Deployment Journal - Day #78

I was all proud of myself.  Unexpected guests were in town this weekend, and wondered if they could see us.  Of course, I said, and calmly scrapped my original weekend plans.  Normally, guests stress me a bit.  I feel the need to have the house cleaner than usual, meals planned and mostly-pre-prepared, my schedule cleared so I can entertain them, and so on. 

But this time, I didn't stress.  At all.  I tidied, a bit, but not much.  I threw some meat in the crockpot and cooked some rice, and thawed some zucchini muffins.  I chopped a melon, and decided we'd have ice cream for dessert.  Nothing fancy.  It was like I had finally attained that coveted mental place of "If they don't like it, they can eat at McDonalds."  YES.  Go me.

So when, after a one-day delay and a long afternoon/evening, I fed them dinner, put Daughter to bed, and returned downstairs, I felt pretty impressed with me.  I flicked on a burner, to boil some tea, and began rinsing dishes while chatting with our guests. 

"Is something burning?"  She inquired.
"Yes, I just turned on a gas burner."
"Oh.  Ok.  It just smells... really hot."
I noticed the same thing, but shrugged it off.

Two minutes later, the smell was much stronger.  I dried my hands, and turned to investigate.

... my crockpot lid had been nestled behind the burner, behind the teapot.  And the rubber seal was now glowing red and puffing fumey, black smoke.  I turned off the burner, turned on the fan, and rushed to open the back door.  I couldn't save the lid.  I could (maybe) avert waking my baby with smoke detector sirens.

Moments later, the lid began to cool and crust over.  It was really only burned in one place.  Just enough to ruin the entire seal.  I sighed, threw my towel irritably at the counter, and glared.  How dumb was that?!  Now I'd have to buy a whole new lid - all because of a moment's inattention.  I was mad about the money.  Mad about my stupidity.  Mad that accidents sometimes just happen.

My kind guest promptly Googled and found me a new lid.  It cost $20, but hey.  What's a crockpot without a lid, right?

 

Deployment Journal - Day #77

As a fresh new military spouse, I used to downplay my role.  When officials would ask, "Are you the active duty member?" I'd demure, "Oh no, I'm just the spouse."  And often, they would kindly correct me, "Oh ma'am, you're not JUST a spouse!  You make all the difference!"  It was deeply heartwarming, especially since I wasn't expecting it back then.  I felt very much like a tag-a-long, unsure of my place. 

Now, I've gotten used to this lifestyle, and my role within it.  Sure, I can barely remember my own SSN anymore, but I often feel that my personal sacrifice and role is acknowledged and appreciated, in addition to my husband's.

So, the other day, when I was asked if my husband was the active member, I smilingly said yes - in fact, he's deployed right now.

"Oh," she rolled her eyes, "so you're just the parasite!"

I started to laugh politely, but glancing at her face, I saw she wasn't joking.  At all.  I was so caught off guard, I don't even remember what I said.  A faint attempt to disagree - a weak, "Well, I don't think of it like that--" or something else similarily generic may have escaped my mouth, or maybe that was just in my head.  Really not sure.  I didn't want to seem defensive or arrogant, but gosh.  Parasite.  That felt harsh. 

I walked to my car, put my daughter in her seat, and pondered all the way home: How should I have handled that?

Deployment Journal - Day #76

I've been a little OCD lately - myopic, fixated on my long lists of To-Do's, feeling oppressively guilty if I don't get them all done (which is pretty much every day). 

 

Figuring that a little indulgence would help me recall my own humanity, I went to the BX and bought a ginormous bag of Peanut Butter M&M's.  And I thumbed my nose at sensibility.  (Disclaimer: The brisk walk to and from the BX, complete with jogging stroller and several productive phone calls, made me feel less like a slacker, ha.)

 

A couple hours later, while striding around with my cell phone still pinned between my ear and my shoulder, I paused my diaper-folding and dishes-stacking and decided it was time to eat the M&M's.  I tugged at the bag, semi-distracted by my Little One trying to climb inside the just-opened clothes dryer, and the bag exploded, spilling all over the table.  I sighed, darted to stop my daughter from burning her wee hands, and forgot about my M&M's.

 

Fortunately, I kept walking past the table, so I didn't forget them completely.  But, it was a busy afternoon, and I never actually sat down to re-corral them back into the torn bag.  I kept meaning to grab a fresh ziplock, but... well, you know.  Walking 10', undistracted, as a Momma, is nearly impossible.  At least, for me. 

