Above and beyond the call of duty

I haven't blogged since John left.  I could write about a million sad things but who wants to read that on Mother's Day?  I could write about my girls and our struggles to have kids, my babies in heaven and my longing to be a mother.  Instead, I am just going to ramble about my mother.
Tired is the best adjective to describe me.  In every aspect of my life I am just plain tired.  Moms with older children tell me I will sleep again one day and I will wear makeup.  I hear it doesn't get any easier...it just changes.  "Just wait until they're teenagers"  If my life is any prediction of my future I can tell you that being a mother will never get any easier.  Your children will always need you and I wonder how I would survive without my mother.  Even at the age of 36 I can't imagine life without her.
I can tell you that even if you do everything right, they might throw their faith out the window.  I can tell you that at least one of your kids will move back home, at least once, and they might bring reinforcements with them.  Reinforcments that cry.
I needed my mother in the traditional sense for the first sixteen years of my life.  From about age 17 to 24 I needed her prayers.  If you think your child is lost don't EVER EVER EVER stop praying.  He is listening.  Don't ever give up on God.  I know I survived that period of my life because of her constant prayer and I cringe when I think of the pain I caused my parents.
But God is faithful.  I should just stop typing right there.
Then, something happened.  When I was 25 I needed surgery and not an appendectomy.  I need real surgery, brain surgery.  I moved home and I was completely dependent on my mother for my survival, again.  I might write a whole blog about it one day but for now I'll just say....I needed her.  I had a good job, my own home and BAM! just like that, I was back in my old room and she was feeding me.  She took notes at doctor appointments and kept a vigil next to my room when the doctor told her I couldn't be alone.  She checked on me at night to make sure I was still alive.  Now that I have my own children I can't imagine.  When I was in unspeakable pain, so much that I wanted to end my life, she knew just by looking in my eyes and she got on the phone.  She drove me to work every day. I could go on and on.  My point, if I have one, is that she was once again on duty 24/7 and my survival depended on her.
Now, it depends on her in a different way.  I'm back, again.  This time two little girls sleep in that old room.  I don't know how I would take care of them without her right now.  They are so small.  When Lilyana woke up with a fever and I needed to feed Katie, she took Lilyana in to her bed.  She feeds them, bathes them and helps with vomit and runny noses.  She probably thinks "wait, didn't I already do this?"

She does all this because she is my mom.  It doesn't get any easier.  It's not a full time job; it's a lifetime job.
When I went into labor with both girls I reminded John that if something crazy happened "that the baby's life is more important than mine"  That probably sounds dramatic but didn't we all feel that way?  I imagine, or hope, that most of us felt that way as soon as we were pregnant. 
God did this.  God created mothers with an ability to love that can't be explained.  Every mother is a gift from God and I know mine certainly is. 
I love you MOM!!!!
In closing for those men who are still reading  I'll say that I really miss the roar of Chinooks overhead.

Thirty Days

I think Lilyana might be watching her Bible videos too often.  She asked me if Lazarus would be coming to Katie’s birthday party.  The other morning she told me her teddy bear didn’t feel good.  She told me he has leprosy.

The ticking of the clock on the wall and the calendar don’t bother me anymore.  They are both packed up in a box.  We are near the thirty day mark.  Boxes have appeared in nearly every room and reality is setting in.  For reasons beyond any human understanding we have decided to move ourselves. (Well, you other Army people know why) The Army calls it a DITY move.  “Do It Yourself” move…or “I guess you have forgotten that the Army will do this for you and that your small children will make this an impossible feat” move. 

   

Things are getting very hard.  I really can’t think of a good way to describe it but it was good to hear Whitney singing the national anthem over and over this week.

This situation happens all over the country I imagine.  In many houses people cry and wait for daddy.  I don’t know, maybe they don’t cry.  This story isn’t special it’s just mine.  It’s how this is changing MY family.  The last time my neighbor went without her hubby she had three little ones, home schools and he was gone for over a year.  A young friend finds out she is miscarrying but her husband isn’t there to hold her.  A girlfriend comes over and her five year old has a melt down and cries for daddy when Mommy scolds her.  It’s everywhere.  A heaviness.  The knowledge that things just aren’t meant to be this way. 

