Deployment Journal - Day #202

Now we twitch between rushing around trying to do everything we meant to do across the last half year, and simply not caring and letting him come home to a messy, normal home.  Part of me wants to do everything in advance of his coming home, so we can just lie around (and so he can be very impressed with me.)  But, part of me just wants him to come home, and have him help do all this.  *grin*  

I feel a mix of emotions.  I'm nervous about reintegration.  I think we've stayed close, emotionally.  I feel like we've stayed connected.  We sure have tried.  But, we still haven't lived together or done life together for ages.  Little One has doubled in age, and many details from his world in particular have been veiled from us for months.  I don't know if he's been shot at; I don't know if he's mentally different.  I know he'll be jetlagged.  I know he's psyched to come home and we can't wait to have him home.  I know the euphoria will fade.  I just don't know how things will settle after that.

Before Daughter was born, I felt similarly anxious. Change was coming; adjustment would have to happen - but I wasn't sure how to picture any of it.  

And Husband wisely remarked, "It'll probably be like when we were first married."  
"But, that was horrible!" I winced.  "I don't want to do that again!"  
"Well, ok - but basically our old normal may go away -- but, if we wait long enough, there will be a new normal... It will come.  We just need to outlast the icky middle phase.  And communicate along the way, and not take it personally if we or the other person doesn't feel what we expected."

So... since I haven't been able to talk to him much lately, this is my game plan.  Lifted from our old game plan.  Wish me luck.

Because I don't say it enough...

Dear Husband: Thank you for always making time for me - even when you have to sacrifice sleep to do so. You are truly the best husband on earth. I miss you so, and can't wait 'til our talks aren't over the internet anymore  XO. ~ Your Girl

Deployment Journal - Day #201

WE HAVE A RETURN DATE.

And I cried.  He told me late one night, when we were able to talk, and I couldn't sleep half the night.  

He's coming home.  

It's a thought I haven't really let myself think.  It's been too crippling, too huge, to ever gaze at large portions of time.  

Of course, he's always been "coming home someday" - but, I've been wary of counting days.  Seems like it just slows time even more, when you do that.  And my Little One has no appreciation of time; I mean, if there's even a 30 second delay between me suggesting that she drink/eat, and when the food actually appears, she comes unglued.  So... we function in the short-term around here.

But now.  He's coming home.  And sooner than I'd braced for.  Right on schedule.  (When does that ever happen?!)

I totally used today's entire morning naptime/productivity window to order homecoming supplies.  And I cried.  And I stretched my arms and legs and toes and fingers obsessively, to try to ease the crazy, nervous excitement in my body.

And then, I started worrying that something would happen to him on his journey home.  Heh.  Naturally.

But, we still went to the Commissary and bought ingredients for pot roast.  And suddenly became very, very productive.  

Morale just rose, like, fifty points.

What does the jet do?

After working at it for several weeks, Rianna has figured out how to mimic the sound of the jets flying overhead; she gargles her own spit. It's a perfect imitation. So cute.

#thingsonlyaparentappreciates #lifeonbase #militarykid

Deployment Journal - Day #200

It is amazingly surreal to type "Day #200."  Has it really been that long?  I mean, it feels that long.  Longer, even.  But, it's still amazing to think... 200 days.  Wow.  No wonder I'm ready to be done.

Here lies today's disaster.  In an effort to be slightly-too-industrious, I headed to the commissary for a quick errand, quite confidently thinking that I'd turned off the burner reheating our pasta.

And y'know those smoke alarms that go off when I saute onions?  Well, they didn't go off when our house filled with smoke.  Ugg.  I don't know if the pan is salvageable.  It is so unbelievably burnt.  

I had the presence of mind to put the pan out in the garage to cool - where the billowing smoke wouldn't (ironically) set off the smoke detectors, now that I was home (and not in the mood for one more annoyance.)  I set the pan on our straw doormat, because I was pretty sure that if the scorching hot pan touched the ice-cold pavement, something would crack forever.  Probably the pan.

Also, it made me feel slightly calmer to begin cleansing the house, with the evil pot out of sight.

I put the groceries away.  I made guacamole for dinner.  We ate an entire bowlful.  Needed to use those avocados anyhow, heh.  And Little One loved it, yay.  She patted my head at one point, as if to comfort me.  Actually, turned out she was just grabbing at my hairclip, but hey.  It felt comforting.

After she was in bed, I went out to investigate the pot, which had been crackling loudly like a bowl of nuclear rice crispies.  It was cool now.  I sighed, took the above photos, and picked up the pot.  The mat came up with it.