 

So, evening came and the sun started to set.  I opened the back door to let the cool air inside, and suddenly noticed:

 

Unconsciously, I had been messing with the M&M's, all afternoon, every time I walked past.  I don't remember that.  But, there they were... proof of my persistent OCD-ness.

 

(The pile in the back consists of the ones that don't match.  Naturally.)



 

 

Deployment Journal - Day #75

I love how "new" home seems to her, after we've been gone a month.  Absolutely everything is fascinating.

Deployment Journal - Day #74

A dozen welcome-home flowers from my incredibly thoughtful husband.  Balm for my lonesome soul.  Visible love, sent by mail.

And a refreshing bit of beauty, when everything in my yard is slowly dying.  I adore autumn, but I'll miss my summer blossoms.

Deployment Journal - Day #73

It's a tough age, people tell me.  Little One can't communicate yet, but has very pronounced (sometimes irrational) opinions.  Lately, she arches her back and shrieks, claws at my face and flops onto the floor in furious despair.  This is quite a shift from her typically-sweet, often-mellow, amazingly-smiley former personality.

But, I love having a pre-toddler.  It's so easy to relate to her.  I mean, who doesn't want to scream and hit things, when someone takes away your newly-discovered toy?  You don't care that it might electrocute you, or choke you, or poke out an eyeball.  You only feel sorrow that your toy is disappearing, and rage because that big person was strong enough to pry it from your wee hand!

Psychologists tell me that it's helpful to empathize with your child, and to articulate their emotions to them.  Don't get angry, they say, just help your child work through their emotional moment and don't take it personally.

This seems intuitive to me.  Sure, I feel a little frustrated when she crawls right back to the forbidden bookshelves and jerks out another paperback.  But, I understand her reaction, too.  So, when I sternly stride over to remove the book from her grip, and she flails in my arms and tries to rush away panicked, I want to cuddle her, and kiss her cheek, and reassure her of my love.  Sometimes, in fact, I have to make sure I actually stay stern long enough. 

The narration is instinctive.  "Yes, I understand that you wanted that book and feel upset now, but the books are no-no's, and you're not allowed to play with them.  You need to go play with something else that's ok for you.  Here, how about your ball?  Let's play with the fun ball instead!  Look - it bounces!"

I find it cathartic to watch her express herself so honestly.  I wish I could do that.  Kids are so frank.  I think it's awesome.

Or maybe, I'm just new to this whole parenting gig.

Deployment Journal - Day #72

Last night did not go well.  We are beyond exhausted.  Unfortunately, tonight is the Ball, and we offered to babysit an almost-two-year old whose mischief levels rival Dennis the Menace, so her parents could go and enjoy themselves.

... I gave up all attempts at structured activity pretty quickly, and simply put her outside to play in the mud.

 

 

 

Deployment Journal - Day #71

Another good day today.  Another rough night last night.  Baby is teething, and also still traumatized from so much travel; her little body can't seem to find its internal clock again and she wakes up every hour or so, all night long.  

I, consequently, can't fall asleep, braced for the inevitable shriek that occurs, predictably, just when I'm entering deep sleep.  Y'know that horrible, electric bolt of adrenaline that sears through every nerve, from toes to ears?  Yeah.  That one.

After a week of this, neither of us can sleep.  She whimpers all night, even when dozing.  And my body jerks awake every time start to I drift off, sometimes rushing into the hall before realizing that she's not even crying.  I imagined it that time.  But then, I'm hot and cold and sweaty and disoriented and it takes me another 40 minutes to relax and drift off again.  And then, it repeats.

We're a tired mess.  Which means I'm huddled on the couch during every nap-attempt (mind you, as soon as I drift off, about two minutes pass and then she shrieks like she's being attacked, then bursts into hysterical tears.  EVERY SINGLE TIME.).  Which means that the house is a mess, because I'm too tired to even do dishes, much less sort mail.  

Somehow, it was still a good day.  Probably because we talked to Husband/Daddy.  Also because I accomplished a ton, in spite of my exhaustion.  We're finally unpacked.  We assembled and mailed another box.  There are even fresh zucchini muffins on the counter.  Go me.  I'm a trooper.

Now, let's take drugs and sleep tonight, shall we?

Deployment Journal - Day #70

Google advised me, "If you're using Butternut Squash seeds taken from a grocery-purchased squash, it may be wise to consult your produce manager and inquire if your squash is the bushing variety or the vining variety."

Well, my seeds came from my neighbor, who excitedly wanted me to plant her seeds in my garden box.  Seems her husband hasn't found time to build her planters yet, and her son loves butternut squash puree.  "And it's so good for them!"  

