A Goodbye Post

So much has happened. A brain tumor resulting a lost job and a lot of turmoil. Financial ruin. 3 crashed computers. And we almost lost it all. So what happened to me? Why did I disappear? Well, after the 3rd crash, I could not get a new system due to financial resources. I applied for every job I could and got the same response." Why should we hire you? You got fired from the only RT job you have had?" Because my employer broke labor laws by kicking me while I was down and terminated me while on FMLA for a brain tumor? Nope, not good enough. I was just about to give up. As a matter of fact, I had started to call temp agencies and see if they had any clerical positions available in the area. Anything for money. We were on the brink of losing everything. Then I just made a call to a hospital I knew about from living in Greater Cincinnati. I asked if they were hiring and they said yes, that they desperately needed therapists. I didn't even fill out an application or send a resume. I did those things after my interview. A week later, I was not only employed, but employed at a better facility with a more challenging environment. Now? I love my job. I have just completed the six weeks of departmental orientation they make clinical personnel complete to ensure I know what I am doing. Professional respect is automatic because of the credentials I carry. It is a difference like night and day. I just purchased a new computer and a new SUV. A Dell with enough memory that I do not need to worry about crashes, and a Ford Explorer, respectively. What is going on with my husband? Well that is a long story. He never did hear the results of the waiver for reenlistment into the Army. The recruiter dropped the ball, and when John, after months of no results, finally went over his head, the recruiter got upset and stopped working on it for him. Evan? Well, the kid just started 1st grade. He is doing wonderfully with the academic nature of the work. He had outgrown crayon drawings and baby books a long time ago. Each paper he brings home, from math to English, to spelling, are all perfect. He is still my pride and joy, my soft spot, my biggest downfall, and the source of those white hairs that keep popping up on my head. And we are moving. From the time John and I left Cincinnati, in 2000, I have wanted to go back. It's home. It will always be home. We've lived in Southern Kentucky, and we have lived in Southeastern, Indiana. I have given each of those places my all. But they are not where I belong. And John and Evan...well, they belong with me. For the first time in a long time, I am at a place where I have the ability to go back home. I was afraid to try it before. John and I know that city life can be cruel. If something were to happen and we were to need help, there is no place to turn. But we have been battered and bruised by the other places we have been, also. And we made it through. Together, without anyone else. So we are going to go back to Cincinnati, together. This time around I have an awesome job, and things will be different. I want to see the city lights reflecting in my son's eyes. I want him to grow up with museums, zoos, libraries at his fingertips, and cultural diversity all around him. I want the place that has been a part of me all of my life to become a part of who he is also. So why is this goodbye? When I started Constant Upheaval, it was my way to cope with the idea of my husband going back to the military after being married all of these years. This was my way to vent and speak about what was going on in my life without my words, views, and emotions influencing the decisions John had to make for himself. I no longer need that outlet. Is the military out of our life for good? Never. First of all, the Marine in John is as much a part of him as Cincinnati is of me. I can do away with that no more than the fact that he is a little older than me or that he has brown eyes. And I am so proud of him. Of all of the work he put into reenlistment. I have never seen him work so hard since the first time I laid eyes on him 8 years ago. And I have new respect for his status as a veteran. My husband served his country, and served her very well. I also have more respect for the military families out there. I can honestly say that through the involvement with various support websites, I got a glimpse into the life of a wife of a service member. I just did so with my husband by my side. I will never do these women the disservice of saying that I know what it is like to wonder if your loved one is even alive while thousands of miles away in a war zone. I didn't live through that. That experience is their way of serving their country. But I did worry about John's future safety, knowing he was making a career choice that could result in his death. These men and women of our Armed Forces will forever be in my hearts. They have truly been the most amazing people I have met. There may come a day when I am a service member myself. Before John said the words, "Andi, I want back in. I want to do my part in this war.", I was toying with the idea of a commission in the Navy to be a physician. There are some very impressive programs out there that are hard to pass up. But I also have opportunities to do that as a civilian. So when John told me what his goal was, I gladly stepped away from that so he could go after what he wanted. Now, I have the ability to do it again, and I just might. This would be off in the distance. I have to get myself in shape, take my MCAT and finish my biochemistry degree first. Would I want to do it? Yes, now more than ever. I have met the families of our military, and I can think of nothing more noble than taking care of these men and women. I never did know if I had any readers here on Constant Upheaval. Whne the new computer was set up in the house, I was eager to get back to blogging, but it had been so long that I had forgotten my email and password I used to set up the account. On the old computers, it was set to automatically sign me in when I told it to. I thought my blog was lost forever, and so I started a new blog. Then I remembered the password, but the new blog was already in the works. Which one should I keep and which one should I close? I had a dilemma. But then I thought about it. Constant Upheaval is set up as a milblog. It just did not seem appropriate to continue now that John is not reenlisting. Plus, with the changes in my life, it seemed more fitting to start anew. If, and I mean a big IF, I have any readers or followers, the new blog is called Bending and Not Breaking, and I hope to see you there. Otherwise... Goodbye, Friend.

Full Steam Ahead

My husband returned to me yesterday afternoon with a big smile on his face and some very interesting stories to tell about MEPS. I'll save those for a later date. For now, I'll just say he passed. He made tape. He passed the physical. He is good to go.

Evan's First Night Without Daddy

Last night, as a van pulled away with my husband in it, I was more concerned with how I was going to handle it than I was my son's reaction. Evan is a very resilient little boy, adn most of the time, if one does not make a fuss over the issue, he may not even notice something is amiss. Yesterday was no exception for my baby boy. I allowed him to play outside until 2100, as those lovely summer nights equate to no nightfall until well after bedtime. He waved goodbye to Daddy and continued to play. No problem. But then bedtime hit. Teeth were brushed, jammies were donned, and the boy was tucked in. But then I heard the little footsteps padding down the stairs. Big, fat tears rolling down his little angel face. "Mommy, my Daddy's not here! You have to read me two stories since he isn't here!" His tiny fists held out two story books, and so we read. The tears continued. "Mommy, I can't give Daddy a hug and kiss goodnight!" I offered him a picture frame with a small snapshot of John in it, but this simply would not do. So I zoomed in on a picture of John's face I had saved on the computer, to where it appeared almost life-sized. Evan kissed his Daddy on the screen, but insisted he take the smaller framed picture to bed with him. But then it was "Mommy, I want to sleep in something that reminds me of Daddy." I dug through a basket of clean laundry to offer up a tee for my baby to sleep in, but no. It had to smell like Daddy. So hand-in-hand, Evan and I traipsed up the stairs to locate John's cologne so Evan could smell Daddy while he drifted off to sleep. Before I knew it, all was silent, and I was alone with my thoughts. I missed him.

