The Push

I think that every woman handles deployments differently. Some drink. Some cheat. Some crawl into a hole and don't come out. Some work, and some don't. Some volunteer. Some get involved in PTA. Some work out religiously, while some get fat. Some make a full-time job out of being a supportive wife and mother, attending all of the Army-wife meetings. Some home-school. Some do yoga. Some embrace their time alone and watch whatever television program they want without fighting over the remote.

I grow a penis.

I'd like to think that I'm the one who gets up early each day to go to the gym, then grabs a hot shower as coffee is brewing...a full day of work, then an errand or two...kids get to activities, homework gets done, trash cans get out to the curb on time. I'm at work with nice makeup with my hair done looking like a strong bunny nursing princess. Like magic. Unfortunately, my ideal in my head is far from my truth.

Thus far, this is pretty much the scene...a week before, I start getting solemn. The heaviness of what is to come begins to settle in. He gets increasingly distracted with his tasks at hand. Big, enormous ARMY green bags large enough for one of my children to sleep in come out of closets and make their way onto my floor as contents start filling them up. Equipment and ARMY boots and uniforms litter my hallways and trash my laundry room as items are washed, wrapped, folded, and packed. He's gone a lot, off to meetings at odd hours...like a Saturday at 5pm. When he isn't running around, he's on the phone. The more distraction I sense from him, the more it feels like the mission is taking over my life and my relationship, and the more internal I find myself becoming. I start closing up. I become quiet. I become introspective. I become independent.

When he leaves, I feel like in many ways he was already gone. The physical separation is just a continuation of the emotional separation that has been occurring in our home for the days leading up to the event. It's usually a quick kiss, not a long embrace. Then, like a flash, he's off.

I come home and move the coffee pot. I put his blender away on a shelf. I rearrange everything in the home to put it in a manner that's going to serve me. I set up a few massages. I concentrate on my upcoming work schedule. I arrange child care and transportation for my kids. I go with them on walks. I cook dinner...not his huge, elaborate dinners...but pot pies. From the freezer section. I pull out the list of things I've been waiting to do until he's gone, and I roll up my sleeves and get to work.

I remember who I am and what I'm made out of. I remember that girl who fought her way out of the trailer park into a swimming scholarship at a Division I University, and I connect with her.

I call it The Push. It's my own #bosslife, my version of Sasha Fierce, if you will. I've noticed characteristics of her, this woman I become, when he's gone. Instead of putting him in front of her, or my children in front of her, this #bosslife woman stands alone and puts nobody in front of her. She can do it all. She sets up the coffee on a timer the night before. She arises early before her alarm has gone off not to work out, but to go to work and get paid what she's worth. Her children are in amazing hands because she does her vetting with childcare. She teaches them, not through her words, but through her actions...what a strong woman looks like. She comes home, visits with her children over another dinner courtesy of the freezer section, discusses their days, and is off to bed, sleeping five hours instead of her normal eight. She searches for moments to find her children wherever they are emotionally and connects with their souls, not with their activities....those, she leaves up to them.

Emotionally, she's only open to certain kinds of energy. Instead of the usual openness and kindness and sensitivity towards others that I'm accustomed to feeling, #bosslife has turned off the heat in all the rooms she's not using while he's gone in order to conserve her energy. She has zero tolerance for bullshit. The passive aggressiveness and manipulation that the world brings don't go far with her...she's lost her patience for those. If it serves her, she includes it. If it doesn't, she's quick to cut it off. She doesn't have time for games in her dog-eat-dog mindset. Get in her way, and you'll feel her bite. It's nothing personal, it's just her way.

When I become this version of me, I remind myself of a man. My normal, highly feminine energy that is sensitive to the universe completely shifts into a masculine, task-oriented, zero tolerance person...the kind of woman who would get up in the 400 IM against TCU as the fourth seed and win the event. The kind of woman who says, "You fucked with the wrong woman on the wrong day..." She has no patience when children aren't doing chores, when coworkers are being lazy, or for anyone's drama....subtle or not.  When I connect with her, it's like an old friend coming for a visit. I remember how much I used to be her, how I found her somewhere in the depths of hell and she took over my entire being for the climb. She's a part of me I don't have to use very much anymore, but it's comforting to me to know that she's there in The Push. I'm glad I can call on her when she's needed and she happily emerges with her badass self.

