I feel sort of guilty, because I'm not that upset that Adam will not be here for Thanksgiving. There are several factors why:* This isn't the first, and it won't be the last holiday he's been gone. Good lord, I think we've covered every holiday, birthday, anniversary, etc. without him. It's not that I get used to it, I am just a bit jaded by now.* Obviously I'm not throwing around timeframes, but he will be home sooner than later. Of course I miss him, and wish he could be here, but he can't. He's at war - it's his job, and we chose this life - so I understand.* We have family coming to spend Thanksgiving with us. Thank God my brother-in-law can cook, because the Moroz sisters just aren't very proficient cooks. We can, but we are also smart enough to have married good men that can cook. Mama didn't raise no dummies.* To Adam, it's just another day over there. I know I will hear the sadness in his voice, that he can't be with us, and I will do my best to let him know that yes, I miss him and wish he could be here, but at the same time, try to keep it lighthearted. I can always tell when he's sort of sad, because his voice gets really low and monotone. I suppose I sound pretty bitchy, writing a whole post about not being upset my husband isn't here for Thanksgiving. This year, I am most thankful he is alive. There are many wives, husbands, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, etc. who will never, ever share the holidays with their loved ones again. That hits home, and shows me the bigger picture of life.Happy Thanksgiving, please don't forget about our troops overseas who will not be with their family, and keep yours that much closer.
Before every deployment, I come up with tons of stuff to keep me busy - paint the bathroom, make everyone scarves for Christmas, clean out the attic, etc. I guess I do this as a way to ease my mind, that I will keep myself busy and also accomplish something along the way.Have I done any of this? Yeah, I painted the bathroom and the vanity and replaced the silver stuff with bronze. It took me weeks, but I was very busy with the logistics of tragedy and being an FRG leader.Now that the end is sort of in sight, I'm rushing around like a damn fool. I need to clean! I need to buy every single thing for Thanksgiving dinner! I need to get the guest room ready by next Wednesday! In reality, it's not much. It just feels like it, because I didn't do much during the deployment, always pushing it off, thinking I had plenty of time. Here's where I could really kick my own ass - I was told that our company HAD to spend our money that was so generously donated. I had to come up with something within a few hours. I'm not a good thinker under pressure, and usually my brain farts one of those juicy, better-check-your-panties farts. You know which ones I mean.I decided, oh, it would be nice to make an ornament for each and every wife in the company. After some trial and tribulation, I think I've figured it out (and lots of anger and frustration). It will be time and labor-intensive, but I think anything handmade is always nice. Then I tallied up how many wives....55. Fifty-fucking-five. I'm a glutton for punishment.
It's the never-ending debate - working moms versus stay-at-home moms. I think it's utterly ridiculous, and would be quite happy to never see a single word written about it again. When I'm done, of course.Why, as mothers, do we judge each other so harshly? Who gives anyone the right to judge what we choose to do with our own lives? I believe that the most outspoken ones (on both sides) are those that are the most miserable, and choose to target the other women for their choices in a pathetic attempt to justify their own choices. I could be totally wrong, but I see no other valid reason for some women to criticize anyone else's life.In fact, I see no reason for anyone to judge someone by how they choose to live their life. It's the reason why I only have a few close friends...I don't like people up my ass, in my business. Since moving to a small town, I have heard more gossip about people I have never met than in my entire life. I live and let live, and while I have a certain amount of curiosity of how others live, I could care less. I am the happiest I have ever been in my entire life (current deployment not included). If someone wants to judge me for not working, fuck 'em. I made the decision after working for 10 years (mostly at-home, and when I did go into the office, my son was with me) to quit, because the office decided that children were no longer welcome. I packed up my shit and resigned that day. My family will always come first. Because Adam is either deployed, training, or working long hours, I want Addison to have a constant presence of at least one parent around. It's hard enough worrying if his dad will return from overseas (and the poor kid had a nightmare that Adam died ... that will break any mother's heart). He knows I am here every day when he gets home from school, even though he says he'd prefer me to be gone at least half an hour. He's exerting that independence recently, which I will not quash, but I would like him to have that comfort right now.I don't give two shits whether you are a working mom or a stay-at-home mom, or somewhere in between. Live your own life, and quit worrying what everyone else is doing with theirs.
I'll admit it - yesterday sucked. Sundays are the days I feel the loneliest, when I wish I had any sort of family within a reasonable driving distance. They're super depressing, especially when I read on Facebook how people are snuggling on the couch with their husbands, watching football, having family day, or having dinner with their parents. I'm insanely jealous of those people.Today's better. I have a spark of energy. I have a better attitude. I refuse to sit around feeling sorry for myself, even though it's so much easier. I'm a fighter, not a lover, and will fight the loneliness until he's back home. Addison and I are counting down the days (even though we don't have a set date yet, just a general idea). That makes it easier, knowing it's closer on the horizon than it was yesterday. Until then, I'm counting my blessings every single moment of every single day. I highly recommend it...you might realize life isn't so bad.