101

This is the 101st post here on my little blog. Wow! Really? I closed my eyes, typing blindly and made it the 100-post mark. Not such a big deal, right? Well, not so fast. I'm a bit flaky. Pretty persistent in all other aspects of my life. But I get these little short-lived urges to keep journals or memoirs, and I will go to a store somewhere and find these beautiful little journals, and start writing, only to drop it a short while later. When I die, and someone is forced to go through my effects, they will find a plethora of these with short blurbs about my life and my thoughts. Maybe, just maybe, if that individual strings them altogether, he or she will come up with some random sequence. So...Here I am. I've managed to produce 100 posts, which makes me want to give myself a little pat on the back. I've managed to stick with blogging significantly better than I have with physical writing. Which serves as a nice segue into my next issue. How does one produce these blogs that boast hundreds of thousands of visits each week? I'm sure the skill of the blogger has something to do with it. I'm no Hemingway. And this is more for myself anyhow. And I must admit to being technologically impaired. I cannot seem to get my favorites to work on Technorati and blogrolling is lost to me. If I stumble upon a link I like, I do it the old-fashioned way of cutting and pasting the URL in my little list on here. So if any bloggers have stumbled upon my little patch of ground in Cyberland and have any tips, let me know.

He isn't .....

...At MEPS. He called his recruiter yesterday and asked when he was going to be picked up to go, and the recruiter said that there was some sort of problem with paperwork and he wouldn't be going until tonight. So here we go again.

Laziness= Me

Blee-blee-Do-da Blah-blah-blah...... Guess what? I have done nothing today other than the crying jag just completed about 2 minutes ago. I am not even cooking dinner, as our neighbors have decided that tonight is a communal taco night. So when they get home from their daughter's soccer practice, I am going to be consuming other people's food. I have not cleaned. I have not done laundry. I can't even remember if I brushed my hair, though I distinctly remember taking a shower and pulling it back. My husband is leaving tomorrow. He may come back as a committed US Soldier. So I could not care less if the laundry is done. Or the house is clean. All I care about at this point in time is absorbing all of John that I can while he is here by my side. While I can still hear him breathe as we fall asleep together at night. While I can still feel his strong arm's around me and the beat of his heart while we cuddle up to a movie. I feel like my breath is being taken from me. The mundane details will have to wait.

Nothing Quite Like Early-Morning Surfing

Okay, so it is quiet, The alarm has not gone off yet, and I am doing some research into what my husband will be asked to do over the course of the next months/ days/ years/ whatever. Some interesting stuff on Warrior Transition Course: http://www.armystudyguide.com/content/Prep_For_Basic_Training/warrior_transition_course_information/warrior-transition-course.shtml http://www.dix.army.mil/PAO/post05/post092305/WarriorCourse.htm And on Combat Medic, errr 68W Healthcare Specialist Training: http://www.cs.amedd.army.mil/68w/FC&P/FC&P.htm Apparently his training will only be 16 weeks, plus the 4 weeks or so for the Warrior Transition Course. Not too bad, actually. I am pleasantly surprised.

0300?

I was awakened by two different things this morning, both of which are extremely aggravating. The first was this awful dream I had about John and the military. He had reenlisted, gone through the Warrior Transition Course, as planned, and was almost finished with AIT when he called me and said he had gotten orders to ship to Afghanistan. So I was going to have to go without seeing him for two whole years. But then I hear this shrill screaming outside our apartment. It was 0230 on a school night! I was worried it would wake Evan. It didn't seem to be a "help me" sort of scream, but rather a we-are-morons variety of scream. I waited for it to stop, and when it did not, I went outside to check. This may have been a mistake, seeing as I am blind as a bat when it is not dark or in the middle of the night when I am half asleep. But then I stumble my groggy arse out without glasses. I think I cussed out someone I did not know. I still have no idea who it was. I hope it was not a neighbor I am friendly with. I guess I won't be anymore if it was. So now I am sitting here, fully awake. I have been since 0300. It is now 0542, and I have already brewed coffee, had a cup and getting ready to fill 'er up a second time. I have managed to eat breakfast ( mmmmmm, Cheerios) and get my morning supply of nicotine. Lets' start the day!

Wisdom in A Kid's Flick

"Your life is an occasion. Live up to it!" This is from Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium. My son has made us watch it over and over, and I must admit, it is my favorite children's movie. I loved this quote.

We Need To Remember....

Memorial Day is not about Barbecues, drinking, pool openings, or long weekends. Those things have become habit for almost all of us, I am sure. The intent of this weekend is to remember those we have lost, to visit their memories and remember that they died so that all of us could enjoy the freedoms we do each and every day. I was walking into Wal-Mart the other day to purchase something (milk, I think) and was confronted by a sign hanging by the entrance that said "Put some flowers on a veteran's grave this weekend!" Well, this upset me. I got teary-eyed in the middle of the store, thinking of my veteran husband and what he is about to do for us. You see, I am selfish. I do not want the folded flag, the Purple Heart, the Medal of Honor. I want my husband to return safely to me, free of injury. I realize he is risking his life, but I refuse to actually believe that it is possible for him to be hurt. He will return to me. Unharmed. This provoked thought of all of those American families who lost loved ones. For all for us. They thought their husbands, sons, brothers, sisters, mothers, cousins, friends would all return to them also. Unharmed. They did not. They returned wounded, disabled, both physically and psychologically. Or their bodies came home while their souls went on. This is what Memorial Day is about. This, and only this.

Our First Night Away From Each Other

John's recruiter called a few days ago. He is picking John up and taking him to MEPS for his physical on Wednesday night of this coming week. He'll spend the night in a hotel and come home on Thursday evening after a day there This is normally where the swearing in takes place, and the official contract is signed. John's waiver is still in the process of being approved, so I don't know if he will be taking part in this portion of the process. They could wait on the waiver. Then again, they could have him go through it, so that when the waiver is finished, he will be ready to go. Either way I am sad. We have been going through this reenlistment process for so long, and now we are finally here. He's within body standards. The paperwork is all completed, and the deal is all but finished. MEPS was the last gray area, and that is being covered this week. Almost done.

