hi all, please check out my talented friend Hammer’s site, he just completed his first novel!! I’ve already ordered my copy!
Once upon a time, there was a National Asshole Committee meeting where it was deemed that all assholes must immediately pack their bags and migrate to the Northwest Florida region. I don’t think I’ve ever encountered douchebaggery of this level. Let me illustrate the many ways that the cheery locals on the panhandle of hell extend their warmest welcome…
One particularly peculiar practice that the locals practice is what I like to call, “Retail Excruciation”. Basically, what this means is that if you dare to set foot in any store, restaurant or establishment, you are a nuisance and will be treated accordingly. Want another iced tea at Olive Garden? Woah ho ho there, partner. Better be prepared for customer service that would have made Stalag Luft look like the godamnn Paris Ritz. Retail clerks take classes at the Academy of Shitheads, so basically you’re on your own if you need anything or any help.
Another pleasant thing you have to look forward to is nearly dying of vehicular manslaughter every day. Stop sign? What is this stop sign you speak of? Big Bertha in her 94 Taurus is too busy slamming down a few tasty selections from the Taco Bell dollar menu and yelling at her Baby Daddy on her circa 2002 flip phone to be bothered with such inconveniences as yielding. Don’t bother honking at anyone in exasperation, either. They really don’t give a damn if they kill you on their way to pick up their welfare check. It’s a dog eat dog world, people.
to be continued..
So, I’m on a bedazzle kick. Check out my tacky, juvenile and yet amazing cell phone cover I made for $21 using supplies from Micheal’s. You know, they charge $60 for these online…
If anyone wants to buy one, I will make them for about $15. :)
Everything is going o.k. I suppose. I’m busy, hormonal, tired and damn sick of base housing. I cannot believe half of the crap that goes on in this neighborhood. Half of the people who moved in here as married couples are now split up and busy turning their former familial abode into a frat house. Yes, that is correct, I now get the pleasure of calling the cops a few times a week on jackasses, such as the confused party-goer that was stumbling around looking for his car, puking on my neighbor’s grass. The best part is he did THE SAME THING THE PREVIOUS WEEKEND. Someone needs a 12 Step Program. Or then there is the guy I share a duplex with that, after kicking his wife to the curb, hosts all night sex parties in his room that walls up against my bedroom, so I get to hear some really insane crap. Honestly, when it’s 3 a.m. and it sounds like you are throwing your booty call (who brought her toddler over with her for their sex session, EW) and/or furniture around, it’s time to call it a night and go to bed dammit. Some people have kids around here… The best part is that base housing’s police could care less. Honestly, they act like I am putting them out when I call to complain about people driving drunk at 2 a.m. and hitting trash cans.
I think the most disorienting and astounding part about a deployment is not missing your spouse, but the emotional disconnect that arises in the wake of days, weeks and months apart. It isn’t easy to make up after a fight when your husband is on another continent. In fact, it can be downright impossible. The only thing in your favor is time, and the hope that the passing of seconds, moments and hours will settle an indifference that your body could have solved in minutes. Baffling.
Mayday is an emergency procedure word used internationally as a distress signal in voice procedure radio communications. It derives from the French venez m’aider, meaning “come help me”.
“The thoughts of the journey were often attended with unusual sadness, at which times my heart was frequently turned to the Lord with inward breathings for his heavenly support, that I might not fail to follow him wheresoever he might lead me.”
Well, here we are, rounding the corner of another month and sliding into a new season. The month of June marks the official half-way point for my husband’s deployment. June is warm and light and is a suitable month for the crossing of the midpoint, it represents that there is an end to this journey. Now I’m in the home stretch.
After I gave birth to baby girl, and I found myself in that baby-fog of sleep deprivation. I scrambled to find some semblance of normalcy. I went three days without showering. I sat down to eat maybe once a day. I cried in front of DH on Skype. He reassured me that I could once again find a rhythm without him. A rhythm? I pictured myself dancing to an unheard tune, pirouetting alone while babies and bills orbited around my head. How in the hell was I going to find my way again? How could I? He returned to us in the eye of a storm, and now that he had departed, my world was whirling and being sucked into cyclonic winds. My child count had doubled, and my help had divided. It was a mathematical f-you. And yet, I did find my footing. I did find a cadence, a rhythm and I once again began to press through days without crying. Dancing solo meant that, for the first time in my life, I was an individual. I was learning to rely on myself, to find comfort in my own company and not be dependent on my husband for everything.
Finding my rhythm meant finding my routine, my purpose. Ask any woman who loves a man overseas. We become strange creatures of habit. The habits help us cope, help us pass time. I live by a schedule that others might find oppressive or obsessive or just plain nuts. I wake up and make the same 4-cup pot of Starbucks Italian Roast every single day, I workout to Kendell Hogan religiously, I check the mail at the same time, I eat the exact same after-dinner snack every single night (2 oranges and a few pieces of chocolate). If I don’t have my oranges, I go apeshit. God forbid I am lacking in my viatmin C for the day. It is silly. It is the glue that holds me together, that brings me a sense of comfort. I may not know where my husband is, but goddammit, I know that at 10 p.m., I can walk to my fridge and collect my oranges and sit down to Chelsea Lately. Perhaps this is dysfunction and reeks of OCD, but whatever works my friends, whatever works. A little Lexapro never hurts too.