I am by no means a seasoned Army wife.  We have being living a dream because John has been home for a solid year.  To me, it doesn’t matter if he’s two hours away in training or on the other side of the world, gone is gone.  The last time he was gone for an extended period of time it wasn’t this hard mostly because he was originally slotted to be home in three months.  It was extended to 14 months.  I am told it doesn’t get easier.  I hope that it does.  At least when the girls are older I can explain that Daddy didn’t just vanish.  Right?  Anyone?

I will miss living here near other wives.  Other women who know that it’s Friday night but you have nothing to do.  Women who know how exhausted and lonely you are.  Women who can laugh about subjects most people avoid.   Women who can speak in acronyms. 

When I was packing I came across a stack of letters he wrote me last time.  Absence makes the heart grow fonder.  I still think there’s something special about getting a letter that e-mail doesn’t have.  I told hubby last night that I know when God created me he knew all this was coming.  God knew I was going to be an Army wife.  Why didn’t he make me stronger?  I think we were the only couple in Carrabas getting teared up on Valentines day.  The other couples looked happier. 

Me:  I feel like someone is dying.

Hubby: Yes, you’ve said that before.

There are other things I haven’t said.  Things I know he thinks about but I don’t want to confirm his concerns.  My Mom reminds me that things will not be as bad as I think.  I know that’s true.  I’ll get settled, stay busy and try not to stare at the calendar.  Again. 

I see Katie waddling to him at her top speed when he comes home from work.  Lilyana calls down to him at bedtime “I loooooove you Daddy” and I feel like I was just punched in the gut. 

We will go my Mom’s in about three weeks and he will leave a couple days later.  He will be gone for five months, we will see him for three weeks, and then he will be gone a year.  In total, about 18 months. 

18 months.

When I was pregnant with Katie and we talked about the future we thought about how fun it would be when the girls are two and four.  Two was such a great age.  We thought that would be a really sweet time.   Now, it's a time he will totally miss.  Lilyana will be almost five when he gets back.

I probably won’t post another blog until he’s gone.  It’s just too hard and would just be more depressing rambling.  Keep us in your prayers but pray mostly for him.  I can’t imagine how much he will miss the girls.  He would go to the end of the earth for these girls, actually, I guess he is doing just that.  That just occurred to me as I am typing. 

We had a yard sale today trying to sift out what we don’t need and get rid of some baby stuff.  When someone drove away with the last major baby item I started to cry.  Lilyana saw a tear falling beneath my sunglasses.

Lilyana ”awwww, what’s wrong Mommy?” (she pats me)

Me: “Well, I’m just sad thinking about Daddy leaving on his trip”

Lilyana “oh Mommy, it will be ok,”

She walks away and comes back with her teddy bear and hands him to me.

“This will make you feel better Mommy”

Good thing Jesus healed him.  Leprosy is highly contagious J


But thou, O Lord, art a shield for me; my glory and the lifter of my head
Psalm 3:3

Two small kids - A recipe for insanity

John came home about 7 pm tonight.  He walked up the stairs to find all three of us in the hallway in various states of undress and completely soaked.  “Hey guys”  It’s his complete lack of alarm or shock that describes the last year of my life.  Life as usual around here now.  Katie is almost one.  There is a reason most people have kids in their twenties.

I have concluded that people who have children less than three years apart

a.       Don’t know where babies come from

b.      Are clinically insane

c.       Weren’t expecting to be able to have any (that’s us)

I think mothers of children in that category are in a special club that other women can’t understand. 

We usually always leave the house covered in crackers

Or someone’s bodily fluid of some sort

We cry at any given moment

We live on coffee

We slump around in a constant state of sleep depravation

We rarely get to sleep in our own bed.

We know that all that matters is that everyone is full and had a bath...usually.  Everything else can wait.