... The pot had melted our straw mat to itself.  Didn't even know that could happen.

Deployment Journal - Day #199

Ever feel like there's this set amount of time in which you inevitably, unconsciously procrastinate, even while staring at your screen, with fingers on the keyboard, before you actually start writing?  

Lately, it takes me a consistent two trips to the kitchen, thirteen or so random YouTube videos, twenty minutes of websurfing, and (lately) one ice cream bar before words start coming.  It's ridiculous.  The clock needs to read at least 10:30 before I start making progress.

Also, I may be the most discontented person out there.  When I need to write a book review, all I want to do is blog.  But, when I sit down to blog, I want to clean the kitchen.  Shower.  Organize a closet.  Practice piano.  Do yoga.

Anything except what I'm supposed to be doing.  Heh.

This is truly a testament to my sin nature.

True Life

Deployment Journal - Day #197

I feel much more in control of life at certain moments.  Like when my sink is empty.  And when I'm pulling out of the driveway, with snacks and toys and supplies and a happy child, on time.  Or when I'm methodically vacuuming the carpet.

* * *

Heath bars are amazing.  I'd totally forgotten them until I ate a Daim bar (roughly the Swedish equivalent) at World Market the other day.  And then, I rushed to the BX, and bought a whole bag of teeny-tiny Heath bars.  Heh.

* * *

Watching old TV shows (Dick van Dyke, I Love Lucy, Andy Griffith) make me feel insecure.  How DO those women keep such perpetually clean living rooms?!

* * *

I'm so grateful for voicemail.  And hot showers.  And that Little One survived her test-babysitting (only ten minutes of crying, and then she settled.)  And I got to fill up our gas tank without a crying baby.  Also, for naps.  And chapstick.  And waterproof boots.

Deployment Journal - Day #196

Things I wonder as I go through my day:

How do other moms of one child amuse their children during long, solitary drives?

Will these new Iron Vitamin Drops stain my newly whitened cloth diapers?  Permanently?

Where exactly do you learn how to organize the stuff that you don't know how to organize...?

Who invented Marshmallows?  

What exactly is my attentive, inquisitive, perpetually-gazing-at-me little daughter taking away from my behavior?  Please tell me she doesn't notice my nail-biting until age 2?  (Doubt it.  Must kick habit right now.)

Why can't putting fresh sheets on a bed be more like the morning scene in Disney's Cinderella (birds, songs, airy bedding) and less like putting an elephant in pajamas?

On Leaving My Child With Another Caregiver

So, I totally have what my old pastor calls "Paralysis of analysis."  I get stuck, parrying dilemmas in my mind.  Anxiety rises, I second-guess my instincts, and then I kick myself for being so contradictory and stressed about common situations and problems!

Earlier this week, my ladies' Bible Study posted an event to their Facebook page: "Learn how to pre-cook meals for a month!"

Now this is on my list.  My "Do 101 Things in 1001 Days" List (tho' my list only has 66 items on it so far, doh! ... But, I've still started doing some of them. Go me.)  

The general idea is that you cook a massive amount of food, one weekend a month, freeze it, then consume it throughout the month, thus decreasing daily meal prep/clean up time.  And boy, do I need to decrease our meal prep/clean-up time.  I swear, I spent 4 hours a day (on good days!) cooking from scratch and then scrubbing my scratch off my pots and pans.  Also, this doesn't include the meal planning and shopping hours, either.  Evidently, those are illimitable.

So, I get all excited about learning from another woman who does this routinely.  And then, I notice that kids can't come to the event.  Well darn, I can't go then.  Why, you ask?  Becaaaaause Little One doesn't have a babysitter here in our home state, because we've been gone so much across the past seven months that (a) I never sought one out, and also because (b) she's a little freaked out by all the change that's occurred during her wee life and (c) her super freaked-out responses to the last several times I've tried to leave her with a sitter/stranger/Sunday-School-teaching-grandma/ANY OF ANY KIND OF NOT-MOMMA has traumatized us both much, much more than I ever expected.

Three months ago, I was blithe and optimistic about the resilience of children, and how "if you just don't give in/bail them out/keep visiting the Sunday School classroom, they'll adjust to anything just fiiiiiiine."  

Now, I'm genuinely unsure.  And quite gunshy.  And so is she.

Thus, when a nice neighbor, who has a daughter nearly the same age, (and both girls seem to get along great)  saw my "Wish I could come, but must stay with child" reply on the Facebook page and promptly offered to watch my daughter so I could go... I balked.  Mentally froze.  Completely.  Wanted to accept.  Wanted to decline.  Wished I'd never considered going in the first place.  Cursed my public post on their Facebook page,  etc.

