sand clocks

The sand in the clock is almost gone. My eyes are red and swollen from crying. My heart is drained. My strength is fading. However, if there is one thing the Army has taught me, it is that I am considerably more capable of handling things than I think I am.

I will do my duty. I will let him go...

Deafness

I have read that adults seem to be having more and more trouble with hearing loss. The theory is that we spend too much time with headphones, ear pieces, and phones attached to our ears. The thought is that these electronic devices are causes us to go deaf. My belief is that it has nothing to do with that. I believe children are the cause of this irreversible damage. Allow me to explain.

When I was younger, my mother used to constantly lament about how loud we were. It seemed like every time we turned around she was telling us to be quiet in some form or another:

Ssshhh!
Hush!
Will you please quiet down!?
BE QUIET!
You are SO loud!


As a child I thought she was being ridiculous and unreasonable. I often would internally joke that she can never hear you when you're screaming her name, but when you're talking normally with your sisters THAT is just much too loud for her ears.

I now know, as an adult and mother of fifteen thousand children, that this is known as selective hearing. It's not that we don't hear our children screaming MOOOOOMMMMM!!!!!!!! It's simply that we are wondering why, just why, they won't get up and come to us. We are also wondering why they must require motherly intervention in almost all circumstances. I kid you not, in a half hour period, I will field at least twenty MOOOOOOOOM moments. No. joke.

My ears have also become repulsed by the ridiculous volumes that my children can escalate to. Take a car ride, for example. In normal circumstances, the children are incredibly loud. They are so loud that you wouldn't hear a siren, music on the radio, or your own thoughts. In order to be heard over their intense noise, you have to literally shout louder than you believe capable (and even in this situation, you can barely be heard).

So you might be wondering, people have been having children um...forever? So why is she blaming this on the kids. Here is my theory...

Think back, maybe a hundred years ago... Mom's were busy cooking, cleaning, working. They grew children, delivered them, and then went to work. I mean, sure they would assist in the raising of children but they didn't spend the majority of the day with their chicken nuggets running around them, confined in a car with them, cramped into a house with them. Back in those days, nature spent a lot of time with the kids. Now? People do. They are cramped into classrooms, cars, houses, stores, malls, etc etc etc. There is very little nature exploration.

What is the solution? Get back to basics! Why have we become so buildingized? Why don't we allow, encourage, and participate in the freedom (and nature loving) of our children? We live in a nation where we talk about freedom like it's some candy coated dose of carbohydrate goodness, but then proceed to imprison children in educational systems that don't work, with activities that stress them, and social pressures that depress them. What do our children really know about freedom? Truthfully...what do we? Are we really free? Not as much as we think we are. Look at it this way...I am not "free" to drive my car without a seat belt on. Why? I'm an insured, driver's licensed adult. If I want to be stupid and not wear my seat belt, why do I have to pay fines which will eventually lead up to my inability to drive? How is that freedom? Why can't I drink if I am legally an adult at 18? If the law says I am an adult, then why did I have to wait to be an older "adult"? If my body is truly MY body (like all of the pro abortionists like to keep right on saying...) then why do I HAVE to wear a seat belt, am not allowed to drink at 18, can't legally sell one of my kidneys, I can't commit suicide, and on and on.

Maybe this is all a part of some grand conspiracy. Imprison them young, blind them to thinking critically, then spoon feed their ignorant minds with notions of freedom and ability. Then put them into environments so that they'll become deaf. By the time they're old enough to have hopefully gained the ability to think critically, they'll be too hard of hearing to catch on to the manipulations...

Yup. I think that's it! LOL!

Bags

These moments inevitably come when you live this life. The moment where all the bags come out, and the sorting through, and the preparations come... The moment when he packs up his things to leave...me...

It's amazing how utterly tiny I feel. I am always surprised by the amount of emotions. It's almost like being suffocated and devastated and... I don't even know what else.

I want to crawl into a hole and hide. I want to disappear in the shadow of this giant mountain that I am being forced to climb. I want to dig in my heels and refuse to go. I don't want to do this.