When he comes back, it's another story. #bosslife's highly masculine, strong energy takes up a lot of space, and she's quite directive. She's the kind of woman who cuts through traffic without apologies, and her confidence can come off as being a bit of an asshole. She's not a giver, and she refuses to receive anything she didn't earn herself. She has no time for anything that isn't in her sights...which is probably why she's profoundly asexual. She's someone I love deeply and admire greatly, but I don't like very much. When she's here, it screws up the polarity in the relationship with his highly masculine energy. I mourn as I see her go away, as she was there for me when I needed her. I fall apart a little...after having kept it all together and making sure everything got done the way it needed to during The Push. As I see her walking off in the distance, a wave of emotion and sadness sweeps over me as she departs.

Conjuring our strength is an important part of being a woman. Connecting to our softness, our beauty, and our femininity is also important. Some women can be strong and soft at the same time...that is an art that I have yet to discover. It takes time for my kindness and tolerance to re-emerge after she's gone. He'll make dinner. We will go to the gym. He'll pour wine and ask me how my day has been, and the furnace that has been turned off in each room of my soul will be lit one by one, pop on, and eventually I'll begin to feel their warmth. I'll begin to feel sultry again. My voice will become smooth as I start to purr. From my heart outward, I'll start to glow. Like a flower in the sunshine, I'll open up and becoming vulnerable once I'm certain it's safe to do so.

I'll say goodbye to my strong, fiery friend for awhile...knowing the next Push isn't too far away, and she's always there when I need her. And, God....how I've needed her.

Under Lights And Wires

Today is the first day of October. It has been exactly four weeks since he left. Suddenly. On a plane into a storm....which turned out to be two storms. Two catastrophic storms...

...no return date in sight.

I received some devastating news today. A childhood friend of mine, the son of my father's best friend, is dying. Under lights and wires, my children and I were at Oktoberfest on base at our local post. Three amazed faces at the excitement and energy as their faces would light up with the flashing lights of yet another ride as it went round and round. I rode until my tummy hurt. I chatted with my son about Westpoint. My daughter educated me on box braids. The four of us shared a funnel cake, each of us with powdered sugar on our faces. We talked. I feel like those lines are constructed so that there is forced bonding. Ultimately, conversation starts to occur...partly to distract from the nervousness of the anticipation...partly because you're just sharing a moment with your most precious, loved ones.

As I was waiting in the car for the three not-so-littles to arrive after their last ride of the night, I plugged in my phone and received a barrage of texts informing me of the unfolding events half a world away.

My heart sank. I was already on the brink of tears, and I've just needed a good cry for some time. Between riding the people-flingers and eating the bratwurst and listening to music, I would catch myself people watching. Every family reminded me of my own....father with shaved head, tactical sunglasses and watch, fit trim waist with broad shoulders. Every woman pretty, smiling eyes, kid in tow or pregnant...or both. Catching moments together. Camera. Ice cream. Slide, ride. I felt sadness and gladness at the same time. There's a sense of family. There's a sense of community. All different colors, all different races, yet a common thread. Me and my three don't stand out because there are so many partial families with a deployed soldier running around. Life must go on living, nothing stops when he's gone. So, we don't endure. We live.

And then I checked my phone. The tears that were squeezed down tight emerged and spilled over. A man I barely know, but shared a childhood with...his daughter the same age as my son. He won't live to see Thanksgiving. I wonder if last Christmas, when he was opening presents with his daughter...if he knew that was the last Christmas he'd spend with her.

I've come to realize that with each deployment, I am going to feel every single emotion. And not just feel it...but FEEL it. In my bones. Anger, sadness, jealousy, and resentment are all committed for the stay. They've become long term residents who leave to do their daily activities, but come knocking back on the door come dinnertime. To try to keep them at bay is fruitless. To pretend they don't exist is unnatural. Even though its a choice to be here, these emotions are going to stop in to raid my fridge. It's okay. I get it. Then, there are the other emotions that are harder to pinpoint. Gratitude. Solidarity. Community. Solidarity and community because there are just no words that need to be said....people take care of each other when there are deployments. Nobody knows how you feel more than the woman standing next to you, and she has your back. And the gratitude...that comes because you know that complacency cannot exist in a relationship with as many ups and downs and unexpected turns as the one the ARMY gives you.

I wanted him to hug me and wipe away my tears. I wanted him to make me a cup of coffee and give me some good conversation, to validate my feelings of loss over a man I barely know. I wanted him to hold me tonight in the crisp autumn air. Let one of those other men leave their families behind, tonight let him be the one here to share an ice cream cone with me.