I don't want to be one of those parents who is all like, "Oh, Precious can't stay with anyone except Grandmarmee!"  Really.  I don't.

But, I also swore she'd watch zero TV (that was before fingernail clipping failed) and I would not worry if she was slow to hit milestones (this was before the wide-eyed doctor informed me that she was in the 3rd percentile for weight) and I would chuckle calmly if she did life in a different order (yet, I found myself calling the dentist recently, in a near panic, because her THREE YEAR OLD molars were appearing before her front teeth were in - "Is this normal?!!!")

So.  Not advocating that wannabe parents everywhere plan on deserting their principles.  (She still sleeps in her own bed, and ask nicely for "more," sits at the table while eating, plays by herself routinely, and isn't allowed to hit.  There are limits, I promise.)  But, this whole "Leave her with other people" hurdle has just about given me an ulcer.

After 36 hours of secretive fretting - feeling self-conscious that I WAS so nervous... trying to talk myself out of it, etc. I finally chided myself into proceeding to the "SOLVING" phase of thought, and it promptly occurred to me:  "You should explain to your nice neighbor that you're nervous.  And that Little One hasn't done so well with new caregivers thus far.  And can we maybe try a 45-minute trial run, before the multi-hour event?"

After procrastinating about four more hours, I called her.  Explained.  She was totally understanding and thought my "trial run" plan was a capital idea.  

Good.  I can go pick up my prescription.  That'll take about 25 minutes.  And spare little one from more germs.  Perfect.

And I started breathing normally again.

... Why do I make small things so huge?  Particularly within parenting?  This ranked right up there with "Why do my cloth diapers smell like ammonia again?" - which was the other half of today's worry marathon.  Heh.

Going to go drink a large glass of cold milk now.

Deployment Journal - Day #194

I know I've been suppressing emotions.  I can feel it.  I'm more level, more stoic, more annoyed by anything emotional (music, concerned/inquisitive people, beauty, memories, photographs).  I'm coping better than two months ago, but I can tell there are things deep inside me - and I'm not even sure what they are, but they're there.  I'm a little nervous they'll all spill out when he is home.  I really don't want that.  Could be gory.

So, the other night, I was washing dishes and decompressing from a tough day when the thought spontaneously hits me:

He's coming home soon.  He's going to be home with us again soon.

And I started bawling.  Grip-the-sink, hang-on-and-bend-those-knees BAWLING.  For about three minutes.  

But, what a relief!  I quickly wiped the tears away afterwards, gasping and laughing confusedly.

Well... at least that's less I'll need to cry when he arrives... right?

Truthfully, I'm not sure how I'll react to his homecoming.  I remember vividly imagining, as a kid, running dramatically to reunite with my old friends.  (We moved a lot.)  But, in reality, I'd always just answer the door with a big grin.  In my head, I was running.

Part of me wants to be openly weepy and hysterically elated, like those homecoming videos you see on the local news, and part of that isn't sure if that's "me."  It never has been before.

Then again, I've never been separated from my husband for this long before.  

I guess we'll just see how it goes.  I'm trying to be fine with whatever reaction, however picturesque or anticlimactic.  

I'm too self-conscious not to care at all about appearances, heh.  But, I care a lot less than I normally do.  

I just want him home now.

Deployment Journal - Day #193

There is so much I don't get done every day.  I meant to send that birthday card, wanted to wash the bedding, vowed to do yoga no matter what came up, juice the oranges before they rot, organize, vacuum, blog.  At some point every night, I have to just quit.  Soak the dishes, walk up stairs, lie down.  

Need to finish that photobook.  Clean up those files.  Scrub the toilet.  Write that darn book review.  Reply to nine ignored emails.  

The list isn't finite.  It has no end.  

I must still think it does.  I keep trying to reach that end.

* * *

Sign language is revolutionary for Little One.  She learned new signs somewhat instantly, implementing them immediately and forevermore.  My job is to deduce which new sign she needs to learn.  I.e. What current lack of communication/sign is the biggest frustration in her world.  

So far, our most successful identification of what she was trying to say occurred when I taught her the sign for "Music."  

Oh my, this kid loves music.  Her mobile, which plays Brahms.  The toy phone, with a song button.  The musical cardboard books from Grammy.  The song she wants me to sing, while changing her diaper.  The nursery rhyme game she wants to play.  The radio.  Recordings of Daddy singing to her.

Because "Music" can signify a few dozen options around here, it's a game, trying to deduce exactly which form of music she wants.  