Hmmmmmmm.

I am about to reach a breaking point in my life. We all have these, and we find them out eventually. What is our limit? Do any of us truly know? Or can we just pile it on until we feel our spines snap? This leads me to think. I have been in some stressful situations in my life, and I keep thinking I am going to reach the point mentioned above. Funny thing is, I never have. It makes me wonder if that point really and truly exists in us all. I mean, maybe there is no breaking involved. Maybe we just bend. Which would completely explain the cheesy and cliche "I bend, but I do not break." Is that me? Gads, I hope not. If there is anything I cannot stand, it is to be cliche.

More News

John's waiver was submitted, but we spoke to the recruiter yesterday about getting less specific documentation to ensure it will go through. She also said it will be "highly likely" that he will get the 64W MOS. Combat Medic. He really wanted to do x-ray, but she said it isn't likely with his prior service status. He is sort of disappointed about that, but other than that, things are looking pretty good for him right now. I am starting to adapt to the idea, but I am still having episodes where I am worried and very, very sad. We are starting to plan our lives around the idea that he will be active duty before long. The good thing is that 68W will be a significantly longer AIT than just infantry. This will be six weeks and 6 months, back to back.Much, much better than just a few weeks. It will give me a better chance to adapt to the lifestyle a little bit. And get used to him being away, though I do not expect it to be the same as it would be if he were in a combat zone for a year.

How Good Is This?

John and I were arguing earlier about his lack of productivity. I have been doing laundry all day while he lays on the sofa. Well I was getting ready to get up and cook dinner when he said "No, you worked on the house all day! I'll cook dinner!" So now, instead of cooking, I am sitting here updating my blog. Sweet.

We're back home after a trip to Kentucky. We took John's car, and I had not realized how accustomed I had become to my own car until I took the 4 hour ride in his. So uncomfortable! Thank goodness Evan slept most of the way, each way, or the trip would have been even more intolerable. I interviewed for a position while down there, and it seems favorable. It would have a very nice schedule associated with it (Read: No more 12-hour weekend nights). I'm keeping my fingers crossed. The plan is, if offered the position, to relocate so we could be closer to John's family. That way, should he get the MOS he wants in the Army and has 54 weeks of AIT, I could stay and work, all while having relatives close to help with Evan. Who knows, though? I am most likely giving this all too much thought.

One Step Closer

We got a call this past Monday that the commanding officer for the company needed to meet with John regarding his waiver, and that afternoon was the only day he had free. So as soon as Evan was home from school, all three of us rushed to Indianapolis to meet with him. It was very intimidating. We ended up on this old military installation filled to the brim with beautiful old buildings, all immaculately kept. Every single one of them was named after a general. As we were led by John's recruiter up some stairs to cut through some offices, Evan got scared and asked if I would hold his hand. I think this was mostly because it was later in the day and the lights were dimmed throughout much of the building. Right about the time he said this, I looked up and noticed "U.S. Marines" on the wall in huge brass letters. I looked down at him and told him we were most likely in one of the safest buildings in the country. Ha! But anyhow....The CO was a really nice guy. He made us feel at ease. He had the whole family come into his office, and it was really informal. He said he would be glad to sign off on the waiver, that he was ready to "get this done". So that part is over. Now the waiver will go to the desk of a general we will not meet, and John's future in the military will rest in his hands.

Yada Yada Yada

Okay, so why the cupcakes? Because I am hungry, slightly intoxicated, and have food on the brain. I am also very tired, as it is 2 AM and I am sitting here on the computer for the first time in about a week. So.... I felt like I should blog something, even when I have nothing to say. It would seem that my son and husband, through their downloading without abandon, managed to destroy a laptop. I went to bed last Thursday, and woke up the next morning to a fried hard drive. Kaput! But thanks to the help of some good friends, I am back on line.

Could It Be?

John got a call from the recruiter yesterday. He said he will be calling on Monday morning at 0900 to set up an meeting between John and the Batallion Commander regarding the waiver. I was completely unaware that the Batallion cammander would be the one to approve the waiver. Apparently all that is between John now is a physical and a signature from this man he is to meet. It's very exciting and positive news and yet it also has that fear factor in there. This may be it. The main topic of this blog may change from the process of reenlistment to the pratice of being a military wife. There has been much speculation about this meeting in the past 24 hours. We are wondering if the waiver will be granted on the condition that John deploys. If that is the case, he said he would still do it, with absolutely no hesitation. It worries me and causes some sadness. I didn't really want him to say that he wouldn't, but I wanted at least a small amount of hesitation. To show he is thinking of us, the ones who will be left here at home to miss him and worry about him constantly.

Pensive

The other day, someone in an online community to which I belong asked this question: What makes your relationship so great? I made a reply immediatel, of course. The same superficial answer everyone gives: We love each other. Ever since the question was asked, however, I have been contemplatin what my answer should have been. It is not easy to sum up a relationship that has consumed the better part of a decade of one's life. We are not the same people who took the plunge all those years ago. Many people seeking divorces will claim that their spouse has "changed" over the years. Well...Yes, I should hope he or she has changed in some capacity. The events of our lives leave a mark on us whether we with for them to or not. Lessons are learned. Wounds heal and scars form in their place. Some of the things that have happened in the time we have been together have left a sort of stamp on us. Some is for the better and some is not. Regardless, after all of these changes have taken place it is hard to wrap up into a neat, concise statement what it is that makes John and I so special together. I can say that to the average onlooker, our relationship would seem troubled. Pardon the cliche, but we fight like cats and dogs. This man has within him the ability to upset me more than anyone else ever has been able. He simply gets under my skin, knowing exactly which buttons to press. This is only the case because, at times, I believe he knows me better than I know myself. He sees all there is of me. I don't see the arguments as a weakness like most would. In spite of them, we are fiercely loyal to one another. And we love each other madly, almost to the point that sanity is thrown right out the window. I cannot speak for John, but I can say that he has a large piece of me that will always be his. Whatever happens to us, wherever we go, he will have this. But back to the original topic: Why are we so special? I can certainly tell you it has nothing to do with sunshine and roses. Someone looking to marriage as a source of all things romantic will either be perpetually disappointed or setting themselves up for failure. There is a small amount of romance, but most of a lifetime together is wrapped up in the triviality of day-to-day life. The secret is to find those seemingly trivial bits that connect you as a couple. For John and I, there are many. Almost eight years has been composed of the little moments that have bonded us tighter as more and more time passes. If this were a movie, this would be the part where a montage plays to moving music. But this ain't no movie. This is indeed my life. So here you have it: The kaleidoscope of what makes us so special.... Scrambled egg pie and the infamous trip to the grocery store. I lo-uhhhhhhhh! Backrubs. "Marry me and put this on your finger". Cake up the nose. Two pink lines instead of one. Suviving preterm labor and hospitalizations. Hearing that first cry together. His first step/ first word/ first everything. Belting out "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy". I love you more. Wrestling matches. Junky cars and crappy apartments. The speed at which he can load a truck alone. Those eyes. That smile. That life. Crying on the baby's first day of school. Hearing "That's my WIFE" when my name was called at graduation. His hand on the small of my back when we dance in the kitchen to no music. The way our hands fit together. The solidity of him when I need a rock. The softness of him when I need to cuddle. The way his eyes have started to crinkle in the corners when he smiles and gray hairs have turned up on my head. Dreaming together. The softness of his breath when he sleeps. Being able to draw a map of the freckles on his shoulders. Giggling over bad movies and funny faces. Making fun of ourselves and each other. Laughter. Reading bedtime stories together. The sense of forever.