Today I decided to mix up my exercise routine (which usually consists of either walking on the treadmill in the garage or walking the track down the street) and walked to some of the other housing developments in our general vicinity. I'm highly nosy, and like to see how people decorate their yards.I was amazed at the number of houses that seemed to just not give two shits what the outside of their home looked like. There were a lot that looked really nice, who had pretty palms and flowers, don't get me wrong. And I can only assume that the 20+ houses who leave their garage door open about a foot do it because they have a cat. If I was a burglar (and I'm not sure why my mind thinks like this), I could totally shimmy me and my ghetto booty under that door and be in their house, lickety split. When I got home 2.5 miles later, I tried to look objectively at my own house, and see what others would see through their eyes. Ummm, yeah, I'm an ass...the grass needs to be cut, I need to de-leaf the landscaping, weed out the old dead shit, etc. It's not that bad, but bad enough to where Addison and I will be spending some time on it this weekend. I hate doing yard work. Adam and Addison do the yard work. The inside is my job. It's about time I stop pretending like there is no outside of the house and take care of it. Adam's not here, and hasn't been for weeks and weeks and weeks. Thank God Addison asks if he can mow. Do it to it, Boy.
I've heard a lot of complaining the last few months, I've read a lot of complaining, I've done my own complaining. Complaining amongst the wives about this and that (not getting a phone call every day, not getting every detail about every single thing going on with the guys, etc.)Here's where I might sound unjustly cruel. Get over it. It's not all about you. Our men are at WAR, and if they call you once a week, be grateful. Be grateful your husband is alive and well. Others aren't that lucky, and will never talk to their husband on the phone again, crappy connection, dropped calls and all.I'm sorry if your husband's job is an inconvenience to you. He volunteered to join the Army, he volunteered to be in this unit, he might have even signed the dotted line more than once. Not all of us knew exactly what we were getting into, dating or marrying this type of Soldier, but most of us did, or have chosen to keep living this life. It's not an easy life, but no one ever promised life would be easy. If they did, you should find them, and kick their ass for lying to you.No doubt we also sacrifice for our husbands and their jobs. But to complain constantly is not going to change anything. That's not to say I don't complain, because sometimes it helps to vent. I'm not perfect...far from it. I don't particularly like reality. But I'm doing my best every day to deal with it, and realize the guys are busy. Let them do their jobs. God knows they'd much rather be home with us, going to our kids' sports events, carving pumpkins, watching football on Sunday, and so on. But they aren't. And no amount of complaining is going to change it.
You'd think I'd be an expert by now. I'm not. I'm very care package-challenged when it comes to putting together a box to send to Adam.I started sending him packages in 2001. At that time, though, the box could be no bigger than a shoebox, and we had to bring them to his unit, because they didn't have an address, and they got shipped right there from Fort Benning. You know what it's like to try to cram stuff into a shoebox? My feet are sized 6 1/2. Being the rebel I am, I would go to Wal-Mart and buy the cheapest boots I could find, throw them away and use the box, because really, shoes did come in them, right?I've been averaging about three boxes a month right now. Of course, there's always at least 10 cans of his beloved Copenhagen. Then the dilemma hits me...what the hell else can I fill up this box with?The second Adam gets on the plane to deploy, he starts a diet. (I'm not sure why, he knows I'm a chubby chaser.) This means I don't send him cookies, brownies, candy, etc., because it will just go into the community pile. He asks me to send "healthy" stuff. That's like asking Willy Wonka to shop for him. One deployment, I sent him a few bags of dried fruit. That's healthy, right? Except I forgot his allergy to sulfa, and the fruit is dried in sulfa. He did let me know his medic really enjoyed it. Another deployment, I went to the cheap toy aisle in Wal-Mart (you know, the one where everything is a dollar, and you know within 10 seconds of playing with it it's going to break?) and got a recorder (I call it a flute, that's what it basically is), silly putty, etc. He seemed to enjoy it, and it broke up the monotony of beef jerky and hunting magazines.Now I've got a new angle, and unless you know us, you'll probably think we're crazy. (We are.) I had the usual array while packing up a box last night...Bass Masters magazine, hunting magazine, beef jerky, Copenhagen, etc. It was still looking pretty sparse, so I consulted Addison and said, "Go look in the pantry, and find something we'll never eat while Dad's gone." He picked out a can of kidney beans. Now that I think about it, they're my kidney beans, when I make my Paula Deen chili. Anyway, Addison got a Sharpie and wrote on the top, "We ain't never gonna eat these." (Yes, the improper grammar was my idea.) The beans are now nestled among the other goodies, ready to be shipped out tomorrow. I wish I could be there when Adam opens the box, and pulls out a can of freakin' kidney beans. I have no doubt he'll first be like, "WTF?", and then he'll laugh his ass off.I'm also willing to be no one else will be getting kidney beans in their care packages.
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