Well, the garden is pretty much empty now.  I'll try a little row of 8 seeds for fun, thought I. 

So, I obligingly planted her seeds, and up they sprouted, so cute and tiny and orderly.  I never consulted the produce manager.  We've been a bit busy.

Then, I left for a month.  A different neighbor watered while I was gone.

I came back and found this

... Pretty sure mine are the vining variety.

Deployment Journal - Day #69

Awoke determined to make a dent in some of the overdue projects that are bugging me.  Brought my Little One back to bed, and sleepily began composing a list in my head.  Suddenly noticed that her cloth diaper smelled much more strongly than normal.  

But, I know I've been washing them right...!  I Googled "How to eliminate ammonia in Fuzzibunz diapers."

 

(1)  HANG IN THE SUNSHINE.

 

 

So, there I was, a Baby on my hip, trying to find our clothesline in one of the many bins in our garage.  Hallelujah!  Husband had put it in a logical place, right next to the clothes pins, in our Camping bin.  Thank you for being so organized!!!  I mentally thanked him, and headed outside.

Now, the sun had just risen, so it was cold.  (I later learned it was 44 degrees.)  I was wearing a tank top and shorts.  No idea why.  I set Daughter in her baby seat, and set to work stringing the clothesline.  And you know that Christmas light phenomenon that inexplicably converts perfectly looped strings into chaotic tangles, which knot tighter the more you try to free them?  It's a Clothesline phenomenon, too...

 

30 minutes later, my hands were numb and quivering, and Daughter was fussing.  But, the dang clothesline was up. 

(2)  BOIL DIAPER INSERTS.

 

This one was more tedious.  After rinsing and washing my inserts normally, I proceeded to boil them.  This took forever.  Like, six hours.  After endlessly heating and stirring and putting them into the washing machine, since you cannot wring out boiling hot fabric, I finally returned to my clothesline and hung them.  Not all fit on the line, (or rather, I ran out of clothes pins) so some diapers went on the grass, on a towel.  After all, it's the sunshine that really does the bleaching trick, right?  

Around 3:30 p.m., I turned to my normal list.  Daughter was sleeping.  The diapers were nearly dry now, and definitely whiter than before.  My labor felt worthwhile. 

I swept the floor, I hand-mopped the floor, I washed the dishes, chicken was in the crockpot, making delicious broth.  Today was going to turn out great.

I began to unpack my suitcase.  Finally.  Six days after getting home.  Theweather was now sunny and warm, so I opened the windows, ate a cookie, and morale began to rise.

And then, I heard a strange hissing noise.  Had I forgotten a load in the washing machine?

Nope.  It was the sprinklers.

Deployment Journal - Day #68

I have been a little obsessed with cookies since getting home.  Particularly Nutella cookies.  I've baked two different varieties in 24 hours, and am about to test a third recipe.  

In between, we're making zucchini muffins.  Lots of zucchini muffins.  Because we have, like, 20 lbs of zucchini.  At least.  Each week.  Someone remind me next year not to be such a coward, and to properly thin my zucchini plants, please?

... Loving having my own kitchen back.

Deployment Journal - Day #67

I'm proud of me.  

Today, I made 18 cups of Summer Squash Soup.  I weeded.  I took a long walk, made a deposit at the bank, and went to the library.  I thinned the carrots.  I placed an online order and got 40% off.  And made a delicious supper for a friend.

But, I'm also proud of me for my self-awareness.  I knew the momentum would fade.  And it has.    

The glee is weaker, too.  I'm still smiling, happy to be in my own space, but the mixed emotions are back.  The quietness I savored after weeks of chaos feels lonely again.  Hence my trip to the library.  I rented a random, lame television series just for more hours of background noise (also terrible acting).  I scroll through Hulu and YouTube several times a day, trying to find a new, clean show to watch.  I went to the BX one evening, just to walk laps; I didn't buy a thing.  I'm already feeling unjustifiable urges to drive to the "city."  

I knew it'd happen.  Maybe it's a self-fulfilling prophesy.  Maybe I'm slowing now, because I expected to.  But, I doubt it.  I think the crash is inevitable.  Now to devise a plan to get us through this phase.

Deployment Journal - Day #66

Woke up this morning with so much motivation.  Wheeeee!  Only slept a few hours, but wanted to jump on our list ASAP, before this awesome motivation disperses. 

Daughter woke up at 7:30 which meant we had until 9:30 before she'd need to nap.  But, our destinations didn't open until 9:00.  So, at 8:55, we were in the car.  Go us.  First, we stopped by the Thrift Store to pick up our consignment check, and then we reloaded ourselves into the car to drive about 4000' to the Commissary.  