I'll Be Damned! Not MY Husband!

Who? Me???

OKay, last night, it was a little later than I normally allow Evan to stay up. But he seemed to be having trouble winding down for bed, and since it was not a school night... I decided we were going to play for a while. Well here is the thing. Evan has been collecting those die-cast Cars movie cars. He almost has all of them, except that they came out with more. Let me just say that his collection was not easy to build. Most stores carry the main characters. So anytime we were away from home for whatever reason, I would look at stoes to see if they had different ones. So we have built that collection a car at a time. There are now about 30 characters. And I take it personally when they come up missing. So while in his room, we notice some are gone. I went into his playroom to look... Oh. My. God. I could not even open the door. His playroom is just that: HIS PLAYROOM. It is stuffed to the maximum capacity with any toy a little boy could possibly want. About once a week, we go in there and reorganize, dust and vacuum. The rest of the week, it remains Evan's little area where he can be sloppy and play without betting barked at by adults. That is the point of the room. I was just in there 2 days before. It was spotless. So I pull Evan out of his bedroom and force him to help me clean the room so toys don't get broken by being stepped upon. And the entire time, he is blaming the mess on his little fiend that comes over to play. As in SHE did it all. It would have been possible if I would not have stopped anf thought about his remarks. I cleaned it Friday. Well, John and I did. But he was grounded Friday afternoon because his father was displeased with the way he was treating the belongings that cost so much money. Plus he had gotten mouthy with his father whle outside playing. So there have been no children in the house since the room was cleaned. So when did my baby learn to lie and blame his actions on others? I don't like it one bit!

Still Waiting

Grrrrr. Stupid Waiver! We are still waiting for word on whether John's waiver has gone through. It is driving me crazy waiting for the other shoe to drop. Is he going in? Is he staying home? Do I need to really start a new job around here, or are we moving to God-Knows-Where, USA? And he is losing his motivation, so I am having to fight the daily struggle of keeping him on task. I am drained. I am ready to either get on with this reenlistment thing or end this chapter in our life.

Code Moron

Blah Blah Blah

I have had a very long day. Most of it was handling random business...running errands. I am exhausted and just gorged myself on pizza. The kitchen is a mess because there are little piles of sorted laundry scattered around like islands in a sea of tile. And there is this awful odor because I go the bright idea that I would attempt to rescue the compromised coffeemaker before buying a new one. Someone told me to try to run vinegar through it to clean it out. Well, I only had cider vinegar because some random recipe for a marinade called for it. So I tried the cider vinegar, and now my house has the pungent odor of burnt cider vinegar. I sprayed air freshener and have been doing laundry so the house smells like flowers and my detergent, but all that is doing is creating the stench of pickled flowers. What do pickled flowers smell like? I have no clue, but I imagine it to smell like the entire ground floor of my house. Blech!

I have opened a new insurance policy and renewed our tags for the vehicles, which is always fun. And I attempted to get a laundry list of items needed for the house in about 5.2 seconds because my husband was parked in a fire lane. That was fun.

The plan now is to curl up on my huge comfy sofa and read, and I can bet I get through about 2 or 3 pages before my eyes start to close involuntarily.

Nothing to Say

I have absolutely nothing to blog about this morning. Except OHMYGODTHECOFFEEMAKERDIED! The last one I had, my child ruined by filling the water chamber with dark cocoa baking powder. He did this in an effort to make hot chocolate at 3 AM while we were sleeping. So hubby, son and I loaded in the car for an emergency trip to the local department store to buy a new one. (I won't mention said department store's name because I hate them with a passion, but they are oh-so-handy in a pinch.) So this is my second coffeemaker this year.

So what is wrong with it? I have no idea. You fill it to the 12-cup mark, put in the go-juice grounds and let it brew. It has an automatic timer that turns off after 2 hours, but you are lucky to get a teaspoon of coffee in that time frame. And it is making these horrible noises. Big gurgles and splashes and hissing like it is posessed by a thousand demons. I. Need. A. New. One.

So here I am on a Sunday morning, looking like a stark-raving-mad lunatic in pajamas. My hair is crazy, and my eyes are half open. And I have no go juice. I could decide I wanted to be handy by taking the back off of the thing and trying to figure out what is wrong. But that requires energy, and I am afraid I will find a Hot Wheel in there or something.

