Lessons at 6 Months
This weekend we finally celebrated the half way point of the HP’s deployment. When he first deployed, it seemed as if time would never start to pass. We had the holidays to distract us in December, but when Christmas was over, he still hadn’t been gone for a month. January took forever. February was a little quicker, but only because it is so short (thank goodness it wasn’t a leap year). Now, somehow, by putting one foot in front of the other like the Winter Warlock, we have finally found the halfway point. I will not attempt to describe here what the Afghanistan half of this experience has been. While I may be saddled with all the responsibility for the three little nutjobs, at least I have them here, within arms reach, whenever I need a little cheering up. But I think I should take a moment to describe what the homefront experience has been, because in some ways, it has not turned out at all like I expected. I have learned some lessons about life in general and about the people who love us.
Anyone who reads this blog will not be surprised to learn that the first lesson I have learned is: All yard work and trash duty should be assigned to men. As I have repeatedly described in this blog, I have never had any interest in yard work. Now that I have had a turn to push the mower out there under the blue sky and spring breezes, I still have no interest in yard work. I am still baffled by the people in the neighborhood who water their yards, encouraging the grass to grow, as if they can’t wait to cut it again. I hate trying to dig holes to put flowers in, I hate attempting to identify poison ivy, and I hate the squirrel corpse I found in the back yard. I hate having to remember trash day and having to roll that huge can back and forth to the curb. I hate that the recycling must be put out on a different day from the trash, and I hate that the recycling truck is really a trailer pulled by a trash truck, showing that on some level, no one really gives a crap whether you recycle stuff or not.
Lesson Number 2: When my family said they would be there with anything we needed, they meant it. My in-laws have made the seven hour trip to Virginia to spend half a week with us for five out of six months (and they only skipped a month because we went to their house). They have arrived every time with a dinner ready to go on the stove and a cake ready to go for the kids. They have painted things, fixed things, performed all manner of chores that I dislike (like pushing swings), encouraged me to go shoe shopping (well maybe that wasn’t exactly what they said), as well as provided me with a much appreciated break from the weekday routine. My parents have welcomed us to disrupt their quiet beachside existence on a monthly basis and turned their second floor into our home away from home. My dad has happily put aside his paper to dish out Froot Loops and milk every morning that we are there, and my mom has tirelessly come up with things for the kids to play or learn or bake. Both of my parents have assembled more puzzles, sat through more impromptu dance performances, and listened to more rambling stories than even I would be willing to do.
My sisters and brothers and their families have called, e-mailed, visited, or welcomed us into their homes help me fill the weekends with activities to distract the kiddies. One of my sisters got us tickets to see the circus and to see the baby panda at the National Zoo (and let all of us stay in her studio apartment more than once, I’m sure to the detriment of her typical sleep schedule). My other sister has made the five hour journey to see us with three kids of her own in tow or invited us to stay with them, so that the cousins could play and I could have someone to complain to. My sister-in-law has made countless trips to our house with a bag of candy under one arm and presents under the other, untiringly pulling the kids around in the wagon to every playground within walking distance and insisting on doing every domestic chore in my house unless I strong-arm her into a chair with a cold beverage. All of the grandparents and aunts and uncles have put up with endless phone calls from the kiddies who are desperate to talk to someone besides me, and all of them have cheerily endured countless hours of holding one of our kiddies on their laps when I can’t take one more minute of togetherness. In addition, everyone has sent boxes and e-mails and cards to the HP, so that I don’t feel like I have to run to the post office every week. Everyone is doing what they can to make sure that he knows that we think of him every day and we appreciate what he’s doing.
Lesson Number 3: Physical and mental exhaustion helps you sleep. When the HP used to go away for work, I would always have trouble sleeping, and typically would end up dozing on the couch with the TV and lights on every night until he came home. I have a very well-developed sense of paranoia from growing up in what was once the murder capitol of the world, and my overactive imagination can provide me with endless home invasion scenarios. Now I am lucky if I can get my teeth brushed before I fall into bed for a seven-hour coma. I know the HP worked full time before he left, but apparently I was quite reliant on his nightly contribution to carrying the children around and listening to them. Some nights I beg them to just be quiet and watch TV, because I can’t possibly answer one more question like “Are film and batteries the same thing?” and I can’t possibly remove them from the coffee table one more time. When they are finally in bed for the night, an hour can pass as I sit on the couch and attempt to muster the energy to microwave myself a little dinner.