Oh look, the Case Lot Sale is today.  Awesome.  It'll be crazy, heh.  Oh well.  All we need is cream and eggs and a giftcard.  Mostly the giftcard.

We parked further away than normal and walked through the canopied cases of discounted instant foods - Kraft Mac n Cheese, Yakisoba bowls, Chef Boyardi ravioli, pretty much everything we don't buy.  So, we strolled into the commissary - which was oddly dim and unoccupied.  

Hmm, well most people are probably raiding the sale, I reasoned and proceeded to the dairy section.

"Excuse me!  Excuse me!  You know we're not open until 9:30?"
"Oh.  No, I didn't realize that."  I blinked, then smiled my least-threatening smile.  "Ok, I'll wait."
"Alright," that employee smiled back and returned to stacking yogurt.

Not twenty feet later:

"Ma'am?  Ma'am?  The registers don't open until 9:30--"
"Oh yes, she just told me - I thought you opened at 9:00," I began to explain.
"Not for a long time, we haven't opened at 9:00!" 
"Oh, ok - well, my mistake."
"There won't be anyone to ring you up!"  She was very distressed.
I reassured her, "It's fine - I'll just wait until 9:30.  That's only a few minutes." 

She left, and I wandered slowly down the chip aisle, musing about all the preservatives per square foot.   It was 9:21 a.m.  There were now five other shoppers, who had made the same mistake as I had.  We all exchanged mildly amused looks and loitered, trying to seem cooperative and harmless.

"Miss?  MISS!"  A new, frantic employee, was suddenly in front of me. "You're NOT supposed to be here!  We're not open yet!"
"Oh, I'm sorry," I apologized again.  "I thought you opened at 9:00.  I guess you can't ring me up yet, but I'll just wait."
"NO!"  She went bug-eyed.  "You need to leave, right now.  Leave the store, please!"
I blinked again, confused.  "But, it's 9:23-"
"Ma'am, you need to leave the building right now."
"Uhm, ok - may I leave my cart?"
She flounced away.

I decided she was cranky because she'd probably been up all night.  So, I left my cart, and headed towards the door, joining the herd of other displaced shoppers.  We arrived at the exit - and it wouldn't open.  Clearly, the sensors weren't awake yet.  Probably they wouldn't work until 9:30.  HA!  We tried another door.  Still no success.  Now it was funny.  The employees were twitching, and we couldn't escape.  Not our fault.  Teehee.

9:25 a.m.

We finally were escorted out the fourth door - a "Do not exit!" door, what's more.  We lingered outside in the sun, while the glaring employees guarded the entrance.  I stayed on the perimeter of the now Black-Friday-like crowd, and priced out the Rootbeer and Cream Soda cases.  $3 for 48 cans?  Hmm, maybe I will buy some of these.  Pause.  Maybe this is all a plot to make us shop the Case Lot Sale--!

"Ok, you can come inside now."  Begrudgingly, they let us walk back to our carts.

There was an issue ringing up my purchases.  The register froze.  Daughter started crying; it was naptime.  A manager came over to reset the register.  Maybe it still hadn't woken up yet either, like the door sensors.

It was 9:41.  I heaved our case of Root Beer into my trunk.  Everyone in the car.  I drove home, loudly sing-songing to keep my Little One awake for the last mile.  Got home.  Put her in bed.  Put a PSA on Facebook to notify my neighbors of the Case Lot Sale.  Unloaded groceries.  

... Realized I had forgotten to buy the giftcard.

Deployment Journal - Day #65

Arrived back home today!  Positively giddy.  Beyond giddy, even - almost irrationally ecstatic.

I love everything.  My kitchen, my tea cabinet, my crummy carpet, my still-not-draining shower - it's all WONDERFUL.  Just driving my own car again is incredible.  The autonomy of being in your own place just can't be replicated, no matter how sweetly the collective world hosts you.  

Baby was on a high, too - I swear, she remembers this place, even after a month.  She squealed over her old toys and hysterically crawled everywhere, shrieking and giggling and babbling crazily.  Maybe my mood just rubbed off on her, but she was too excited to even drink her milk at bedtime. Unfortunately, 'happy' soon turned into 'hyper.'

Around 10 p.m., after wresting for a solid 45 minutes with her constant popping up and peering frantically around the room and trying to chatter and grab everything, while also trying to drink, I finally decided to relocate to her dim bedroom and feed her in the rocking chair, and see if she'd calm down.  