I was up most of the night crying last night. I wonder if there is some You Tube support group I could join? A 12-step program to kick the addiction of watching crap I should not be watching? I equate the You Tube fixation with driving past an accident. You almost HAVE to look. So I watch the stuff and cry, and sob, and sniffle. Then I can't sleep because there are a million thoughts going through my head. None of them positive, I might add. And I have come up with a grievance for the military wives who post this stuff: why do you all look like you haven't shed a tear in a decade? Seriously, their makeup is not smudged, not a puffy eye in the place, and they are sending their husbands off to WAR! Everyone is smiling and posing for pictures. WTF?!? So I posed the question on a message board. And I got replies like "They were just holding it in until they got home." or "They are just being strong." Huh? Strong? I am one tough broad. But I am sitting here watching the videos and bawling like a baby. There is no "be strong" or "hold it all in" for me. I am going to embarrass the living crap out of my husband when that day comes. It won't be by choice. There will be no choice to it. It will be a completely involuntary response to Uncle Sam taking my husband away from me for over a year. Sorry, but it cannot be helped. And Evan? Might as well leave Evan home, because I will already be a basket case, but then if you add to the mix my son pleading for his Daddy, it will all be over. We won't even be able to get home after that.

So just being tough? I don't think so. There has to be more to it than that. Maybe Jody is coming over as soon as she gets home, and she is excited. Hell, I don't know. I'm most likely wrong, and I will toughen up by then too, but I doubt it. You never know until you are in that situation, I guess.

What's the Difference?

Last night a friend and I were discussing the differences in the Army and the Marine Corps that may give John difficulty when adjusting. We could not help but laugh at some of them. A few could get John into trouble. The Marine Corps does not salute indoors, and the Army does. He is going to have to recondition himself on that one. I am willing to bet he will piss off a few officers before it sinks in and becomes second nature.

But the uniforms....no boot bands and bloused trouser legs, no cover block, and no rolled sleeves. I can see John now trying to do this with his ACU's.

Anyone who has never had the pleasure of knowing a Marine will not appreciate the comedy in all of this. They are purists, and view the Corps as the representation of all that is elite, disciplined. Name tags on uniforms? No way. They are "professionals". Patches on combat uniforms? What for? And what in the hell is up with that beret? I can almost see the look of disdain on John's face when he is told to wear it.

I am saying none of this to insult the Army. But the Marine Corps is a big, bad Boys' Club with their own set of standards. I swear they must check the testosterone levels of all recruits before allowing them to attempt to enlist. And my husband is a member. Some friends have equated the military to high school athletics. The Air Force is the Freshman team, the Army is Junior Varsity, and the Marine Corps is, of course, Varsity. "Where does this leave the Navy?", I asked.

"They are the cheerleaders!"

So what is my civilian take on all of this? Quite simply, we have different branches of the Armed Forces for a reason. Each does their job. Each is composed of our American brothers and sisters fighting so we do not have to. Each suffers the loss of the other. They are all brothers.

It's just that the Corps has a far-better swagger.

Losing Steam?

Lately John has been more and more difficult to motivate. No PT. Or very rarely. For the most part he sits on the sofa, watching movies. He is pretty much eating whatever he wants, and this worries me. I am by no means a shining example of physical fitness or proper nutrition for weight loss. But I am also not the one aiming for reentry to the military. I am afraid. I am afriad that he will e shipped to Iraq or Afghanistan, into a combat situation, and will not have the physical bearing to be able to keep up. He has gained a portion of the weight back that he had initially lost. I'm not quite sure how to get him motivated. Quite honestly, I should not have to. He should be doing this on his own.

Proud of My Kid

My husband and I, along with our neighbors, went to our local community park with the kids the other day. It was just a little outing...no big deal. The kids played on the playground while we adults watched on. We noticed that there seemed to be quite a few special needs children present. No big deal either. We figured they were on an outing. Evan has never been around children with disabilities. And let's face it--children can be cruel whether by intention or just by asking impolite questions with brutal honesty toward someone different from them. Well, I look over and Evan was sitting with this boy who appeared to be not much taller than him. I had noticed the boy walking around aimlessly by himself earlier. I immediately went over to them, afraid my son would be rude and hurt the boy's feelings. I could not have been more wrong about my son. He spent a good portion of his time there playing with the boy, leading him by the hand through the playground, having fun. A friend of mine, upon hearing this story, said he reflected on us as parents, that we have raised Evan well. I was so proud to have a child who will reach out to someone very different from him, to focus on what they have in common instead of the differences.

Finally, I Saw It!

I have wanted to see the film Ears Open, Eyeballs Click since I knew it existed. What in the hell is it? It is a documentary filmed during Marine Corps boot camp that really shows what it is like for the recruits. Watching it made me so proud that my husband did it. He made it through that! Of course John insists that boot camp on Parris Island is much tougher than San Diego, and of course the film was filmed in San Diego. There were parts that made me laugh. But there were also parts where I got misty eyed. I was somewhat disappointed about the Parris Island thing. I wanted a closer look at what it was like for my husband.

Slightly Tweaked

Why is it that John has worked on this reenlistment issue for so long, and now that the time is most likely here, I am flaking out? As I am typing this, an Army recruiter is on the way to the house to pick up some final paperwork for John's waiver, do a final taping, and have John sign his contract. This is it. Now or never. I am scared to death.

