Some Things Never Change

A couple months ago while hanging out at the base pool, a friend and I observed how there seems to be a hotbed of close activity between members of the opposite sex and one specific location in the pool.

And this is the family pool I am speaking about.

We would sit a chuckle over why/how the idea of this kind of closeness would even enter their minds while kids splash around them.  Kids that aren't even theirs.  Are they that deprived?  Are they that oblivious to the 50 families, kids in swim diapers, games of Marco Polo, life guards every 25 meters, and the fact they are hanging out by the swim lanes...swim lanes that have people wearing goggles?  

Received a text yesterday from my friend:

Why is there always "that couple" at the pool?  I swear if it was adult swim they would be getting busy.  Guess where they are...The middle of the pool!!!  Some things never change.

Good to know they at least they had the propriety to not scar the children around them for life!  

Made me a bit sad to read that text because if it wasn't for this bleeping PCS, I know I would have been parked right next to her laughing about the couple who can't keep their hands off each other. But another part of me was happy, because it is a reminder that while my life has changed, it is true that some things will never change. People come and go at a military base, but that area of the pool will always be popular! 

Life goes on!

Ready, Set, DEAL!

It is an odd thing...moving. You are still you but in completely different surroundings.  You feel like everything should still be the same while living in chaos and with no routine.

Or am I the only family member that is expected to still be myself?

This is not intended to be a whine-fest or for me to complain.  This is simply my observation and not a poor-woe-is-me moment.  This is my life and I fully accepted my circumstances.

The kids are allowed to behave different.  The husband is allowed to adjust.  Even the dogs get a pass on behavior.  But I put on my AF spouse panties and get things back to normal ASAP.

Last week I had to "deal".  

• Deal with the movers.
• Deal with unpacking every box with the exception of the garage, which hubby was kind enough to take off my hands
• Deal with preparing breakfast, lunch, and dinner while unpacking boxes.
• Deal with going to the grocery store to prepare those meals.
• Deal with finding the grocery store.  And home improvement store.  And wholesaler.  
• Deal with curtains, pictures, and organization to get our house looking like home.
• Deal with unbrotherly sibling love.
• Deal with registering those brothers in school.
• Deal with walking our elderly dog at least 5 times a day since climbing the deck stairs is like Mt. Everest to him.
• Deal with taking other dog to the vet because the best time for an ear infection is smack dab in the middle of a move.  
• Deal with everyday chores:  laundry, bills, and begin cleaning the house.
• Deal with hubby's new work schedule which is pretty much sun up to sun down.  

It was a loooonnnnggg week.  I chose to deal with the majority of those issues all at once; seems the faster I can get our house put together the faster the other three humans in my house adjust which makes things easier on me.  Things get back to normal when momma hustles her booty.


My husband and boys did help tremendously...I was not alone in the unpacking.  But since I am COO of this house, all decisions pass by me. If I had curled into a ball and cried or not felt like doing anything, I think everyone would have freaked out: "What the hell is wrong with Mom?  What do we do?"

Now we can begin to live our lives again.  Well, maybe not we; rather, they begin to live their lives.  I will still be on "deal" mode until school begins.

And then I will be able to deal with the emotions of moving and begin to find my way once more.

Temporary Halt

Well, our time is here.  PSC time.  Please be patient for the next few weeks while I move my life.

Thanks,
Heidi

Be-ing

A friend of mine recently and joyfully welcomed home her husband after a year in Afghanistan.  She spent the last 12 months creating a daily routine for herself and their three kids.  A routine which created the groundwork for survival during the deployment.  This routine was her life preserver, something she clung to like a child with a blankie.  And just as said child would throw a tantrum when that blankie is taken away, my friend is set adrift on the sea of reintegration without her life preserver.

Oh, she has done this before.  This ain't her first rodeo.  But this time was different simply because the kids were different, or should I say, older.  A box of mac 'n cheese chased with a Blues Clues video wouldn't cut it this time around.  She had to deal with female teenage angst, male preteen uncertainties, and the youngest who would not let her out of his sight.

I could hear her sigh from all the way at my house, and we live two streets over.

The much beloved hubby can't understand the need for some continuity of the routine now that he is back.  He wants her to stay around him all the time.  But aha!  My friend is one smart cookie and knows that a bit of time apart, a bit of the old routine, is indeed a good and necessary thing for the mental stability of all.

Which explains why she is still parking her butt in the patio chair by the pool each weekday morning at 6am to watch swim practice, right next to me.  The thought of her, or her children, joining the base swim team two summers ago would have provoked laughter from all who know my friend, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and when daddy left a year ago, swim team is what kept them moving all summer long.  And now it is swim team that allows her to come up for air and give both her and her husband breathing room to begin the day.

I can sympathetically understand her husband's difficulty with rejoining a family who has a routine that did not/does not include him, but I have empathy for my friend who needs that time in the morning to gab with the girls, and begin the day with idle chatter instead of a bunch of questions concerning the day's schedule.

It is her time to just be.

Door to Door Moves...Why Have You Forsaken Me???

There is one thing as a military spouse that I have yet to successfully experience:  A door-to-door move.

It is not for lack of trying.  We have tried every stinkin' time, putting all our eggs into the "oh...we have plenty of on-base houses available" basket.  Due to many reasons, stemming from mouse turds all over the house (and I do mean ALL OVER) to opening the back door to find the neighbor's dog tied with a 12 foot rope, which gave the dog plenty of length to charge us and reach the door, we have never been able to pull this off, so are faced with one housing purgatory after another while waiting for housing that won't put our family in danger.

