All Rolled into One

In the busy-ness of my day, I caught myself retreating to my own thoughts. The happy "noise" around me stemming from the excitement of a birthday party just a few hours away, makes me smile,... for the most part. How could it not be happy? There are Oreo cupcakes (that alone can make my day), friends from the neighborhood and church plus their families (I love to invite whole families still instead of a "drop off."), presents arriving daily in the mail, cards to boot, the hustle and bustle of picking up last minute items, and just the sheer look of joy on the birthday boy's face. All of it, should make me smile all day. It is the birthdays though, during a deployment, that leave me happy, exhausted, thankful, and sad, all rolled into one.

The happy is the overwhelming feeling. I am happy to be this little boy's momma. I love that he is our exclamation point. I love that he needs love from me; he is my cuddle bug. I love his attention to detail even to the point that it can drive you mad. I love his slowness (at times) and his ability to savor the moment. I love that God placed him perfectly in this family and even through our challenges, at the end of everyday I still think he is the sweetest, most bighearted 9 year old I know.

The exhausted feeling, exhausted with the planning, the organizing, and the logistics. I was always made to feel so special on my birthdays and that is something I so badly want to pass on to my little ones. But with that need to make everything special and "perfect" for that one little person, and with my expectations sometimes a little lofty, it can leave me feeling like I have run a race especially when it's just me...flying solo.

I am thankful on these days for what I have been given and what I have been blessed with. I wouldn't take a "do over" for anything because where I am is exactly where God has me. Everything up to this point has become the life I know and live for today. I am thankful for my husband, for the specialness of this day for the two of us. I still say my most cherished memories with the man I have been given are in the moments just before we deliver a baby. It's just the two of us, how we first started our life together and how we will end our life together. It's our moment, meant for no one else. And in the preciousness of that moment, we welcome a life together. A life we are responsible for, a life that out of God's Grace, we get to keep...for awhile. I am thankful for each one, each precious one has added a dimension to my life that makes me a better wife, mom, and person.

And at the end, there is sadness. Not much, but it's there. Birthdays, when Patrick is away, are the hardest days of all. It is a picture in general of how much he sacrifices for a country we so dearly love. He misses birthdays. Not by choice but because of the obligation he has, because of the honor he carries. People tell me all of the time, "I don't know how you do it," but really I don't know how HE does it, and in such a way of not making us feel second best even when he misses the birthdays. On these days, I am sad for him and for all that he misses, for the two of us as a couple, and for my little ones. But I'm not looking for people to feel sorry for us; it's our life, it's what we know, and it's our "normal."

Birthdays are celebrations of all the little things: little league games, school days, bike rides, camping trips, talks that make up the everday life of this child. It is being happy for what has been and what is to come. It's being able to smile at the future. With him not there, I can amazingly feel so very alone in the midst of 35 people moving about me, through the chorus of voices singing "Happy Birthday," and the laughs and smiles. But I know I am not. I have a God Who has promised to never leave me nor forsake me, and I stand on that. My feelings are what they are, just feelings. I don't make it a habit of letting my train run on feelings, thankfully. But they're there nonetheless. So today you will have to excuse me if when you ask, "How are you doing?" I answer happy, exhausted, thankful, and just a little bit sad...all rolled into one.

A Simple Prayer and Wishful Thinking.

"Please God, just one more hug." She kept saying this over and over through her tears and barely audible with all of the jet noise. She broke my heart. I felt so guilty that I just had to stand there and run my fingers through her hair, hold her close and know it was only wishful thinking. I know my God is big. That I am firm in, but her prayer? God was still good, but her Daddy had to go, like so many times before. So many thoughts were running through my head of things I wanted to tell her. Things like, "God has seen us through so many deployments, Ninnie, He is right here," "Daddy has to go, but God is still good," He always promised to walk us through the valley not around it." These were more for my heart at that moment because over the noise and her tears, that conversation would be better had at bedtime when we could snuggle and really talk. As the jets rolled away and eventualy became airborne, I could hear her say one more time to herself, "Just one more hug." My throat ached but I refused to let the tears come. This was the closure I needed her to see; Daddy was gone, God was still good and sometimes doesn't answer our prayers the way we think He should, and now at least our countdown could continue. But it still broke my heart, but never once did I think to pray the same thing. In fact, at that moment, God had answered my prayer. That Patrick's jet would be safe and he would leave without problems to his jet. His safety, that's what I wanted. She wanted a hug. Sweet, but my prayer was more logical.