We never take showers during the day

It’s that last one that led to my most recent bout of insanity.  I have no idea what came over me but I decided to take a shower during the day while both girls were awake.  Madness I tell you. 

“Lilyana, I am locking the bedroom door.  You and Katie don’t leave my bedroom for any reason.  And yell if she is eating something”

Things started out well.  Katie was trying to climb in the shower and was slowing getting soaked.  Lilyana yells “I need to go potty”  (Why does she still feel she needs to announce it?)  She sits down and then says “Mommy GET HER!”  Katie was, as usual, reaching around Lilyana trying to stick her hands down in the toilet.  “aaaahhhhh” “Poop Mommy!” she yells.  Cue my running across the bathroom soaking wet to grab Katie.  I stripped her down and put her in the shower with me.  I then realized I couldn’t use my soap on her because of her eczema and I sent Lilyana down the hall to get Katie’s soap.  Lilyana slid across the bathroom floor and returned with the correct soap, a miracle.  Holding on to a baby covered in lotion and Crisco was impossible when she was wet.  Yep, Crisco.  Refer back to eczema and remember that you shouldn’t judge.  I then noticed Lilyana was getting undressed “I want to get in the shower too Mommy”  I grabbed a towel for Katie and went trudging down the hall dripping all the way to her room.  It was then that hubby walked up the stairs.  “I’m running away” I told him.  “Going streaking?” he asks.

I look at Lilyana now and think how much easier it would have been if Katie was born now, when Lilyana is three.  But God continues to overestimate how much I can handle and that wasn’t his plan.

At the mall a couple months ago Lilyana was being particularly energetic.  We use the “family” bathroom.  It’s easier because it has a little potty, big potty and a changing table.  We’re all covered.  Lilyana does her thing and I help her wash up from head to toe.  “Now remember, don’t touch anything”  Katie had an explosion and I only had one wipe left.  Why does it always happen that way?  I was cleaning up Katie, who had started screaming that her lunch was late, and I noticed Lilyana was making a weird echoing noise behind me.  I turned around to see her grabbing the toilet seat, leaning her head down towards the water and saying “aaagggghhh” then moving to the other toilet to repeat.  I think I blacked out but I’m pretty sure I screamed.  I washed her down all over again.  “Are you going to cry Mommy?” she asked.  “Yes, I think so” I said.  We recovered and made our way down to Chick-fil-a.  While waiting it line it suddenly hit me, I left my wedding rings on the bathroom counter.  I said it out loud apparently.  The Chick-fil-A lady took one look at my crew and I guess she knew I wouldn’t make it in time.  “Which bathroom?” she asked and started out in a full sprint.  I caught up with her as she came out of the bathroom with my rings.  A miracle.  Have I mentioned that I love Chick-fil-a?

When Katie was about 7 weeks old I had to go to the doctor for a small procedure.  Just getting us all out the door was an enormous accomplishment.  Lilyana was just recently potty trained.  I waited almost an hour in the lobby.  Katie started to get hungry.  Now, both my girls had to be on special formulas for babies allergic to…everything.  I reached in the diaper bag to get a bottle and I was horrified to discover that I had forgotten her formula.  I couldn’t imagine repeating this insane scenario if I had to leave and reschedule my appointment.  I asked the receptionist.  “Is there any chance you have some formula here”  They did.  Of course, it was regular formula.  I knew Katie wasn’t going to be in any danger from drinking it but she and I would both have a long day.  I gave her the formula.  Remember, don’t judge.  While feeding Katie, Lilyana announced she needed to go potty.  I put Katie in the infant carrier, in the stroller and moved towards the bathroom.  I held the bottle in Katie’s mouth with one hand and held Lilyana’s hand with the other so she wouldn’t fall in the toilet.  Twenty minutes later I was lying down on the examination table with Katie lying on my stomach giving her the bottle with one hand and trying to keep Lilyana in a chair up near my head with the other hand.  If what the doctor did to my leg hurt me, I don’t remember.  I swear I will remember that day when I am eighty.