We settled into her rocking chair.  It's an old, sturdy rocker with flowers carved into the back - it was the same one that her daddy was rocked in, as a baby.

(Sidenote: Before this past month of constant travel, I rocked her before bed about 95% of the time, and I was honestly concerned how she'd do without her "rocking" routine during our weeks of little-to-no-routine. And thankfully, she did adapt ok, tho' it definitely took longer to get her sleepy each night without that chair.)

I had left the bathroom light on, so she could look around her room, and not be scared of going to bed in yet another new place. We sat down and I started to hum, and she cuddled against me and relaxed. 

But then, she jolted, sitting up abruptly.  She reached out and began tracing the flower pattern on the back of the rocking chair. She used to do this a lot, nearly every night.  But I never thought she'd remember that specific ritual!

Nope, she did remember and started cooing and stroking the pattern lovingly, talking to it, and glowing at me.

It warmed my heart.  Rather deeply.  I got a little teary, it's true.  And soon, she was yawning and rubbing her eyes, and soon went to sleep without another peep.  

I, on the other hand, hardly slept all night, I was so wired and elated.

... Blessed home.  We love it here.

Deployment Journal - Days #60-64

 

Deployment Journal - Day #59

It's tricky, growing up. 

My family has always been close.  Especially my mom and I.  I was her helper, the oldest girl, the consciencious one, the non-rebellious teenager.  We've almost always agreed... on almost everything.  So now, it's disorienting when I disagree or deviate.  We don't have an established dynamic for that.

How do I communicate that I need some space, without hurting feelings?  That I'm planning to wean my daughter sooner than Mom did, but I fully support what she did, too?  Or that I'm not as persuaded by that herbal remedy we were all so excited about, now that I've researched it more?  How do I convince my dad that I really don't need to be reminded to take my shower or refill my gas tank?  I don't want to shove them away.  I've seen kids who did that, and it hurt their well-meaning parents deeply.

Besides, it must be hard, after decades of parenting, to stop.  I know they mean well. They care so much.  But, I feel like it was easier for all of us to navigate adolescence.  They were aware of my rising desire for autonomy, back then.

And then, I look at my Little Girl, and wonder... how on earth will I do this?

Deployment Journal - Day #51-58

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



We spent the beginning of September in South Dakota, with great-grandparents.  After spending a career in the military, they bought and managed their own German restaurant.  And no one bakes better pasteries.

 

They don't seem their age.  Great-Grandma Deara knows almost more about computers than I do.  But, they purposely do a lot of their life the old-fashioned way.  We cut approximately one million tomatoes into salsa, turned several hundred cucumbers into pickles, cooked large batches of Summer Squash Soup, dried Dill and Parsley seeds, and  trimmed Geranium and Marigold blossoms.  We took long walks, ate simple food, and savored a lifestyle that is hard to find these days.  We worked steadily, but rhythmically.  It was relaxing.  I've never had work feel like that before.

Deployment Journal - Day #50

We became friends via Facebook messages. It was many months before we exchanged actual email addresses, but our relationship was already solidified.  Geographical distance and separate social circles allowed us to vent freely about our respective young-adult struggles.  Timezones usually kept our schedules from aligning, so we would swap long voicemails, usually recorded during our commutes or lunchbreaks.

 

 

Now, she lives in Canada, and I have a daughter.  Neither of us have the same co-workers anymore; I married into the military, and she traded politics for photography. 

 

 

A mixture of IM, Skype, Google Voice, email, and only the occasional phone call keep us close now.  But sometimes, if we're very lucky, we get to visit each other.

 

 

I chatter, and she snaps photos that look realer than life.  We eat cobbler, discuss clothing, brainstorm about travel, and laugh about the differences between girls and guys.

 

 

I told her that this trip was for her.  That I would come visit her new home, and we could explore together.  Go to the beach.  Scout out the malls.  Test the lighting in old buildings, for future photo shoots.  I would come to her this time - it was my turn.
 



 

But really, this trip was just as much for me.  It's truly hard doing life without my husband.  It's tough trying to stay close to him through brief, scheduled talks - in which you can't say much, either for security reasons or because you don't want to burden the other. 

 

Nothing can compensate for the lack of My Person.  However, there are few things as comforting as an old friend who knows you well, who prays for you specifically, who doesn't blink when you admit your flaws. 

 

And morale rose for both of us, as we inhaled ocean air, navigated new roads, and reminded each other of all the times God has been faithful so far in our lives; surely, He will help us through this, too.

Deployment Journal - Day #45-49