There was the time we lived in an apartment for one week before getting the call, a phone call we were told to expect in two months, to live on base.  Or the time we squatted with very generous family and friends for two months.  Or when we lived in TLF that did not accept dogs and paid $1000 in kenneling fees. And then the 300 sq. ft. studio hotel room that housed all of us, including the dogs for you guessed it, two months. Good times, good times.

I met a woman while stationed at Hanscom, a mother of 6 at the time, that always managed door to door moves.  Teach me oh wise one!  Teach me your ways!

We are currently doing our darnest to make that elusive door to door move happen this time 'round.  We have no back up plan.  We are living on the edge of sanity, trying to make all the parts fall into place.  Our short sale was approved (yay!), the inspection was not too stroke inducing as to scare us away from the property (whew!), and the VA appraisal looks good as well (yippee!).  My husband left today to begin his new assignment and to be present for all things house related.  Closing is set for the day before the truck is loaded with all our stuff here, which allows time for the house to be cleaned and flooring to be replaced before me, the boys, our dogs, and the U-Haul trailer arrive the next week.

Dear God,


I think I do a pretty good job not asking for material things.  I learned not to ask you for patience because you would give me something to be patient about (thanks Mom for that advice!), and I try to pray for others before thinking of myself.


But.


But this time, please let this happen safely and as planned so that:

• a) I don't fall apart at the seams
• b) I don't hate and curse the Air Force and all things military
• c)I don't unfairly punish those around me with my frustration
• d) I don't drink all day long

Have mercy on us, I beg you.

-H

Juggling: To work or not to work?

Part of independence is the ability to think for oneself and to make informed decisions 

At the time, my decision to become a stay at home mommy was not a very popular one, and in certain circles I can still feel the question of "why" lurking behind half smiles and the sudden silence that follows my admission to being a kept woman.

But the decision was mine and have become more and come comfortable with that choice as I age.  I happily found myself married to a dude that left that life decision up to me.  He was also kind enough to keep his grumblings at a low roar each month as he watched me write a check to pay my student loan, and now he averts his eyes from my giant Master's diploma where it hangs on our office wall, a remembrance of a life I once had and one he has paid off.

The decision was difficult and I grappled with the pros and cons up-to, through, and past my due date with my first born.  A military move three months after made returning to my job out of the question, since the commute from central Alabama to the panhandle of Florida would have been a doozy.  But no sooner had we settled in than the phone rang with a job offer.  I said no.  Boy could we have used the money.  The sale on our last house fell through one week before closing, so we were carrying a mortgage, the utilities, a baby, and on one less pay check than we had four months prior.  It hurt.  A lot.  So we tightened our belts and basically didn't have a life until our house sold a year later.  We survived and have continued to do so to this day.

In the beginning, I did feel like I not only let myself down by not trying to juggle all life had given me, but that I let down all the people who had ever believed in me or supported me...like I wasn't living up to my potential and settled for being "just a mom".  Then I had an epiphany and it was....So what.  So what if people thought that.  So what if I did let them down.  So what that I have that big ole piece of paper and not doing anything remotely related to the reason I earned it.  So what if others want to believe I settled.  So what.

And maybe everyone isn't judging me like I think they are, that it is all in my head.  And I have to admit sometimes I am not as confident with my kept woman status as I appear.  Doubt still peeks in every now and then to test my resolve.

Back in the fall, we met up with four other couples for dinner and to let the kids play.  While a normal suburban event, this was a first for me.  Why?  Because I was not only the only stay at home mom, but also the only one not in the military.  What are odds of this happening!  I was definitely out of my realm and was freaking out.  Very quickly I realized that I had it all wrong...they didn't have an issue with me, I had the issue with me.   Or connived the thought of them having an issue with me.  So to recap...it was my issue that I thought they would have an issue with my non-working non-militariness-es-es.

I have the ability to think for myself and make my own truths, as deluded and self righteous as they may be at times.  But I also hold fast and firm to the belief that the women's liberation movement assisted greatly in my successful life as an athletic trainer with football teams, and has also assisted me greatly in my successful decision to not work and be an independent dependent.  There are a lot of women out there that want it all; I used to be one of them.  I have nothing to prove but to myself, and life is too short to spend time learning how to juggle just to show others I can.

Frustration

Bills +  Accounts - Authorization = Frustration.

Dear Companies:

I am the lady that pays you every month.  I am on the account.  I realize I am not the account holder, which pretty much means I am worthless, I get that. Why you even have a place for secondary names on accounts is a mystery because it means squat.  It is a false title.  You try to make me feel important but you deny me.

I don't like you. 

The bigger mystery is when I want to pay my bill over the phone instead of writing the check or paying online and you tell me no.  Because I am not the primary account holder.  But I control the money in this house, see.

I am paying for crying out loud.  I am giving YOU money.  You just want ME to pay interest.

I don't like you. 

You make my life difficult and cause me to yell at my kids because the only time they want me is when I am on the phone and you keep me on the phone for a very long time making me feel worthless and worthlessness runs downhill. 

So my kids don't like you, either.  (We enjoy the blame game around these parts.)

I realize that everything should be in my name, but I don't make the money, I allocate it.  You wouldn't give me a pot to piss in because I averaged -$3,000 over the past ten years.
I right now I want to allocate my frustration as to why you have accounts holdersssss yet only one of us can make decisions about the account.  Take my money.  I beg you.  Take my money or you will lose our business.  And that's some good business.

I should charge you.  In fact, I will.  You owe me countless hours of my time back plus a 12 pack of beer as interest for pain and suffering.

With all the civility I can muster,
Heidi