But, she's pretty good at indicating.  Signing "Music" while pounding my laptop lid, then signing "Sleep?"  (Lullabies)  Signing "Music' while trying to clicking laptop mouse.  (Means: YouTube.)  Signing "Music" then wriggling all her fingers above her head and squealing?  (I WANT TO PLAY THE PIANO.)

Her mental economy is simple right now.  She takes life one need and desire at a time.  She still confuses needs and desires (don't we all?) but she is infinitely better than I am at simply going from one to the next.  She sleeps until she's rested, and then she wakes and wants food.  She nurses until she's satisfied, then plays piano for a while.  

It's a good approach to life.

Deployment Journal - Day #192

Today, the toilet got fixed for real.  This was the third visit from a repairman, and this guy finally just installed a whole, new, shiny, metal hose.  Hoorah.

However, the garage door failed for the 3rd day in a row, for a completely new reason:  It was frozen to the ground.  So, when you pressed the button and it tried to open, the ceiling runner would bend and groan and started ripping off the walls.  So, I stopped pushing the button, and called Maintenance, a little wide-eyed.

They were not sympathetic.  
"Well, we're not sure when we can get to you--"
"Oh, uhm, I'm trying to GO somewhere and I kinda can't leave my house until you--"
"Ok, well maybe we can get you in today?  We just had an emergency call from another resident."
"Well, my garage door runner just ripped partially off the ceiling."
*long pause*  "Ok, we'll do you second," he conceded.
I smiled weakly, recalculating my day while dragging Little One back out of her carseat.  "Thanks."
"Will you be home during the next two hours?"
*my own long pause*  "Uhm, yes.  Evidently, I can't leave.  Because the garage door--"
Oh yeah, yeah, yeah - ok, we'll be there as soon as we can."

I hung up, chuckled, and thought, "Morons!"  Then chided myself for silent name-calling.

The Maintenance Dudes are actually quite a bit more competent than their dispatcher.  So they told me to boil some water, (my gosh, are we having a baby?!) and then we poured tubfuls down the front and back of my garage door to free us.  It was quite simple, and I could have done it myself.  I could not, however, have re-rigged the tension and cables and chains that got messed up when I first pushed the button.

So we were all hanging out in the garage for quite a while.  I couldn't resist asking, "Don't you have best practices for this?  I mean, what do the bases up in Alaska do?  It's much colder there - do their garage doors all freeze shut?"

"Dunno.  We don't make a lot of long-distance calls to find out.  Too 'spensive."

Life is humor.

Deployment Journal - Day #191

These are the two photos I sent to Husband after I found he told me that our mystery plumbing valves are out in a closet, in our garage.  Counter-intuitive, no?  I mean, I'm not a plumber, but I can't think of a less logical place to put a lever that needs to be rapidly accessed to stop massive flooding.  Heh.

So thankful for digital photos, and the ability for him to coach me from 7000+ miles away, via email.

r

Now, first I couldn't figure out how to turn the little diamond-shaped valve.  Turns out, there's a unique tool you have to use.  

Husband knew about the tool.  

Second, the valves are mislabeled.  (The "Bath No 2" valve does NOT connect to Bathroom #2.  Furthermore, the "Master Bath Toilet" does not connect to our Master Toilet, because we don't have a Master Bathroom.  =)  Nor does the "Master Bath Toilet" valve connect to the bathroom nearest, or even on the same floor, as our Master Bedroom.  Ironic, eh?) 

Husband didn't know about the inaccurate labels.

I'm totally going to write on the wall in permanent marker. Kindly spare future inhabitants some of our grief.

... I finally got the toilet valve closed which means the leaking finally stopped for the first time in four days.  Hallelujah.  I ate a Haagan Daas bar, and started a load of sopping, messy towels.  Soon they will be clean and fluffy again.  And eventually, my toilet will work again, too.  The repairman will come.  Someday.  I have faith.

I'm officially paranoid about ever renting a one-bathroom house, however.

Deployment Journal - Day #190

We're slowly crawling to our feet again.  We've slept a little, eaten a little, cleaned a little, unpacked a little.  Nothing is done, but most of it is started.  It is slow progress with a little one, I tell you.  Her favorite game is removing items.  We're working on putting them back where they belong - clearly, the less interesting game for both of us.

I've set the smoke detectors off four times in a week.  Pretty sure it's their fault, not mine.  Every time they go off, there is no smoke - just hot oil, usually sauteing veggies.

Today, when I was frying bacon, they went off.  I promptly turned off the burner, threw open doors and windows, then rushed towards the smoke detector with a towel in my hand and Baby on my hip.

I waved and jumped and flung that towel back and forth, trying to make the incessant screeching beeping stop.