Lesson Number 4: Being a single parent stinks. I can’t say that I really know what it is like to be a single mother because I am not alone. The HP was such an involved and dedicated daddy, that he is still here with us in spirit although he is not here in person. The kiddies can come up with a story about him in a moment’s notice (including one I keep hearing about him running through a red light, which I will have to investigate further in July while he is home on leave), and I can summon him as an parenting ally merely by saying “What do you think daddy would say about that?” But as far as buckling the car seats, packing the lunches, remembering the book orders, and all the day to day drudgery of dishes, laundry, baths, meals, and fingernail grooming, I am on my own. Being on my own is not fun. Single mothers out there, I don’t know how you do it, but I am amazed and intimidated that anyone can do it for a few months let alone for a lifetime.
Lesson Number 5: Our kiddies are awesome. I was prepared for a lot of drama, bad behavior, and tantrums from the kiddies, not because they typically do these things, but because surely they would have to act out their frustration at being deprived of their daddy for a year. Instead, they have behaved like little heroes. All of them have had their moments of crying, and missing daddy, and feeling sad that they can’t have daddy here, but all of them have let me cheer them up and have been willing to carry on with their daily routine (go to school, eat their meals, go to bed on time so mommy can have a drink). They have accepted the fact that they will have to wait until July to see daddy again with a more mature attitude than I can muster sometimes. They love to talk to him on the phone and watch the videos of him reading books and they like to check with me throughout the day to try to figure out his day “Is daddy asleep right now? Is he having breakfast? Is he at work or in bed?” I hate that my two-year-old can say “My daddy is in Affanistan,” but he does it with such calmness and such assurance that it is a temporary situation, that usually he makes me feel better about the whole thing.
So now the wait is on for July. Try as I might, when the HP is done with leave, I will probably start thinking that the year is almost up. I will figure with the start of school and then Halloween and then Thanksgiving, time will blow by and I’ll turn around and it will be December. However, if I think that, I will be kidding myself. Nothing I have tried so far has made the time move faster, and even though we will have only four months to go when he goes back after leave, four months in the fall will take just as long as four months in the winter. We will have visitors, and outings, and trips, but in the end, we will still have to walk through the time, one foot in front of the other, 24 hours a day, for 120 more days. But these six months have shown me we can do it, and when we think we can’t do it, someone will be ready to come and help us out until we can.
Anyone who reads this blog will not be surprised to learn that the first lesson I have learned is: All yard work and trash duty should be assigned to men. As I have repeatedly described in this blog, I have never had any interest in yard work. Now that I have had a turn to push the mower out there under the blue sky and spring breezes, I still have no interest in yard work. I am still baffled by the people in the neighborhood who water their yards, encouraging the grass to grow, as if they can’t wait to cut it again. I hate trying to dig holes to put flowers in, I hate attempting to identify poison ivy, and I hate the squirrel corpse I found in the back yard. I hate having to remember trash day and having to roll that huge can back and forth to the curb. I hate that the recycling must be put out on a different day from the trash, and I hate that the recycling truck is really a trailer pulled by a trash truck, showing that on some level, no one really gives a crap whether you recycle stuff or not.
Lesson Number 2: When my family said they would be there with anything we needed, they meant it. My in-laws have made the seven hour trip to Virginia to spend half a week with us for five out of six months (and they only skipped a month because we went to their house). They have arrived every time with a dinner ready to go on the stove and a cake ready to go for the kids. They have painted things, fixed things, performed all manner of chores that I dislike (like pushing swings), encouraged me to go shoe shopping (well maybe that wasn’t exactly what they said), as well as provided me with a much appreciated break from the weekday routine. My parents have welcomed us to disrupt their quiet beachside existence on a monthly basis and turned their second floor into our home away from home. My dad has happily put aside his paper to dish out Froot Loops and milk every morning that we are there, and my mom has tirelessly come up with things for the kids to play or learn or bake. Both of my parents have assembled more puzzles, sat through more impromptu dance performances, and listened to more rambling stories than even I would be willing to do.