Do you know what it feels like to have your heart ripped from your chest? It feels like watching him pack up his things. It feels like driving him to a place and dropping him off in the darkness, while holding hands because you don't know if you ever will again. It feels like watching him take his things out of your car and seeing him shut the trunk. It feels like hugging him as the sun rises, the whole time begging and pleading for it to just. slow. down. It feels like listening to your children cry a hysterical cry at the top of their lungs "GET ME OUT OF HERE!" It feels like going home, wasting a period of time, so you can go meet him in some smelly, not air conditioned place and wait for him to arrive. It feels like agony while the moments when they were "supposed" to get there tick on by, so your moments of togetherness are shortened. Especially because you know that damned air plane is sitting on that damned tarmac waiting to take him to that damned country. It feels like waiting and looking for him as the pool of bodies wearing the same uniform come walking in, carrying their weapons. It feels like watching him take off his beautiful, beautiful, persona of world's most amazing husband and father, and put on the persona of soldier, warrior, fighter. It feels like holding him for the final precious moments before they say it's time for him to leave. It feels like hugging him and kissing him when all you want to do is collapse to the floor in hysteria. It feels like breaking concrete when you have to unwrap yourself from him and watch him walk away. It feels like a slow, painful, agonizing death watching him go to a formation that you can't go to...getting on a bus you can't get in...driving away to a place you can't go... It feels like running to your vehicle, while attempting to ignore the blood pouring out of your chest, and your lungs beginning to forget how to breathe, so that you can speed like a madman to the tarmac area. It feels like jumping out of your car and waiting so that you can wave to him that one. last. time. One last time... What if this is my one last time? It feels driving up to your house and seeing his car parked in the driveway and thinking just for a split second that this is all just some nightmare, or distant dream. It feels like walking into your home with his smell, his stuff, his presence, his shoes, his dirty socks, his clothes on the floor, his hairs on the sink, his slippers, his...his..absence. It feels like putting your children to bed and sitting on your sofa without him there. It feels like going to bed in a bed that is haunted with the presence that was there not too long ago. It feels like empty hands that know what it's like to be full. It feels like kisses that have evaporated and remember the warmth that was there not too long ago. It feels like crying that never ends. It feels like heartache that never heals. It feels like a sadness...a deep and heavy sadness that is always with you.

My inevitable moment is all too close. It's too intense and too real. It doesn't matter if I try to run away or to ignore it. D Day is coming. I hate this...

Previously Pregnant women and how they're all let us down.

I have read every single book known to human kind of parenting. Okay, well maybe that's a slight exaggeration, but still... I've read a lot. I have also had the pleasure of being the mother of (and giving birth to) fifteen thousand children (question... Am I exaggerating now!?). In all that I have heard of, read, spoken with people about, and on and on, I must admit that women have completely overlooked a major issue in regards to having given birth to children: swimsuits.

Pre-children, my body fit so wonderfully into those cute little suits. My tummy was flat and fit well. My hips managed to stay inside the suit. My upper portion... Let's just say, in the interest of modesty, fit nicely where they were all supposed to be. All was not wonderful in the swimsuit arena (um...show me a woman who feels good in a swimsuit and I will show you a lunatic...LOL), but it wasn't a version of a nightmare.

Post-triplets (this is one of those areas where I am hardcore playing that triplet card...Yup! I am playing it like THAT!), I honestly have concern for the eyes of the poor individuals who must gaze upon my swimsuited self. You see...having babies just kind of ruins swimsuitville.

My torso area? Um... You can always tell the breast feeders. You can. When they are in a swimsuit, their "torso" literally does sag down to their ankles. Not to mention everything is just shaped differently...more pointy, and that doesn't really combine well into a suit that doesn't have wiring and push-upness, and lycra surrounding it to keep your breast feeding mama jewels in place. So the "torso" ends up flat as can be (in the area where they're supposed to be located), and the "lumpy portion" ends up somewhere around your belly button.

My stomach? Oh dear... Let me just say that my uterus seems to have enjoyed having children. So much so that it insists on constantly looking like there is another set of human beings growing in there. Yes, I am not ashamed to admit that I look permanently pregnant. Because of this, I have decided to coin a new phrase. Instead of pregnant women saying, "I'm just acting like this because I'm pregnant!" I believe us ex-pregnant women should get to say, "I'm just acting like this because I look pregnant!"