And Little One guffawed like you wouldn't believe.  She wanted her own towel to wave.  I gave her one.

Cutest tiny mimic on earth, that one.

Deployment Journal - Day #189

There's so much information to exchange during each precious phone call.  Logistics, updates, stories from our world, stories from his, hopes, dreams, plans, finances, when we'll next talk, people dynamics, health, family news.  

Sometimes this rapid exchange of mundane details is laborious, but often it's comforting.  His knowing that I just changed the air filters and emailed his grandparents is trivial, sure - but, it helps ease the feeling he's missing our life.

Seems we always forget to tell each other certain things, though; and even when we talk for an hour or more, it's never long enough to feel quite normally connected.

However, Little One has embraced this new rhythm.  Whenever my phone rings, she yells exuberantly, "Hiiiiii, Daaaaaaa!!!"  

She's crestfallen when it's not him.

Deployment Journal - Day #188

You know that Ripping-A-Bandage-Off-A-Deep-Wound feeling?  That necessary agony you try to quell by convincing yourself that it's necessary?  Yeah, that was this morning.

First, we had to wake up.  (Don't even question the immensity of this.)

Second, we had to be back to another doctor's office by 8:00 again.  And it was -6 degrees.

Third, today's appointment involved several blood tests for Little One.  They needed slightly more than 4 cc's.  Out of an itsy-bitsy, teeny-tiny, baby vein (sorry, Sweetie - my genetics, not your dad's!)  

Also, we had to wait for 55 minutes in cruel anticipation of her blood draw.  Combine terrified adrenaline with no breakfast, a squirming toddler who cannot leave your lap, (filthy floors, ew!) fast-forward two hours, and you have me, right about when they finally called her name.

She was beyond a trooper.  After two tourniquets, twenty minutes of debating and poking and hesitating, they summoned this elderly, Asian gentleman - the best phlebotomist on earth.  

We're now officially way past naptime, but she's just looking at everyone inquisitively wondering why we're all so tense.

He finally found a vein.  A microscopic one.  I had to hold her on my lap, clamped between my legs.  I tried to distract her and make her look away by dramatically waving scissors and rubber bands.  He got into her vein finally.  There was digging involved; her eyes shot open and tears began pouring out.  Her whole body started quivering, and she let out these out jerky, little, punctured cries, and I tried to soothe her while also trying to restrain her.

The tears kept rolling and rolling, but she was so brave.  She whimpered - most adults would have done far more - but turned her head against my chest and bit her little lip, and held totally still.

The whole lab applauded when she was finished.  

"What a trooper!"
"My gosh, I've never seen a kid take it so well!"
"How did you train her to DO that?"

Wish I could take credit, but she was born like this.  When we'd bulb syringe out her nose, as a newborn, and practically waterboard her with nasal saline to stave of Reflux attacks, she would cry and cry - but, always tried to smile at us while simultaneously sobbing.  It was kinda amazing.  

Maybe she sensed our approval, and maybe that has fed her desire to be brave, but I don't want her to ever feel like she has to be too brave.  She's just a wee little girl.

Still, she seriously has been like this since Day #1.  I swear.  Husband will confirm it.

But, they wouldn't believe me.

Things I've Learned As a Mom

Some of my Mothering lessons were learned long ago.  

The understanding that "Lack of sleep is miserable, but not crippling unless you get all dramatic about it" was solidified before I was fifteen.  College etched it into my psyche permanently.

The enduring need for flexibility, music, the ability to rework a schedule for the 28th time today, and keeping paper towels within arm's reach at all times... I knew all about those, too.

But, I've learned several new ones this last year.  This is not meant to be derogatory, or even snarky.  I love my daughter more than life, and wouldn't trade her for anything, and I adore caring for her.  

However, I care for her better when I observe the following rules:

- Don't sit down to do a project.  You will stare at it, and work slowly, and probably fall asleep.  You may never get up again.  Or rather, you will get up - because your Little One(s) will need you - but you will resent it much more than if you'd kept standing.

- If you only have ten minutes to sleep, don't.  It is less painful to walk outside barefoot in sub-zero temperatures than it is to be woken up ten minutes into Way-Past-Exhausted sleep.

- Remember that "You won't feel like doing it later either."  This is a key lie I tell myself: "I'll come back to it after ABC is done."  No, probably I won't.  Probably then, I'll decide to do DEF first.  Or GHIJKLMNOP.  Pretty much anything else on earth than that task which I'm honestly, absolutely avoiding.  Don't sugar coat your avoidance.  Simply knock the task out, as fast as possible, so it can stop bugging you.