But it doesn't work that way.

Soon, he'll be under lights and wires with me. And it will be someone else's turn. We all sacrifice, we all learn to self-soothe. We all learn who we are in the absence of one who can hold us when we hurt. Sometimes, we look in the mirror and we don't like what we see. But sometimes....we realize that we are built of more solid stuff than we thought.

Dear Soldier

Because I'm a woman in a home with a male soldier, this is written from that perspective...

Dear Soldier,

If what you want is a healthy, happy life with a healthy, happy wife and kids...this is for you. I'm about to give you some nuggets, the key, if you will, to having it all. If you love suiting up in your uniform, crossing oceans to move mountains for our country, posting facebook photos of you eating street cuisine with the locals, and coming home to serenity...listen up. This one's for you, Soldier.

Close your eyes for a minute and imagine that you've switched places with her. Imagine that you're up each night working on school projects, talking to an emotional child who misses their mommy, fitting in your daily workout with work commitments with grocery shopping and teacher's conferences. Imagine that every time you check your email, someone is asking you how she's doing. When you hear from her, it's only for a few minutes every few days where she talks about her mission, her job, her.... Imagine that after working, and cooking, and carpooling, and grocery-shopping you come home to an empty bed. Invisible. No medal on your uniform.

The woman you choose and how you treat her will make or break you.

Choose wisely.

The woman who is going to thrive by your side is a strong, lively, independent woman. She has her own friends, is a great multi-tasker, has good relationships and great boundaries. She doesn't need your help when it comes to managing multiple tasks, getting kids educated and athlecticized, getting in her yoga or daily run, and holding down a full time job. She is a pleasure to have on your arm at any social function, and makes you look better than you actually are. She doesn't drink too much, is good at managing money and working on a limited budget, and can go long periods of time in your absence without so much as looking at another man, even though every man notices her. These women are hard to find. Make a mistake in your choosing, and you'll find yourself in another country wondering if your child is getting the care they need and what kind of a mess you're going to come home to. Imagine trying to do your job overseas when your mind is a million miles away. Pick right, and you'll be able to give good focus on your job at hand knowing that the home you come home to is safe and sound.

Honor her.

Kids don't get themselves to soccer practice. Children don't learn to read on their own. The spouse I describe above is a master at juggling a hundred tasks and making them look simple. She can get kids to do chores and behave themselves at social functions. If she works, then she is often juggling home responsibilities while also contributing to the bottom line and making up for any income that you don't make while you're sporting your night vision goggles. She gets no glory if the house didn't burn down, the new babysitter arrived when they needed to, and she made it to work on time. Hers is a thankless job, and when everything goes well, nobody notices her. It's only when things don't go well that people see the cracks. Not to mention, if she realizes that she's been doing it on her own and can do it better without you since you have nothing to offer her, she is entitled to walk away with a good chunk of your retirement, savings, alimony, and child support.

Find out what she needs and give it to her.

Nobody can pour from an empty cup. Most spouses don't want help with the logistics, they just want to be validated. Nobody is sending her a care package. Every time you go away, her job gets more difficult because the same amount of work exists with less hands to do it. But, she doesn't get a raise. She molds her career around yours, finding jobs that will allow her mobility and flexibility so that she can be there for you when you've got to drop everything and POOF...be gone.

You get to see the world while she gets to see the drivers seat of her mini-van. She wants to know that even though she's the silent partner in your team, and that the world tells you that you're the hero...that you SEE her, she's YOUR hero. Find out what she needs, and give it to her. If she likes gifts, set up an Amazon Prime account and set a calendar event to remind yourself to send her something each month. If her love language is acts of kindness, set up a weekly cleaning service to come clean her home or a Massage Envy account for her and book her a service. If she just wants to be heard, then set aside 10 minutes every few days to call her and not talk about training exercises, missions, staffing, or logistics and just talk about her.

Find out what fills her cup, and fill it. If you do, she will pour over and pour over and pour over.

Good luck, Soldier.

My Duckling

Some time ago, I saw a story about a cat in Ireland that had taken a group of newly hatched ducklings and began to mother them. The cat had recently given birth, and the ducklings were orphaned. When the farmers found the ducklings, they were nursing milk from the cat alongside her new kittens. Bizarre. Yet, there are so many examples in nature where this happens.