Fast forward 3 hours. The text came; all 6 jets and the tanker were headed back to Beaufort and he needed a ride home.

She got her one more hug. God made jets come back so my girl could see Him answer a prayer, that to anyone else, would be just wishful thinking.

I learned a small lesson from my 6 year old daughter. I want the faith to pray the Please-God-just-one-more-hug prayers.

Bittersweet

Pre-deployment leave. Funny how they call it that. They put the good with the bad. Kind of like when my boys were little and didn't like peas. I would put applesauce on the same spoon with a bite of peas. The good with the bad. Bittersweet.

Two weeks, two whole weeks with my man and my sweet children! Two weeks. We are headed out in the morning to camp as a family in our trailer. We love this time. We play board games, sleep in, eat s'mores, take hikes, swim, fish, ride bikes, talk, laugh, and hang out. We are focused on being a family. I don't have laundry (well, ok, I have it, but I can't do it!), nothing to really clean, no organizing, nothing for school, no phone, no computer, nothing but my man and my sweet children. It is such a precious time. Sweet time.

What follows though is yet another deployment. 6 months, 6 whole months. 6 months without my man and my children's sweet Daddy. He heads out in July. We dread this time. We miss him, email him, celebrate birthdays without him, long for wrestling matches and his silly jokes. We cry, laugh with him on the phone, try to remember events of our day to tell him, send him packages. We are so focused on his return date. I don't have him right there, no hubby to share talks with at night, to snuggle up against, to laugh with, go on dates with. I miss him. My sweet little ones miss him. It is such a hard time. Kind of a bitter time.

Pre-deployment leave. Bitter yet sweet. It is well with my soul.

Happy Anniversary P

19 years together.
15 years married.
13 moves.
6 deployments.
4 children.
2 pets.
and...only 1 man on this entire earth I would do this for....and willingly do it all over again.
I love you.

clarification

A day after Memorial Day. Time is gone to have reflected on all the members of our armed forces, the price that has been paid, and my undying gratitude for their service to our country. All branches, my complete respect. I do believe, after seeing posts on blogs, Facebook, emails, and cards, there needs to be a slight clarification. Don't take this personal. How could you know unless you were a Marine or married to one? You couldn't. In your eyes, they are one in the same...Air Force, Army, Navy, Coast Guard, Marines...but, alas, far from it. I am a little biased here, I'll be the first to admit it, but clarification must happen. They are all military, yes, but my husband is not a soldier, an airman, a sailor, nor a guardsman, he is a Marine, a United States Marine. Here are a few ways you can tell the difference (and being in dress uniform does not count here because if you have ever seen a Marine in dress uniform, you would never confuse him with any other branch...I'm just stating the obvious):

1) If you happen to see a military member in the airport in cammies, he is not a Marine.
2) If you see a military member ANYWHERE off base for that matter in cammies, he is not a Marine.
3) If the military member is riding a bike for a Physical Fitness Test, he is not a Marine.
4) If you see a military member home from Boot Camp on leave for Christmas "break," he is not a Marine.
5) If you see a military member in a hotel during TAD and not sleeping in a tent, he is not a Marine.
7) If they have the best gear and best jet parts, they are not Marines.
8) If they have matchy-matchy PT gear complete with winter and summer gear, they are not Marines.
9) If their flight equipment room has plush carpet and wooden flight lockers, they are not Marines.
10) If they come home from survival school weighing more than when they left, they are not Marines.

My list is somewhat short, but I am sure my Marine could add to it. He is not a soldier, not an airman, not a sailor, and not a guardsman. He is a Marine. And will always be a Marine. Hopefully, now you can tell the difference.