- Wait long enough; it will pass.  Some days are lost causes by 1 p.m.  Maybe just accept it.  Don't give up, or scream, or despair.  Just get to the end of today, and let it go.  It's not worth the emotional loss of analyzing at 10 p.m. why your life is always so disorganized and How do all those other women do this?!

Go to bed.  Try again tomorrow.  

It may or may not be better than today, but at least you'll be a tad more rested.  Maybe.

Deployment Journal - Day #186

No longer feeling capable.  Roadblocks everywhere.  My whole world is a chicken-or-egg dilemma.

I can't take the trash out, because the trashcan is still under a MASSIVE snowdrift.  K, fine - I'll pile bags in garage.

I can't even make cereal because the milk still hasn't thawed.  (Brilliant pre-freezing plan FAIL.)

I can't even hang a shirt on a hanger before Little One is up the stairs.  She was not this fast two months ago.

I can't sleep, because she can't sleep, because we're in another new place.  So she wakes a million times a night to make sure I'm still here, and then sleeps during the day while I try to unpack.  

And the toilet is leaking and the garage door won't open.  And I don't know where the water valve is.  

No, it is not on the back of the toilet.

... And there are many more things that are entirely impossible to solve, but I'm too tired to remember them.  =(  

We may never get unpacked.  Or eat.  Ever again.  

G'night.

Deployment Journal - Day #185

I realized something about myself today.  Relief makes me like things.  Even somewhat irrationally.

Oh, Burger King!  How I love you, tho' you be the sole source of drive-thru food for miles!

My trashcan liners!  MINE! Here, I will put a new one in MY trashcan!  THERE!  I love lining trash cans!!!

Stairs!  Climbing stairs is the BEST.  Hauling suitcases up them is fun, too!  YAY!  We're hauling, we're hauling, we're hauling, we're hauling!

Isn't it AMAZING to be HOME, Little One?!

Conversely, fear makes me dislike things that I would otherwise really enjoy.

Like classroom learning.  And marriage.  And parties.  And trying new things.  Like rockclimbing and sardines.

When, for whatever reason, fear levels are lower, I like everything more.  Proportionally so.  Thus, when fear levels are nill - say, I'm back in my own house with my own space and my own schedule and my own choices and no one observing or judging me... I'm elated.  It feels like I can do life again.

It's amazing to be home.

Day #184 - The Journey Home

When I first booked our tickets to fly from the warm place to the cold place, I thought an 8:00 p.m. arrival time would be fine.  It was the only straight-through option (and those are kinda a big deal to we moms traveling alone with squirmy toddlers) and the weather is usually fine at night in January and it'd be easier for one of my working friends to pick us up anyhow.  Also, Little One wasn't going to bed until around 10 p.m. when I booked the flight.

What a miscalculation.

Evil Storm Gandalf pounded the area for two days beforehand (I kept telling myself that it would be "over" by the time our travel day arrived, but he held out longer), and Little One's bedtime had moved to 7 p.m.  Bad stuff.

I lived in denial until we arrived at the airport, and my HAIRDRESSER called.  (Yes.  I live in a very small town.)  She knew I was flying in (I had a haircut scheduled for the following day) and urged me not to try to get from the city to my home that night.  I bit my lip and wondered if she was being paranoid.  I know these roads can get really, really bad, but they never have in the last two years.

She called back, about ten minute later, having just listened to her "battery radio" and heard the newest road closures, wreck reports, and weather updates.  She told me to stay near the airport.

Crud.

Meanwhile, Little One had fallen asleep two minute from the airport, so we were loitering and strategically dragging our feet in the parking garage.  Finally, we rushed inside (I had issues unhooking the carseat.  Hate carseats.), went to the bathroom, (naturally Nature called at the worst time possible) said our farewells, got through security (barely - so awkward - this was my least impressive attempt ever).  Aided by a nice Santa-Clause-like TSA agent named Charlie, we made it through with only one bag getting re-inspected (who knew that kids' books containing batteries would set off sensors?!) and rushed off to our gate, massively disorganized.  I spent the whole time huffing and trying to figure out what I'd forgotten.

Keys, ID, Ticket, Child... have those - how bad can it be?

While in line to board, I called my friend who was supposed to pick us up.  I only had two minutes, and rapidly told her not to come - we'd stay in a hotel.

"Oh, I'm already halfway there - I left early," she replied.

Crud.

I had to board.  Little One was crying.  It was almost bedtime already.