One of the structures in the limbic system deep in our brain is the habenula. We think that the habenular complex is responsible for mediating the hormones that provide us with nesting or instinctual maternal behaviors. I remembered learning about this structure in my neuro-anatomy class thinking that maybe some mothers just have really small habenulas, and maybe I got two or three of them from people who didn't get them at all.  That cat must have a mega-sized habenula.

Right now, winds at 165 mph sweep over the Caribbean Ocean. By tomorrow morning, the first of the high winds will start to reach the San Juan airport, and around 2pm the eye of the Category 5 hurricane is expected to pass over the island. After the bashing of the gulf coast less than a month ago, resources are slim. Men and women are protecting the interests of the island while their spouses and children are at home without their protectors. Their big shoulders move mountains, but often those mountains are overseas.

My soul mirrors the winds. Semi-predictable. Amid the hurricane party and the work/play atmosphere that will be sweeping over the island tomorrow, it's hard for me to concentrate. I'm living at the intersection of jealousy and worry. There are times I'd like to the be the one out there on the leading edge. Hell, being an ICU nurse, I often am...but there are more similarities between me and him than I'd like to admit at times. The work, the glory, the adrenaline, the fear, the homecomings.

No hurricane parties here. I've got yoga in the morning, dinner to plan for the kids, and a little juggling this week with a Thurs/Fri/Sat work schedule in the midst of three children. My leading edge is figuring out what they'll be doing this Saturday while I'm working 7a-7p. A little bitterness is sometimes sprinkled in with the mundane.

And, then I hear them sleeping. Three children...my leader, my follower, and my free spirit. Two kids that came out of my body, and one sweet soul that this beautiful universe brought to me. Like a duckling.

Puerto Fuckin' Rico

It's someday in September, and we've got a Labor Day BBQ planned for tomorrow with guests already making the side dishes they're bringing. We sit down for dinner, then the phone rings.

"Just got the call. I'm leaving tomorrow. Puerto Rico."

I'm mid-bite between flank steak and zucchini when my stomach drops. His bag has been packed for two days. I knew he was on the national response team with a 2-hour call-out for the next tropical storm brewing somewhere in the ocean. He had already told me that there was a 100% chance that he wouldn't see Tuesday. Yet, my stomach still turns at the thought of him leaving. I take a moment to text everyone coming to the BBQ to let them know we have to cancel.

I'm not one of those moms who do stay-at-home mom-ing well. I've found that the more I'm around the house, the more I fill up on junk TV and facebook. I've found that I'm most productive when I'm lost in something else. Nooo...life for me is so much better when I'm juggling - work, kids, activities. I've known this for awhile about myself. Sadness and jealousy sweep over me as I struggle to swallow my steak. Sadness because I'm going to miss him, and there's always a chance...jealousy because I know that going to Puerto Rico to work will be hard(ish), but staying at home with three kiddos is a helluva harder.

Puerto Rico.

The conversation fades into some talk about how granola bars and potato chips should be saved for school-day snacks and not consumed on weekends. Voices fade. I can hear people talking, but I have no idea what they're saying. When I'm asked for my opinion, I cannot contribute. I think..."Who gives a fuck about granola bars..."

I see a bottle of wine in my future.

This is the life. This is the moment-to-moment, I don't know what tomorrow brings, I'm going to raise my kids and hold my head up and appreciate every damn second life. I'm new to it. Other women, much better and stronger than me, have been doing this life for much longer. Lifetimes. This is where we earn the military dances and the free health insurance and the no-tax grocery benefits that we get. There's no such thing as a free lunch, and the fact is that this is the price we pay so that our children can see the world and we have guaranteed income doing work we love.

Last week, we went away for my birthday. It was a 7-hour drive. As on all of our road trips, I lose myself in him. I purchase the 2 for $3 Rockstars at every gas station even though I know they can send me into renal failure. I find the best cup of coffee an Exxon can offer, and I listen to his voice. I ask him about something that I know nothing about. He explains, often going on tangent after tangent. I allow him to lose himself as I listen. The song list plays in the background. Sometimes he'll sing along in his off-key raspy voice. And I'll think about how lucky I am...that I have this moment.

Because tomorrow he'll be in Puerto fuckin' Rico with a bunch of men telling dirty jokes...and doing work that keeps our country safe. And our bed will be empty. I'll make my own damn coffee. The kids will wake up and get themselves ready to catch the bus as I'm getting report at work. The world will be just a little smaller without him in it. And after a dinner of leftovers and conversation, I'll lay my head down in our lonely bed. I'll close my eyes and think of his voice. His raspy, smoky voice.