Stop-Loss

With my husband pursuing entering the Army, we wanted to see this film. I didn't originally think this vey prudent. I am prone to tears as of late, and visual imagery of patriotism and/or war seem to compound this. The day is rapidly approaching when I will no longer be just an observer. This will ultimately impact my life grossly. Unable to obtain a babysitter, we watched the film online (is it illegal to watch or just to upload???) Just John and I cuddled up with the laptop. I must say the film would most definitely be enjoyable for someone not potentially affected by the actual policy. It was enjoyable if I detached myself from the current circumstances of my life. I cried a little, especially at the imagery of a military funeral. But is it because of the moving moment of the film, or just simply that military funerals have always done this to me, long before I married a veteran or that same veteran I married decided he wanted to reenlist? And okay, I must admit, the guys in the film were HOT. You got me there! But I have to say it: Stop-Loss pissed me off. At the risk of not sounding politically correct or in-tune with our men and women in uniform, I am sticking with that statement. It seems tawdry to go to a theater on a date and buy your popcorn and Sno-Caps and sit and watch the plight of our troops on the big screen like it is there for our amusement, first of all. Yet recently watching Lions for Lambs on dvd did not have this effect on me. It may be because L for L prompted healthy discussion and political debate here in my house. I felt bad that I had this reaction to Stop-loss, so I started doing some internet research on the policy. I was sort of hoping to find some obscure fact about the practice that I had not before become aware. I didn't. I believe that the film did bring some things to light that desperately needed to be. Primarily the PTSD that is plaguing our men as they return from war. And that stop loss is real. But in the film, all of the men returning are suffering from it. I know the statistics of PTSD are staggering, but not all-encompassing. And is the reaction of the average Soldier returning from Iraq to go AWOL??? The film made this look so easy. You just find someone to help you with fake IDs and cross a border. When the main character was standing at the Mexican border, I was hoping he did not cross it. Of course the film didn't load correctlly on the computer, and it stopped at this point, so I originally didn't get to see the real ending and was really pissed off. I just thought that would portray these men as cowardly, and send the wrong message to the troops. So what is my reaction to the actual practice of Stop-Loss? Yes, it sucks. But almost everyone realizes when you sign a contract to serve, you are actually committing to several years after your active service ends known as Inactive Ready Reserves. John was IRR when the war in Iraq started. During this time, you can be called back to active service. Its just a part of military service. Would it really be better to reach the end of an active service term and return to civilian life only to be called back again? Yet there isn't any controversy over troops being recalled to active duty from IRR. This leads me to a familiar topic: Read that contract you sign, people! You cannot expect to recieve money for college, pay, medical benefits, reenlistment/ enlistment bonuses, room and board, etc, without catches and loopholes. If you can live with the loopholes, like John can, sign the papers. If not, walk away. I read in an article while doing some online reading on the issue the following quote: "....In the event of war, my enlistment in the Armed Forces continues until sixth month after the war ends, unless my enlistment is ended sooner by the President of the United States..." Well, doesn't that about sum it up? We are in war. Two of them simultaneously, to be exact. If you signed the papers, you signed the papers. I'm sorry for them and their families. My family will be among them soon. But we are doing so with the knowledge that this could very well happen to John. Two National Guardsmen sued over this, and it was shot down. They said their recruiters deceived them by not telling them about stop-loss. I did not know a recruiter was responsible for knowing every tiny detail about everything related to the military. That is why the contract is printed. They should have read it more carefully. I am glad a judge shot their claim down. We are at war. We need troops, and the Army is under-performing in the task of getting new bodies to enlist. Its either stop-loss or a draft in order to keep the man-power needed to do the job. At least stop-loss is utilizing troops who are already committed and volunteered.

4,039

http://icasualties.org/oif/

When I tell people of my husband's intention to reenlist recently, I have heard comments of such ridiculous nature about how things are safe now. In no way is Operation Iraqi Freedom "safe". There are now 4,039 American families who will never be the same because of this war. Please do not get me wrong: this is not an anti-war statement. I won't even speak on that subject, and you can take from this what you wil. Where does my concern rest? That these are my American brothers and sisters over there fighting this war. Whether we should be over there or not does not change this fact in my mind. These families affected are like mine in that at one point, their loved one said "I am going to risk my life to defend this country". They send their loved one off to war, assuming he or she will return many months later. As I write this, and I anticipate what it will be like to watch John leave, I also in some part of my brain envision what his homecoming will be like. These families were robbed of that by some guerilla with the notion he is defending all that is holy. I hope they find peace with all they lost. I, as a civilian, am so grateful for that sacrifice. I cannot find the words for more eloquent a statement. There are none.

We are Learning!

Evan brought home a new school library book the other day because he thought his father would approve. It was called "Alpha Bravo Charlie" and it went through the letters of the military alphabet, using examples from each branch of the service as examples. For example, Lima is for "Leathernecks", which got a hearty "Oorah" from my husband. But the moral of the story is that Evan and I now know the military alphabet!

Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo, Foxtrot, Golf, Hotel, India, Juliet, Kilo, Lima, Mike, November, Oscar, Papa, Quebec,Romeo, Sierra, Tango, Uniform, Victor, Whiskey, X-Ray, Yankee, Zulu......Hahahahahaha

Our Time?

John and I have started this habit of staying up extremely late. I have friends who would consider 10 PM late. Nooooo...We aren't referring to such a normal hour here. We are talking about times when there are actually some who are waking up and starting their day....4 AM or so.

Neither one of us is sure when this started. He blames me. I am the pepetual night-shifter, even when not at work, and have the awesome power of requiring very little sleep. I'm not sure when this developed either. Perhaps it is conditioned. When I was in school, from high school on, I would do as much as was possible, trying to make every little moment in my schedule count. There was never a fluff class like home economics or sewing. If there was a space in my schedule at all, it was filled with something useful like chemistry or an advanced physics course I didn't have time for before. Then I would swim, work a damned-near full-time job, play in the band, play softball. I was always doing something. By the time I fit all of that in, there was precious little time left for sleep. I did the same thing in college. So now here I am and I actually have trouble sleeping for more thn 4-5 hours unless under the influence of some substance. But anyhow...

So we wait until our kid goes to bed, trying to hold onto sanity everynight. Until the Mommy and Daddy calls have stopped, until there ae no more " Get back in bed, Evan" comments, when we can be in peace to watch that movie we have been wanting to see or talk about something interesting we saw in the news, or play a game of cards. This is our time. We have so little of it each night that it gets very difficult for me to cut it short.

I know this is going to make my nights much more difficult for me when he is not here. The house will be quiet, there will be no distractions, I will be unable to sleep because I am still hard-wired that way, and John will not be here. I'll wonder where he is, if he is safe and warm, and wish he were home with me. And I'll cry. Because it wil be our time, and we won't be together.

Wardrobe Problem?

Okay.....My husband is one of those guys who will just throw on anything that is clean and hit the door. Sometimes this results in mismatches, or he will lift his arm in public and see a hole in the underarm or something equally embarrassing. I try to remove these items from circulation while doing his laundry, but am human and sometimes miss things.

So we are getting ready to leave to go and meet with his recruiter. I am frazzled, as I have an interview and am trying to make sure I have all that I need, so I do not pay any attention to what he is wearing. I know he does not look like a bum, as I would have noticed this.

We get to the recruiter's office, and all of the guys start commenting on what an ugly shirt he is wearing. I look and see he has a Marine Corps tee on with his jeans. To an Army recruiter's office!

The recruiters were teasing him, and told him he was not to wear it anymore, handing him an Army tee. He changed.

On another note, after a follow-up telephone conversation, it would seem all systems are go for the Army.

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On a completely different note: I love this song, and have been singing it in my head all day. Just an FYI.

What Is That Smell??????

Awwww my son! My baby boy. Look at his picture there on the side. So sweet. So angelic!