I’m sure stories like this are not exclusive to me.  I imagine that all Moms of little ones have these things happen…at least I hope so.  I never in my life thought it was possible to be this tired.  I have been changing diapers for over three years solid.  I wonder if I will ever get to wake up in the morning and shower again.  What will it be like to put on makeup without someone climbing my leg?  Will I ever get to sit down while we eat dinner again?  Imagine if we all used full size forks and were able to dress ourselves.  One day I will again carry a purse and my van won’t be full or rattles and cheerios.  The irony is that then, I will probably miss these days.  Maybe.

Tonight as I was changing for bed a piece of cheddar cheese fell out of my shirt.  I can think of no better way to describe this phase of my life but I remind myself that for years I prayed this would happen and we are so blessed.

Victoria's Secret

“Here I am Lord and I’m drowning”

Let’s just face it.  This blog isn’t funny anymore.  Also, I am thinking I might have ADD…this blog has no flow and I jump from subject to subject.  Is it any wonder why John can’t follow what I am talking about half the time?

No matter how much chocolate I eat he will still be leaving but I am working very hard to test that theory. I am cleaning out my closet like I do before each move.  After having two kids there are always clothes that are either too big or too small that I send on to Goodwill.  I stumbled upon a robe from Victoria’s Secret and checked the size.  “One size” it said.  One size?  Nothing in her store should be listed as one size!  That store should be the MOST specific when it comes to sizing.  Victoria, of all the things I want to fit well…it’s my secret clothes.  Maybe it’s just me.

We have just recently started saying “no” to Katie.  Each time we do her little bottom lip comes out and starts to quiver.  It makes me laugh every time.  The other day she was going for an electrical outlet and John said “no” in that big Dad voice.  Instantly Katie AND Lilyana started sobbing. 

“What is Daddy saying to baby Katie?”  Lilyana sobs.  Estrogen anyone?  I guess Lilyana isn’t accustomed to hearing us reprimand Katie.

I am usually too tired to watch TV but I am obsessed with Dowton Abbey.  Anyone else?

At the mall last week the hair people asked if I ever put any curl in my hair.  If you are wondering why this is blog worthy….read my previous entries.  I GIVE UP.

I am currently at war with fondant.  I can’t get it to taste right.  My Soldier was trying to help me fix my problem.  Many times I complain to him about a problem with my sugary concoctions and he heads off into the garage.  Oddly, he usually comes up with some way to make it work.  “What about a different turn table?” “Would your electric knife work?”   I just waiting to take a cake someplace one day and discover grease on it somewhere.  The cake I made yesterday was beautiful and I hated to cut it.  I should have gone with my instincts.  It tasted horrific.  We have yet to determine what happened.  I suspected substandard fondant.

I am fairly well versed in Army language but when I ask Hubby for updates about what is going on I can get lost.  I know a good deal of Spanish but he is fluent.  I told him last night that that’s what I feel like.   It’s like when he talks to me in Spanish.  I can usually catch the general meaning of the conversation and recognize words but get lost on specifics.  Waiting on regiment, calling battalion, needing form DD1234, PCS, EMFP, ABC123…there are only so many acronyms I can process at 10pm.

There was a small function at his office today but we didn’t make it.  I was a little disappointed partly because I went to the effort of getting all fancy and also because it’s good to see or to be reminded why we do this.  I cry at any Army function…pledge of allegiance, saluting, organized yelling, marching, seeing him stand in a row with so many other guys.  It all gets me.  Maybe it’s best I didn’t go because tears can’t be good for false eyelashes.  Why do they yell so much?  Silly boys.

Playing the backyard Lilyana was kind of dragging Katie around trying to steady her walk.  I tried to explain “Honey, you have to let her hold your hand instead of you holding on to her”  and my comment instantly reminded me of a song by Casting Crowns

“I’m not holding on to you, but you’re holding on to me”

I sure hope that’s true because I feel like I’m losing my grip. 