My sisters and brothers and their families have called, e-mailed, visited, or welcomed us into their homes help me fill the weekends with activities to distract the kiddies. One of my sisters got us tickets to see the circus and to see the baby panda at the National Zoo (and let all of us stay in her studio apartment more than once, I’m sure to the detriment of her typical sleep schedule). My other sister has made the five hour journey to see us with three kids of her own in tow or invited us to stay with them, so that the cousins could play and I could have someone to complain to. My sister-in-law has made countless trips to our house with a bag of candy under one arm and presents under the other, untiringly pulling the kids around in the wagon to every playground within walking distance and insisting on doing every domestic chore in my house unless I strong-arm her into a chair with a cold beverage. All of the grandparents and aunts and uncles have put up with endless phone calls from the kiddies who are desperate to talk to someone besides me, and all of them have cheerily endured countless hours of holding one of our kiddies on their laps when I can’t take one more minute of togetherness. In addition, everyone has sent boxes and e-mails and cards to the HP, so that I don’t feel like I have to run to the post office every week. Everyone is doing what they can to make sure that he knows that we think of him every day and we appreciate what he’s doing.
Lesson Number 3: Physical and mental exhaustion helps you sleep. When the HP used to go away for work, I would always have trouble sleeping, and typically would end up dozing on the couch with the TV and lights on every night until he came home. I have a very well-developed sense of paranoia from growing up in what was once the murder capitol of the world, and my overactive imagination can provide me with endless home invasion scenarios. Now I am lucky if I can get my teeth brushed before I fall into bed for a seven-hour coma. I know the HP worked full time before he left, but apparently I was quite reliant on his nightly contribution to carrying the children around and listening to them. Some nights I beg them to just be quiet and watch TV, because I can’t possibly answer one more question like “Are film and batteries the same thing?” and I can’t possibly remove them from the coffee table one more time. When they are finally in bed for the night, an hour can pass as I sit on the couch and attempt to muster the energy to microwave myself a little dinner.
Lesson Number 4: Being a single parent stinks. I can’t say that I really know what it is like to be a single mother because I am not alone. The HP was such an involved and dedicated daddy, that he is still here with us in spirit although he is not here in person. The kiddies can come up with a story about him in a moment’s notice (including one I keep hearing about him running through a red light, which I will have to investigate further in July while he is home on leave), and I can summon him as an parenting ally merely by saying “What do you think daddy would say about that?” But as far as buckling the car seats, packing the lunches, remembering the book orders, and all the day to day drudgery of dishes, laundry, baths, meals, and fingernail grooming, I am on my own. Being on my own is not fun. Single mothers out there, I don’t know how you do it, but I am amazed and intimidated that anyone can do it for a few months let alone for a lifetime.
Lesson Number 5: Our kiddies are awesome. I was prepared for a lot of drama, bad behavior, and tantrums from the kiddies, not because they typically do these things, but because surely they would have to act out their frustration at being deprived of their daddy for a year. Instead, they have behaved like little heroes. All of them have had their moments of crying, and missing daddy, and feeling sad that they can’t have daddy here, but all of them have let me cheer them up and have been willing to carry on with their daily routine (go to school, eat their meals, go to bed on time so mommy can have a drink). They have accepted the fact that they will have to wait until July to see daddy again with a more mature attitude than I can muster sometimes. They love to talk to him on the phone and watch the videos of him reading books and they like to check with me throughout the day to try to figure out his day “Is daddy asleep right now? Is he having breakfast? Is he at work or in bed?” I hate that my two-year-old can say “My daddy is in Affanistan,” but he does it with such calmness and such assurance that it is a temporary situation, that usually he makes me feel better about the whole thing.
So now the wait is on for July. Try as I might, when the HP is done with leave, I will probably start thinking that the year is almost up. I will figure with the start of school and then Halloween and then Thanksgiving, time will blow by and I’ll turn around and it will be December. However, if I think that, I will be kidding myself. Nothing I have tried so far has made the time move faster, and even though we will have only four months to go when he goes back after leave, four months in the fall will take just as long as four months in the winter. We will have visitors, and outings, and trips, but in the end, we will still have to walk through the time, one foot in front of the other, 24 hours a day, for 120 more days. But these six months have shown me we can do it, and when we think we can’t do it, someone will be ready to come and help us out until we can.
posted by Shannon at 10:30 PM
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