The rear... Women who have had babies have hips that have widened. It's part of the biology of a human coming through your pelvic bones. However, the folks who make swimsuits seem to have been lost on this point. I dare you to find a "normal" swimsuit (that isn't board shorts) that will actually stay over your post-baby-booty.

Combine all of these lovely aspects together and what do you get? One paranoid individual who every time she arises out of the water, checks to make sure the family jewels are still in place, and that someone isn't traumatized by the non pregnant uterus, or the "lumps" that are reminiscent of breasts but hanging out around a woman's belly button.

Women, when wearing suits, always look around to try to make sure they're not the only "fluffy" one in a suit. They just don't want to be the biggest person there. Of course almost all of us want to be the James Bond chick, but most of us aren't (unless your name is BK...and I hope that KK realizes how utterly lucky he is that God blessed you with a post baby body that LITERALLY looks like it has NEVER delivered forth a child...). So we at least want to make sure we're not the "fluffiest" one in the water arena. Well, I am now that person. Yup...I promise you. I am the person who most people (I am convinced) look at and go...WOW! What'd she do!? Deliver triplets!? But here is the really kicker...I actually get to say, "YUP! Yes, I did!"

Here's to all of my gals who hate wearing swimsuits! :)

The duo's ploy.

I have four kids. I know it isn't exactly a secret to me, but it kind of gives me a chuckle when my "master plan" included none. Never the less, when I was realized that I was going to have fifteen thousand children in one shot, I kept saying to myself, "I just have to get to the age where they can go to school and then I'll get a break."

I think my husband has a hilarious sense of humor. Seriously. That, and he and God have some grand master plan to rub some insanity into my mind. I'm not sure. However, I have a sneaky suspicion that they are teamed up and working on me as one. I don't have concrete proof, but here are some of my inklings...

1. I did not want children. It was not a desire of mine. I had goals and plans and ambitions. Children would have gotten in the way of all of those. I just was not all that psyched about giving up what I wanted to do, in order to care for someone who would do nothing but drain me. In response to this, my husband knocked me up on or around our wedding night (God's work here was this: I was declared "infertile" and "unable" to have children). 

2. After having my firstborn, and grieving my goals and plans (I am a 100% or nothing kind of person. I just could NEVER do the work and be a mom thing. It's too loyalties divided for me...), the lobster began his campaign for baby #2. I was adamantly against it. I was content with our one miracle amazing child. I was not digging the idea of having any more. God did not bless me with the whole forgetting-how-horrible-labor-and-healing-was thing. I remembered all of it in its gory and awful glory. I wasn't scared off, I just wasn't exactly elated by the idea of giving so much of myself in order to just keep on giving to another creature. Call me a negative nancy, but I just wasn't one of those I love babies people. After much begging and convincing, I relented and said we could start "trying" for baby #2. Of course we conceived not one baby, but fifteen thousand. (God's work here was this: the lobster always said he wanted four kids. I said I wanted none. He said we'd let God figure all that out. I said, God wasn't figuring anything out, I was controlling that. God and the lobster won. I lost...as is clearly evident.)

3. After the triplets were born and my whole insane time passed, I began looking forward to the idea of a few hours of freedom while the kids went off to school. It was one of the many things I would say to myself during the 23.5 hour days (literally...half hour of broken sleep...no joke...lived like that for about six months...so when scientists say you can't function or live on less than four hours of sleep I can say with complete certainty that they're full of crap.) just to keep myself going. The lobster announced to me last year that he had prayed about it and I was to homeschool our children. Truthfully, we had been tossing the idea around and I was all for it, in theory, but when push came to shove, I was quite against it. I just didn't want to have to. The decision was made, though, and I had to do what my husband asked me to. I was informed that all of the wonderful things I enjoyed doing during the week days had to stop, and my focus was to become educating our children. Quite reluctantly, I relented. I quit the things I enjoyed and I focused on teaching. There were some extremely difficult days, and a lot of easy ones, but my Lollipop and I made it through year one of educating. I have to admit I wonder who learned most last year (if it was she or if it was me), but never-the-less we seemed to come through it at least mostly without permanent damage. The lobster found it so successful, that he announced a couple of weeks ago that the time has begun to start educating the younger three. Oy vey! (God's part here: He told the lobster it was time to include the younger three...)