I will close by saying that my child is registered for preschool next fall in two different states.  Just in case.  Sometimes you have to look at the humorous side of it!

In a holding pattern

¹ Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.^[a]
2 I will say of the LORD, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God, in whom I trust.”  Psalm 91

I haven’t put anything on here recently because I just have a one track mind.  So I have given up.  Here is what is occupying my days and nights.

An envelope came in the mail today requesting I subscribe to Army Times.  They offered a free camouflage back pack.  Really?  Whew, I was really running low on camo things covered in velcro.  (Why does Word keep trying to capitalize velcro?  Is it someone’s name?) 

I am always singing or humming and I’m usually not aware of it.  This can be problematic if you are brainwashed with weird marching songs.  He is playing with Thing 1 in the living room and I hear him singing

“My buddy’s in a foxhole….with a bullet in his head.” 

“Goodness Honey you are going to traumatize her!”

Who makes up these cadences?  I guess they can’t march while singing “these are a few of my favorite things”  (I could)

I haven’t put up the window treatments in our bedroom.  As I sit here the rods are still in the closet waiting to be hung.  I keep meaning to do it but I guess it’s too late now.  There are two unpacked boxes in the corner.  The odd thing is I still have to unpack them so the Army can repack them.  They will only insure things that they pack.  Makes sense I guess.

We are “in a holding pattern” he tells me.  We know where he is going and when but they are lots of details from transportation about packing etc. that we are waiting on.  We probably won’t know the exact move date until a week or so before the move.  Soon he will attend a briefing that we have been waiting for.  “What will you know after that briefing?”….”probably nothing” he tells me. 

We had a yard sale this weekend.  It’s weird to sell some things.  Things we know we won’t need for the next five years might as well go.  I don’t mean old baby clothes, but that was hard too. 

He took Thing 1 to the movies so I decided to take the little one for a stroll.  It would be good to get a chance to clear my head.  I don’t know what I was thinking.  Cue the waterworks.  Stupid Coldplay. 

Here’s the thing, I DON’T WANT HIM TO LEAVE FOR 18 MONTHS!!  I want to scream…I want to stomp my foot on the ground and refuse to leave my room.  I want to run into backyard and scream at the top of my lungs “THIS IS BS!”   But, that probably won’t make me feel any better.  Then I would have to explain to my Mom where Lilyana is hearing that kind of language and I know that Christian women shouldn’t swear.  Personally, I think Jesus would understand. 

Really, there’s no one to be mad at.  Maybe that’s part of the problem.  You can’t be mad at the Army.  I love the Army. 

“I want to go to the museum Mommy”

“Well, the museum you like is far away near Nana’s house”

“oh'"

"Do you remember that I told you we were going to stay with her and that Daddy is going on a long work trip?”

“yes”

“well, when we are with Nana you can go to the museum”

“that be very fun mommy!”

(sigh)

I don’t want to move out of this house.  I don’t want to leave Savannah.  Why would anyone want to leave Savannah?  There is more than normal kissing and hugging around our house.  Small things that usually make you crazy about your spouse are being overlooked and forgiven. At least on my end J

“Do you want to take that to your mom’s or put it in storage?”

“You need to learn this so you can do it when I’m gone”

I don’t want to learn about the virus software.  I don’t want you to leave.

 

 The days go on as normal mostly.  Dishes and laundry.  Playdates and church.

Standing at the kitchen sink I can hear them coming from far off.  Slowing the pictures on the wall begin to rattle.  “OOOOO!!!!   Mommy, it’s Daddy’s copters! Copters Mommy!!!!”

We run outside like we always do and wait to see them fly over the yard.  She jumps in the air with her hands up.  It does look like they are close enough to touch.  I’ve ridden in one and I know the pilots can see us.  I can tell which unit they are from by looking at them.  Two giant Chinooks.  I’m always amazed they stay up there in the sky.  We watch them fly off into the distance.  The sound is indescribable.

“That’s the sound of freedom Baby”