The nicest angel sat next to us.  She was a grandmother of seven.  She looked up hotels and rates and road condition reports for me, with her free Wi-Fi pass.  She let Little One play with her Kindle, dressing up the kitty and reading virtual books.  Little One figured out the touchscreen gestures instantly.  Scary.  We fed her ice chips and limes and tried to keep her quiet, which worked until the last 20 minutes when she finally just howled and flailed and lost her mind.  (We were now an hour past bedtime.)

Trudging as rapidly as possible down the corridor with a weeping child, I decided we had to stop and change her diaper.  This was when I realized I had 3 remaining diapers to last until we got home.

Awesome.

We met our faithful friend and began discussing options.  I still didn't want to stay in town.  She didn't want to say "We need to."  She's super sweet like that.  But, reason dictated that we really ought to stay.  It was nasty out there.

After an hour of gathering baggage, trying install that (dang) carseat (in another new vehicle, with different hooks and tethers) in sub-zero temperatures, trying to console my still wailing child, we headed cautiously down the road to our hotel.  Just those three miles were scary.

We got to the hotel, but Little One panicked if she lost sight of me.  Naturally.  We were now almost three hours past bedtime and she was thoroughly traumatized by this day.  So I tried to carry her across the glassy ice, along with my shoulder bag, while wearing the stupidest, slippery-est flats EVER.  We almost died in that parking lot.

I got inside, we quivering tried to check in, and turned out - they needed a different ID than my military ID.

Back across the parking lot.

I tried leaving Little One with my friend, deciding that frostbite would be worse than emotional upset.  I may have predicted that wrong.  Frenzy doesn't even capture her reaction.

But, we got checked in and limped upstairs to our room.  Providentially, somehow I had packed all the crucial things into one bag.  That was God's influence alone, since I must have moved a dozen items from bag to bag, right before leaving my parents' house.  I couldn't even remember what was where, but we hauled up one bag - the one that I knew contained her special blankets, my laptop, my phone charger, and who-knows-what else.

And we never needed any other bag, so Praise De Lord.  (Also, when you sleep in your clothes, eat cookies for dinner, and have no toiletries, it does cut down on needs.)

It took poor Little Kitten almost an hour of weeping to fall asleep - after we figured out how to assemble the playpen, which the hotel thankfully offered us.  I got online, and talked to Husband.  Poor husband knew none of what had happened.  Somehow, it helped just to have internet again.  Funny how internet access is a security.

We slept better than I expected.  In between two nursing sessions, I probably got 4 hours of sleep.  YES.

There was a paltry continental breakfast in the morning, and we lingered, kinda scared of the road, but still (yes, this was desperate) hoping to get me back in time for my noon haircut.  Ha.  We drove about 35 MPH the whole way home.  We lived.

... I ended up moving my haircut back to 12:30, because we arrived on my driveway at 11:20; it was covered in a foot of snow, and... I deduced that we could not leave again in ten minutes.

We did, however, nurse and change diapers, find boots and coats, unload the car and leave again in 35 minutes.  GO US.

Between the adrenaline of driving on terrible ice, and having eaten no solid food in 18 hours, I was shaking so badly by the time I got to the salon, I could barely climb the stairs.  I bought a bag of Doritoes and gobbled it like a crazy person.  My gracious hairdresser didn't comment, only smiled.  I eventually began telling her about the past 24 hours.

Little One must have remembered the salon, because she was suddenly at ease and cheerful again.  Everyone there loves her.  Also, I'd brilliantly thought to grab her a snack too.  Food makes a huge difference.

And my hair got cut and styled.  I felt human again.

We drove home, over the crazy ice again, and collapsed thru our doorway.  I pulled some meat and milk and butter and bread from the freezer, put Baby down for a nap, and fell onto the couch.  We were home.  Barely.

Deployment Journal - Day #183

Blogging as a mom is hard.

Blogging in general is hard, for the same reasons that going to a gym is hard.  Even if you love it, even if you love the results, stuff comes up.  Co-workers invite you out for Indian food, right when you scheduled a swim.  You get a sinus infection.  You have to work late.  Your girlfriend needs to talk.

Then, those time you sit down and actually intend to blog... you can't remember why.  Inspiration?  Whoooosh.

I'd figured out my own ways of circumventing most of these life-ish obstacles before becoming a mom.  But now, there are new obstacles.  Namely a profound lack of time, and - within that profound lack of time - a agonizing lack of schedule.

Now hear me out - I have her on a schedule.  I believe in schedules.  But, I also believe in growth spurts and teething and neurological developments and no one told me that these things are diametric to scheduling, until after she was born and my "We will have a scheduled life!" ideals delusions were firmly cemented into my already-exhausted brain.