So here we are, having completed our second day of homeschooling. I am amazingly able to manage it so far. There was only one temper tantrum today, and the kids were very gracious with me while I cried it out (that was a joke in case you didn't catch it). I am actually excited to get to do this with them. It has really lifted my heart (and my guilty conscience) to see my triplets doing so well. Please forgive me if from this point forward, I begin to speak to you in educator language. It can't be helped! :)

ramblings

I love laughing over dinner. I love laughing and playing as a family. I love watching my children develop and encourage their imaginations. I love participating in that with my lobster by my side. I loved letting Brun play the "mommy" this afternoon. She told me I had to stay in my pack 'n play because I was a baby and I had to take a nap. It actually worked out quite nicely because I was tired. The "pack 'n play" was her bed. The lobster was grandpa. It was hilarious on a multitude of levels.

I was struck by how gentle she actually was. She was doting, affectionate, and amazingly attentive. It was beautiful to see her in her element. She is intensely compassionate. It was so beautiful to lay there and laugh, but also to watch her. She was protective. No one was allowed to touch me or my "stuffed animals". She shielded me from all things that could come to hurt me. It made me wonder whether or not she feels shielded and protected from the things she can't see coming at her. It made me wonder if she has finally learned to trust us.

Dinner tonight was a simple meal. It wasn't one of my cooking masterpieces or big shebangs. Despite this, we were all laughing the meal away. The lobster and I were hand-in-hand, and we were all just in hysterics. There was a moment where everything seemed to be in slow motion and I just felt caught up and swept away. He is just so amazing! I feel amazing when I'm with him. I feel shielded and protected from the things that could come to hurt me. I feel like all of the walls and scales I surrounded myself with (and surround myself with in his absence) completely fade away. I am vulnerable and broken and weak. I don't have to be on guard, or watching myself. I don't have to be analyzing everything that is in front of me or could possibly arrive at any moment. I can relax. He is the only person with whom I can completely do that. He is the only person who completely accepts me and just gets me. I don't have to explain. I don't have to over communicate. He's the only person who can know exactly what I'm thinking and feeling without me having to say a word. He is quite genuinely the best thing that has ever happened to me. I may not be some fancy doctor, or some amazing scientist. I may not be the leader of some fortune 500 company. I may not be rich, or graceful, or powerful, or beautiful. I may not be fit as a fiddle, or glamorous, or hilarious to listen to. I may not be a good speaker, or an amazing individual. I may not know enough about the Bible or how to defend it. I may not be. But one thing that I am... that I know I am exceptionally good at, is loving that man. And if that is all that I am to ever be known for, then I thank God. Because I cannot think of a more worthy thing to be known for than that.

Unititled

The lobster is back at work after a month of leave. The grandparents have come and gone, and I am left to try and pick back up the pieces of our "normalcy" and try to carry on. This month is a crazy one.

I find myself struggling to stay on top of my ever growing list of things to do, to put off until after "D" day, that I want to do before he leaves, and that I don't want to do but absolutely have to or else suffer the consequences later...

My heart feels so heavy today. 

I just genuinely don't want him to go. I know all about how it is his duty and our duty. I am thankful for him to do his part to sustain, uphold, and encourage what we as a family so passionately believe in. When I think about the big picture, my heart is filled with joy. I am married to a man with honor. That is immensely significant to me. However, when your eyes are beholding a massive scenario before itself, inevitably the vision reduces itself until you focus on one point, or one aspect...

I woke up this morning after he had just left for PT and I had this moment that was so stereotypically hollywood to be perfectly honest. My arm dropped into that vacant spot where his body should be, and it hit me... over three hundred mornings like this... Over three hundred nights laying there and trying with all my might to imagine that he is laying there, we're just separated by a blanket or a pillow or anything... 