The Mom of Military "Brats"

brat-(brat)n. An ill-mannered or spoiled child

Not really sure who coined the phrase "military brat," but in the eyes of almost everyone who has heard the phrase, I've got four. In defense of the dictionary I used, the second one states, "A child of a career military person." But the word brat carries with it such a negative connotation. And military brat, even more so. But surrounded by my four "brats" today, it caused me to sit and think on this very phrase. My children look at adults in the eyes when they speak, they speak when spoken to...or we're working on that one with two in particular...they say please, thank you, yes ma'am and no sir. The boys hold doors open and my girls have "kissing knees." They ask left out children to play, they eat with napkins in their laps, they put their hand over their hearts when they play the national anthem, and the boys take off their hats when they sit at a table. They obey their coaches, music teachers, and other adults. They care about feelings and boo-boos of their siblings. They make offers of help, see needs, carry in groceries, and swiffer my floors. They pick up their messes, they pray for people, they sing together, and play hide and go seek. My brats are not ill mannered nor are they spoiled. They let the country borrow their Daddy for months at a time, they give up birthdays with him, holidays, weekends. They don't waste moments with him, they meet him for lunch, they sit in his office when he can't be at home, and they say good night on the phone instead of in person. They have learned to ride bikes and then email him to tell him. They let him miss games, dance recitals, and birthday parties. They know his job does not come first but they also know sometimes it may seem like it. No, spoiled is not the word I would use, nor ill-mannered, nor brat. They are children of a United States Marine. And I am their Mom and couldn't be prouder to have that title.

It's more than fishing

I have to admit, I am not a big fan of fishing. It's not that I feel for the fish (although when they swallow the hook I can't watch) it's just that I don't want to do it, I don't get it, I don't find it fun. I like the quietness of it but that's about all. I don't get it. So when asked to go this afternoon, reluctantly I went. I whined in my head and to myself. There was so much I needed to be doing as a new week was staring me down the barrel. I needed to fold clothes, change the calendar, put up new vocabulary words, unpack my church bag, check lesson plans, and just little odds and ends that needed attention before our week began. Ugh. Fishing? Seriously? Why? Why do they want me to go? Usually I just sit on the golf cart cheering for the girls' casts, admiring the boys' fish, and listening to my man's explanations (I think in his noble attempt to get me to like something the whole family seems to...everyone that is, but me). I don't DO anything. Why would they want me there? Tonight, I figured if I sat there long enough and just poopy enough he would release me from my cheerleading duties and I could go home, which is really where I wanted to be. But no. I went. Reluctantly. Feet dragging. Poopy face and all. The boys were at a picnic so we left with just the girls, a container of worms, a Barbie fishing pole, a Hello Kitty one, and three real ones...just in case the boys came home and found our note declaring our whereabouts. As we pulled up to the spot near the small pond, the girls were giddy, jumping around their Daddy's feet, asking questions, sticking their own pink poles in his face, and all the while saying, "Watch us Mommy!" Why? Why did they want me to watch? It's just fishing. I've seen it 100 times, what is going to be so different that I have to watch??? I needed to be changing the calendar for tomorrow, didn't they know that? I watched. I watched them. I saw a three year old cast a line better than I ever could. A Daddy carefully folding his big hands over a small three year old's hands to show her. A little girl proving to herself that she could do something by herself that she had watched her brothers do for so long. I watched. I watched the man I adore explain fishing to his girls but so much more. He was teaching them patience, obedience, a love for the sport. He was praising them, talking to them, watching them and all the while be so patient. My poopy face watched. I watched two boys coming down the hill, so excited to have caught up to us before the adventure was over. I watched my two boys, who used to need so much help, jump right in, changing lures, casting lines, and reeling in fish. I saw my once tiny, first girl pull in her first fish then without blinking, pick it up, show it proudly to me and throw it back in. I watched a Daddy lovingly correct, demonstrate, explain the whys of it all. I watched. I watched my five favorite people laugh, exclaim, explore, talk. I watched a Daddy get all prepared to throw in his own line only to have to stop to bait a hook, untangle a line, or help a little hand reel in a fish. I saw what a great Daddy my Marine is. When he is home, he is home. I saw the fruits of his fishing trips walking down to the pond, I saw how lovingly he shares one of his passions, I saw how much he enjoys this time, and I saw what they will miss in a few short weeks when we embark on our 7th deployment. I saw this all. I saw why God created families the way He did with a Mom and a Dad because they are learning from him, things I could never teach them. I saw what a good man he is. I saw what awesome children God has given me. By God's grace, I watched. He allowed me a moment in my day to watch. My face was no longer poopy. I saw what He wanted me to see. It's more than fishing.