Thus, when I use the first half of her 60 minute nap to eat, shower, dress, and turbo-clean .000067% of my house - intending to use the second half to compose/post a blog - inevitably, she only naps for 40 minutes that day.  No joke.  Every single time.

(And no, I'm not opposed to letting her cry!  But sometimes, she's just awake early.  Sometimes, I just guessed wrong.  Sometimes "letting her cry" doesn't solve much!)

(Yes, I'm being preemptively defensive here.  Pretty sure the whole world is critiquing my parenting these days.  Sorry if you're a merciful reader and were not thinking corrective thoughts just then.)

So anyhow... it's tough trying to blog and be a young mom.  Also, to figure out what to say, and how/if to say it.  Or if it's just the sleep-deprivation talking.

Thus, honest blog posts like this one make me cry.  Because I relate.  And thank Heaven I'm not alone in my confused mullings.  It's such a new season, being a mom.  It's like all the usual mile markers are gone.

It's also possible we just need more sleep.

The Sixth Month

So I planned to resume blogging after my funk month.  But evidently, that's an utterly silly idea when one is staying with one's family, during the holiday season.  As is writing (much less sending) a Christmas letter.  So, here's my update, in blurbed form.

* * *

It's gotten harder to talk to Husband.  At first, we lacked topics beyond "What did you eat today?" and "Baby  learned a new skill" and that got depressing fast.  We eventually found our groove, discussing dreams and decor and vacations ideas.  

But then, I found myself increasingly verbally guarded, unenthused, ho-hum.  I was genuinely excited, waiting for his calls - but after our initial "Hi!" I'd kinda retreat emotionally.  I couldn't figure out why.  Until I talked to another wife of a deployed member, and she mentioned the same experience.

"It's like emotional rationing, or something!" I tried to explain.  "I'm scared to over-invest.  And I feel too tired to overcome it..."
"YES!" She exclaimed, "Exactly!"

At least, I'm not alone.  I promptly explained my confused realization to Husband.  That helped.  A tad.

* * *

Shortly before Christmas, we got the happiest news of this year: Husband was accepted for a prestigious masters degree program.  He'll start next fall.  This means he won't deploy again for 18 months.  This means we get to live somewhere we had hoped to live.  This is a minor miracle.  We're thrilled.

Downside: We're moving a year earlier than I expected.  

I spent about two days, giddy with glee.  Then, I crashed into deep mourning over leaving our beloved home.  And Little One's room, with the mint green, sponged duckies, and our garden box, with its finally fertile soil, and all the memories... 

To overcompensate, I obsessed over shopping for our next rental home ridiculously early.  Which is impossible.

* * *

There is truly nothing like parenting to help me understand how I want the lesser, but more immediate, more familar things in life - even when God is trying to give me better ones.  

Baby howls, then crumbles in furious despair when I try to give her a better toy, or remove her current one so I can fix it, or show her a new way to play with it.  She doesn't understand.  She only knows the toy isn't in her hands anymore.  And she wants it back.

I'm just like that.

* * *

Pretty sure that God gives us time for all we need to do, each day.  But, maybe not enough time for Hulu, too.

* * *

I was trying to explain the fatigue of deployment to my mother, one night.  "It's just so weighty, so heavy," I grasped for words.  "The weight of decisions, even the little ones - just the weight of knowing I have to do many things alone, the weight of wondering if I'm parenting Little One right, the weight of being scared of burglars, of falling and hitting my head and having no one know I'm hurt, of wrecking our car, of never sleeping again, of reintegration..."  

Some of it is my brain just going nuts.  But, some of it is valid.  I feel like I have no margin for mistakes, no one to offset my own flaws and missteps.  

People think the worry about KIAs is what messes with you most.  But, I block that out pretty well.

Instead, my brain gets terrified of locking my keys in our car.

* * *

It was great to be back in civilization for a bit.  But, I found myself wary of parking lots.  Maybe we've lived in Rural America too long, where strange men routinely tip their cowboy hats to me and wordlessly help load groceries into my trunk, then stride away politely; it was a shock to be back in an environment where no one smiled, but everyone stares.  Menacingly.

Felt like I couldn't get Little One and I into our car fast enough.  So weird.  Paranoia doesn't begin to capture it.  I know in my head that everyone in the metropolis is NOT a creeper, but gosh - hard to tell.

Also, the world was SO COLORFUL.  I'm clearly not used to mass marketing anymore.

* * *

I have never missed my husband this much before.  Not when we were engaged, not as newlyweds, not during previous separations.  I physically ache for him.  Inexpressibly.

... CAN NOT WAIT for him to be home.