spot off the couches that were delivered in my absence.  And so as not to neglect his dental hygiene, the only sensible thing to do was to use my toothbrush instead of his. For two weeks. Continue reading »

Our “Countdown Candy Jar” helps with deployments

 Posted by on April 30, 2009 at 16:23
Apr 302009
 

“As a military family, one of my most pressing concerns is the effect my husband’s absences will have on my children.  Aside from the practical things we do to ready ourselves for a deployment, there is an emotional dimension that isn’t as easily checked off the list as enough pairs of black socks.”

Editor’s note: Today marks the first of a series of columns from a respected and experienced Military Spouse, Vivian. Vivian is an active duty milspouse and military affairs correspondent for a Virginia newspaper. Today, she turned a question from a reader about deployment into a column for you.

Question: “My son is divorced and has a 5 year-old son.  He is getting ready to deploy for 15 months and is afraid his son will be affected by his being away as he shares custody for him.  Any suggestions?” Continue reading »

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All materials copyright Military OneSource, 2012. Blog content held jointly by writer and Military OneSource, with shared rights to republish with appropriate attribution.