WRONG! That child is far from angelic. Tonight, before his bedtime, he goes upstairs to take a shower. I hear nothing eventful to alarm me. No crashes or splashes or other ominous sound.

He comes down the stairs after the shower, and looks all cute with his wet hair and gorgeous smile. Then the smell hits!

"Evan, what did wash with?"

"Just soap Mommy!"

"What soap Evan?"

He runs away, leaving behind him a cloud of noxiousness. It would seem that my angel decided to clean himself with about five different perfumed gels of mine. They smell lovely by themselves, but not mixed all together. In fact, he smells like a French.....working girl. He runs up to hug me and it literally brings tears to my eyes, not because of the touching and tender moment, but because of the fumes that are wafting off of my child. I have not checked yet. I am afraid. I think his shower just cost me about $100.

Because He Still Wants To......

We started this journey so long ago. First, he was thinking about being a Corpsman because he wanted to be in the medical aspect of things. Then it was the Marine Corps because that is what he knows. Then other things in our life forced his reenlistment to take the back burner while we worked on getting things in order. He lost 80 pounds, then gained some of it back, then lost it, then gained a little more back. Then all hell broke loose in our lives, and things changed drastically. Through all of this, he still wants to reenlist. But the focus has now become getting him some sort of education completed so in the event that I cannot work, we will not be completely out of sorts. So how does he get both?

He contacted the Army. After being in this game for a little while, even I was impressed with what they had to say. Back in as an E-4, as in no loss of rank. PFT and body composition standards that will not break the back of a man who has been a civilian for almost a decade. Possibly even back in as an E-5 because he has completed 80 college credits as a civilian. Still no boot camp, but only a 2-week orientation of sorts. Almost guarunteed the MOS of combat medic, with said training allowing him to be a practicing civilian EMT upon discharge. Possible radiography tech training and credentials, which he wanted as a civilian but found the waiting list for nearby programs to be too long. A break for me. I could slacken my work hours a little and focus on getting that pre-med degree finished, at least. Relocation from an area he hates. This could possibly be the best opportunity for my family. BUT.........

I am still scared. Unlike before, when I refused to tell him what I wanted, I have agreed with him verbally. This could theoretically fix all of our problems right now. It could make things better. But is it worth the risk? We are not so naiive to believe that this all comes without a cost. We know for a fact that he will ship off to war. It could be immediately or it could be a year after training. Unlike the Marine Corps, the Army deploys for twelve to fifteen months, at the least. That is a very long time for my husband and Evan's father to be gone. And what if something happens to him? Of course, everyone that leaves for a combat zone believes they will be like the other guys they know who came back safely. But they would be foolish to believe that they could not be, instead, the one on their hometown news broadcast in the flag-draped casket. Or the veteran they show learning to walk with his new prosthetic.

It feels like a gigantic gamble. Like we would be pawning something very dear to us, which we can't live without, not knowing if we will be able to ever get it out of hock. My mother always taught me to not gamble with anything you cannot afford to lose for good. And there could never be enough money in the world to make up for the loss of my John. I would never be whole again. He is a part of me after all of these years, after all.

I am at a loss. I am finding a hard time stopping him from doing something that will get us out of this situation. But I am also having a hard time with the danger of it all. Is this the only way out? And after a year, with him still wanting to reenlist, would any other solution be acceptable to him? Is he just doing this to get us out? Or is he using our current circumstances as a justification for going back in? I'm afraid I will never know the true answer to these questions.

Us, If We Even Tried!

My favorite movie these days is "Fun with Dick and Jane". If you have lived under a rock lately and have not seen this movie, it is about the perfect All-American family who loses everything when his company goes under. Slowly they sell off all of their posessions one by one, and try any last-ditch effort to get money to cover the bills. When they finally get a foreclosure notice in the mail, they resort to desperate measures. I can relate, but like John and I, some people just are not hardened criminals. I wouldn't even have the cajones to try this. And even if I did, and tried to pull it off, I would feel so guilty and turn myself, as well as all of the money, in . Just like she said in the movie, maybe we just aren't Badasses!

Ha! Here ya go John!

Hahaha! This is from the Popeye movie that was out when I was a kid, and this song is sort of an inside joke. The other night, I got it stuck in my head, and was singing it around the house. Keep in mind that I sing a little worse than Shelley Duvall. It was also in Punch-Drunk Love, which had to be the strangest movie I have seen. Anyhow, John was laughing his head off at me singing this song, so I had to post this!

Successful?????

In case you can't tell, because of the recent events, I have been doubting myself. It's really hard not too when a string of misfortune comes your way, and you are a student of logic. One has to ponder whether the events are a result of one's own actions. Surely it can't all just be bad luck. But I found this Emerson piece, and since I am an idiot, and cannot figure a way to format this where it will stay that way when I publish this post to the blog, I am going to put it in the sidebar. I will sum it all up with this statement: yes, I am successful. Read: I am not such a failure after all.

Hoping for a Miracle....

Our lives have fallen apart. Plain and simple. We try and try to keep a positive outlook, but each step forward is followed by two steps back. I would love to know the secret to keeping one's chin up when there is this much weight on one's shoulders. It is something I am having trouble figuring out at the moment. There are others out there who have the desir eto help but not the means. They have done what they can and I will forever be grateful to them, even if it something as simple as a good intention. But this is a very lonely place I am in. I feel like I am driving my friends away. I cannot seem to keep myself from venting or discussing what is going on in my life. But then on the other hand, when I do, I feel like I am bothering them with my troubles. Or that they just don't want to hear it. On that same note, I have a hard time being my outgoing, wise-cracking self these days. I am more bitter and depressed. No one likes a bitter woman. I fear I have become one of these toxic women that you read about in Cosmo or something, and don't know what to do about it. But how are you supposed to act when all hope is gone? When there is no light at the end of the tunnel, but only darkness for as far as you can see?

Just Something I Read

Awesome read. Awesome. It isn't something I would normally choose, but the preview for the film looked interesting, and since the book is always better, I rushed to read it so I could see the film without guilt. Of course all hell broke loose (see last post) and the movie was never to be for me.

But I loved it. Now I have this fixation with the Tudors....NO--not the cable show. And John hates it because this is so different from the things in which he is interested!

So anyhow....read The Other Boleyn Girl by Phillipa Gregory. In the meantime, I will finish The Fountainhead then I plan to read it again.