I don't want to have him not come home at night. I don't want to not have him around to give me advice, or lead me when I need it. I don't want to have to back in the center of all of the decisions. I don't want to go days and weeks without talking to him, or seeing him. I don't want to wait weeks for a letter to come in the mail. I don't want to wear these faces that us Army spouses are almost required to wear: peace, gratitude, humility, support, and encouragement. It's not that I don't (and won't) feel all of those things, it's just that there will sincerely be days where I will feel like my whole world is falling apart, and I don't want to have to wear masks around everyone other than my very inner, inner circle of confidants. I just don't want to. I don't want to have another period of weeks where our beautiful children are screaming and crying and angry and hurting because they want to see or talk to their daddy. I don't want to be helpless to remove the agony that we will all endure. 

My very closest friends asked me what I wanted them to do when the ugly cries come (and trust me they ALWAYS do). They know that I am almost entirely anti being touched (I have my reasons...), and they wanted to know if I'd want them to hug me, try to comfort me or just sit and listen. Honestly, there is no such thing as "comfort" in these situations. All that really happens is you cry until you're so dehydrated and congested (what's with the sinus drainage when crying!?) that you have to stop or else pass out. Then you re-hydrate yourself and basically do it all over again. Throughout our many deployments, truth be told, those periods varied in length. Sometimes they last for weeks, sometimes a month...

It all seems so ridiculous. It seems so dramatic and sappy and irritating, but yet, it also seems so minimal. It seems like a drop in the ocean in regards to even beginning to grasp the amazingness of that man that I am wholeheartedly devoted to. 

I think being an Army wive is like being a tree. Our little roots struggle to embed themselves in the soil. The more we have to struggle, the stronger we become. Our branches push out, and reach up to the sky in an effort to soak up more and more beautiful rays of sunlight. We need it for nourishment. We grow leaves on our branches so that we can purify and clean the air around us. Sometimes the droughts that come cause our leaves to die off, but those same droughts strengthen our roots and further embed us in the soil. And sometimes, the sun sets behind the mountains and our barren trees are left silhouetted against the darkening sky. We are tall. We are strong. We are beautiful. 

Yet, despite all of this, I still don't want him to go.

Irritations of a military spouse

I have something I just need to get off my chest. The Army isn't full of the most sensitive of individuals. They are not always helpful, and they aren't always concerned with the needs of families and spouses. I, in no way, am arguing against that. There are times when you desperately are in legitimate need, and your soldier's chain of command isn't really helping. Usually there are reasons for that, but there are also the occasional donkey leaders who just don't care to help anyone.

That being said, as a long time Army spouse, and FRG leader, I get completely aggravated when people say things like "The Army won't help us" or "The Army won't let my soldier come home" or "The Army doesn't care" when their soldier has not notified his chain of command of the need. Time and time again I have heard women say those statements and upon further investigation, their soldier just doesn't want to ask. Um, that's not the Army's responsibility my friend... That's YOUR soldier's.

I'm not saying the Army is always helpful. I personally have been in circumstances where my soldier asked for help and was being given the run around, or told no, and I had to take up the fight... But how can you blame the Army for something that the chain of command was not even aware of?

Soldier's need to take responsibility for their families. Period. If they're worried they're going to look bad, then  you (and they) need to adequately weigh the importance of the "need". Do you really need him/her to help, or do you just want it? Is there someone else who could help instead? Could a friend drive you, or watch the kids, or pick you up?

That being said, I also want to point out, there is a massive difference between it being more convenient for your soldier to be around to help you, and actually NEEDING him/her to help you. For example, I have heard of spouses saying they needed their soldier home to care for their children because they have a cold. REALLY!? I mean, REALLY!? I have also heard they needed their soldier home because they sprained their ankle. Again, I say really!? When did spouses become so incapable of handling things on their own?

There are times when spouses DO legitimately need their soldier's help. I have had them, and so have many people I have been blessed to know. However, my main point is this: don't blame the Army for no one helping you, when it was your soldier who didn't deem it important enough to ask.