I am having trouble finding time to bathe myself once a week, let alone update this blog. As I type this, I am supervising Scotty’s dinner and cradling Heidi on my lap. Thankfully, my wonderful friend Ellie brought me tons of yummy food yesterday; cookies, organic pasta and she whipped up these AMAZING sloppy joes!!! They are fantastic!
Anyways, here is a darling Heidi pic and I hope to have more time later!!!
Baby Girl is due in just a little over two weeks! I am a bundle of mixed emotions. I’m scared and happy and overwhelmed.
My mom helped me clear out DH’s former Man Cave and set up a cute but no-frills second nursery. I don’t really like a lot of the matchy-matchy popular nursery themes and I’m also not a fan of what I call the Pink Explosion look, so instead I kept it subdued with vintage; filmy Swiss dot curtains and white baby furniture. I loaded up on batteries for the baby swing and vibrating seat and have all of Baby Girl’s clothes washed and put away in her dresser. Most of her clothes so far are neutral-gendered hand-me-downs from her brother (Mr. Squeakers), and some cute girly outfits handed down from my niece. Everything is pretty much done, except for packing the hospital bag. I however, do not feel that assured, accomplished feeling that should be setting in about now. Instead I feel lost and that this is all just surreal. I feel like I’m forgetting some large piece of the puzzle, or maybe it is just that nothing about this experience has been or will be ‘normal’ or ‘traditional’. DH has been gone for months, and I have existed as the spouse of a deployed military member only by going through days that I divide carefully into menial chores and regular playdates to break up the time and thought processes. I also spend a lot of time with my mom.
DH will be coming home for R&R very very shortly, and given that there isn’t much going on in the cervix dilation department, I think he should make it here in time for the birth. He was planning to fly on a military plane back to the United States and then fly commercial from Seattle. However, because of the radiation problems in Japan, the military plane is being used for other military evacuations in Asia or at least that is what I was lead to believe. Anyways, tonight we are going to book him a commercial flight to come home. $$$$$!!!
I am excited to see him, but it isn’t the same as what other wives might experience when welcoming home their husbands for an R&R visit. I am very pregnant, so right there is the first issue, keeping the baby inside of my body until his plane touches down is no guarantee. And again, keeping with the whole last-stage-of-pregnancy subject, I’m sure as hell not going to be lingerie shopping. I am not anywhere near as round as I got when I was carrying Scott, in fact I still weigh LESS than I did when I got pregnant thanks to stress and food allergy issues. I look, at 38 weeks pregnant, how most women look at 30-32 weeks, but this does nothing but worry me that Baby Girl hasn’t gained the appropriate weight. I’ll spend my time with DH not cooking his favorite meals (although I’m sure there will be some of that) and going out on dates, but instead most likely in old pajamas, a baby latched to my boobs, fighting sleep deprivation. I am grateful that he can come home, I really am, I just feel bitter lately.
Since DH is taking his leave at 4 months instead of 6 months as is the norm, that means after he leaves to go back to his duty station, I will go 7 months without hugging him. 7 long months of fuzzy Skype conversations. 7 months of being a single mom to a toddler and an infant. This scares the shit out of me. When he returns, we will have but a few short weeks to pack our house and move across the country. We will be living in another state this time next year!
This is Spartan Training, my friends. I borrowed that phrase from a family friend, who says that the tough shit in life is just endurance training to make you a phenomenal warrior, a mental and physical pinnacle of strength. I hope this experience indeed makes me a stronger person, because right now I just feel exhausted and worn down.
Things are very crazy lately.
DH is not even living in the country, he is stationed overseas for an entire year, and won’t be home until next Christmas. So, I’ve been going through a lot, being alone and caring for Mr. Sqeakers, all the while expecting baby number 2, which by the way, is a GIRL! I’m due April 6th.
I’ve only survived this long without a mental breakdown because I have my days broken down into a series of mind-numbing routines that somehow seem to bring me some semblance of perceived normalcy. Mr. Squeakers brings me happiness, as does LOU (Little One of Us) bopping around in my belly. Still, there are days, like today, where I am so very aware of every milestone and day I must face alone. I know that I must bear this cross well, and be strong.
I’ve been very sick this pregnancy. I weigh less than I did when I got pregnant, which is probably a combination of intense stress and the fact that I can’t stomach anything, and the only thing I ever seem to be able to keep down is citrus fruit.
Here is a recent Mr. Squeaker pic, I miss you all and I will update ASAP! :)
- fuel for your imagination.
- Eglin AFB: A Disgruntled Commentary.
- base housing: now complete with fraternity style living.
- please hang up and try again.
- mayday. mayday.
- we seem to be having some technical difficulities.
- tis the life of the military wife.
- mr. squeaks tends to the landscaping.
- 32 weeks pregnant with baby #2.
- baaarf (or ‘why i’ve been MIA’).
- mr. squeakers on the move.