Disordered

This is hard tp write...errrr... type. It's such a long story, but I have been MIA for quite some time now, and this is why. So I am juyst going to cut and paste something I had already written.

I am grappling with the decision to reveal this as I type it. It is very personal in nature, but I also know that we are all a family of sorts. And I know you will all laugh when I say that we medical personnel truly do make the worst patients. But during my absence from the site over the past few weeks, I became the patient, and I do not like it one bit. Some background information is needed for you to understand what is going on, so please try to stay awake. I was 17 years old, on my way to my fast food job during my senior year of high school. It was pouring rain at the time, and I was involved in a hit-and-run accident when someone in a very large truck ran a stop sign. My car went skidding sideways, with my head striking the driver’s side window as my body went hurtling sideways. I was taken to the emergency room, where a head CT was done. I had a concussion, and was sent home. Lucky me. But then a couple days later, we got a call from our family doctor telling us to report to the office to discuss the results of the head CT. It turns out that the radiologist, when reviewing the films, had discovered something out of the ordinary. I will never forget the sound my heart makes when it drops out of my chest, as it did that day when my doctor drew a crude depiction of a brain on a dry-erase board, explaining where they had found the mass. It was two days before Christmas. My follow-up with the neurosurgeon was a week later, the day after my eighteenth birthday. They sent me to the best. The Mayfield Neurological Institute of Cincinnati. So we trusted him when he told us that it was too small to be of concern, that it may possibly even be artifact on the film. It was forgotten as the years passed. Here we are now. I’m a wife, a mother. A healthcare professional. And while I was sleeping off a twelve hour night shift, I am awakened to blinding, stabbing pain in my forehead. Pain so intense that my screams caused my husband and young son to run to see what was wrong. The room was spinning and nausea set in. Then came the fear. I was taken to the ER, where a head CT was done…..again. I knew it was not good when the doctor called me to the nurse’s station to look at the scan on his computer. For a moment, I was out of my own body. This is the same physician I had worked alongside to save the life of others. This was someone else’s brain on the screen. But there it was. Just lateral to midline on the right of my frontal lobe. That ugly, ugly thing that had caused the phone call all those years ago. As we stood there looking at it, another physician with whom I had worked walked through, saw the film, and exclaimed “Oh, S##T!”, not realizing it was my head we were looking at. That is when the tears started. The doctor’s voice seemed to be coming from somewhere else as he told the nurse to schedule the next scan with contrast. When she asked for the indication, it seemed unreal when he said “Brain tumor, right frontal lobe”. That was March 14th. Since that day, the pain has not stopped unless it was under the influence of narcotic painkillers. I cannot work while on narcotics, so I have had time to mull this over in my head. There has now been a total of 6 head scans, including an MRA (Thanks to Dave, who knew immediately what it was!), 2 standard MRI’s, and MRI with contrast, and 2 CT’s. Yet we still do not know what is happening. The theory is that the pain is caused by the tumor pressing on my skull, causing back pressure on my brain. The debilitating symptoms alone are enough to justify its removal. I have not gotten official word just yet. But what is most profound to me are the thoughts that have gone through my head. We expect our patients to trust us, no matter what. With their lives, the lives of their children, siblings, parents. Yet now that the time has come, I am having a hard time trusting the capable hands I have worked alongside for some time now. We expect them to take what is coming with ease, yet the idea of someone opening my skull is terrifying me. What is to become of me? What is to become of the brain that holds so much? The tissue that holds within it the memory of my son’s first step, my mother who I lost all of those years ago. The memories are all I have left of her. What is to become of my career when someone is to take a scalpel to the area that tells my hands exactly how to intubate, or exactly what drug to give to counteract my patient’s life-threatening arrhythmia? I am learning too. For the scans, all of them, I was not claustrophobic enough to require sedation, but only for one reason, and one reason only. My John. I could get through all of them as long as I felt his hand on my ankle, telling me he was there, even when I could not see him. It did not matter that the tech was watching from another room, or that she made sure the call button was in my hand before she left me. It just mattered that my Marine was there for me if I got into trouble. After over seven years in a marriage where I have always been the strong one, it took this to show me how much I truly need him with me. To realize that it will all be okay if he is there. That we will survive this too. Together we can. So why am I telling you all of this? I honestly am not sure. Part of me is hoping you will learn something from the story. Perhaps you will approach your patient a little differently, or hug your loved ones a little tighter. But another part of me wonders if this is something we all have to learn on our own.

Christian Siriano for President! (As Part of the Fabulous Party!)

I love this guy. From Project Runway. I have even gotten my husband addicted to the show, and he thinks Christian is hilarious. If you have not watched the show, you can find it on Bravo, and you MUST watch. Seriously.

There have been some awesome designs that have come from the show, and I got addicted to it in its third season. Then I started seeing all of the reruns from previous seasons. But Christian Siriano by far stood out for me. Everything he touches is fabulous. And he has this knack for making all of the others' designs look like amateur home economics projects from high school. Don't ask...I never took a home economics class in my life. I was the geek who chose advanced physics or one of the chemistry classes. As a result, I cannot even sew a button on a blouse. If that happens, I will just throw the blouse away. Haha. So I need guys like this! Christan should run for President!

Is This Me?

So I am wondering if I could look at this every day. More later as far as explanations go.

Slow Starter

I have had this book for ages. I have heard all of these reviews that the book was so awesome, but everytime I would sit down and attempt to read it, I would get bored with the first chapter, and never finish. Well, I finally forced myself to push through my initial boredom and finish the book. I only had to push so far when I fell into it. The author, Hosseini, truly has a gift, and the story was very moving. Up until I read the book, I had a vague idea about the turmoil that has been plaguing Afghanistan. After reading the story, I had this thirst for more information, and it prompted me to do some digging on Shi'a and Sunni muslims. And I am more against the Taliban than I was before. I used to just think "Yeah, they are the $%^& 's behind 9/11." And so, as an American, I wanted us to hit them hard. But now more than ever, I have a renewed sense of the purpose behind Operation Enduring Freedom. We truly should be there. I still am not sure about Iraq, but Afghanistan? Definitely. So if you have not read The Kite Runner, do so immediately. I rank it up there with The Namesake and The Time Traveler's Wife as one of the greatest books I have read.