MilSpouse Friday Fill-In #13

So over on Wife of a Sailor, Wife posts questions for other bloggers to answer on their own military spouse blogs. (Still with me so far?) And since the kids are watching a movie with my brother, I thought this might be fun to fill out while the kids try and talk my brother into “camping” with them in the living room.

1. My spouse and I rarely agree on…

quantum physics (he’s forever trying to sell me this “theory” but I don’t buy it because (1) just because you can’t disprove it doesn’t mean it’s true, (2) I haven’t seen evidence with MY OWN EYES or felt it with MY OWN HANDS, and (3) it’s really funny to be devil’s advocate around him (like he gets SO FRUSTRATED with me, he can’t stand it; but hey, I keep him on his toes. Keeps his arguments stronger if he were to ever talk to Stephen Hawking in person, ya know?).

but always agree on…

parenting issues (discipline, manners, not spoiling them, etc.), how cute our kids are (we’re biased, okay?), and when I need a coffee break (I probably look like a crazy mess).

2. If I could use one word to sum up the way I feel right now, it would be…

ALRIGHT.

Really. I’m sitting here, listening to the kids’ movie in the background, tired from the day but not tired at all. Today was my first sub job of the school year and I am happy to just be working. This morning the kids, two dogs, and I went for a walk and spent some time in the park. After work I drove the kids to gymnastics. My husband is NOT deployed and in fact, doing the exact opposite: going home to visit his family for a reunion, many of whom haven’t seen him since WAY before the accident. We weren’t able to afford plane tickets for all of us to fly out to his home state but very excited for my husband to see his family.

Our children are healthy. We have wonderful friends. Sure, we are tightening our bootstraps or shining our belts or whatever the phrase is for penny-pinching and sticking to a tight budget but hey, who isn’t? I have ended my relationships with Juicy Couture, Kate Spade, Uggs, IKEA, and Coach: This isn’t good-bye but rather, see you later.

Yup. I’m alright. ***tear***

3. One of the things my spouse does that grosses me out is…

reusing his socks. They are soooooo disgusting! I mean, really, would it be too hard to de-wrinkle them so they’re not dirty stinky grenades in the closet or under the bed AND toss them directly into the washing machine? STOP REUSING THEM ALREADY! YOU ALREADY HAVE A BAZILLION PAIRS OF SOCKS SINCE YOU BUY A NEW BATCH EVERY TIME WE MOVE, FORGET TO PACK THEM, AND/OR LOSE THEM! WHY DO I NEED TO MAKE YOU THROW THEM AWAY WHEN THEY HAVE GAPING HOLES??? GROSS!

And that, my friends, was ten years and eleven months of griping in one paragraph.

4. My readers may think I’m crazy for doing this, but I really love to…

go dancing with my friends! It’s so nice NOT worry about a babysitter (since it’s been either my husband or my brother; the latter costing a case of Rockstar each time, sheesh!) or spending money on alcohol. Sam’s Club sells margaritas in a bottle and you can’t even tell I’m carrying alcohol in my water bottle!

5. Frankly, my dear, I don’t…

believe parents when they say that they don’t understand why their child/children do or say the things they do. They learned it from somewhere!

I have no one to blame when my four-year old says, “WHERE’S MY FUCKING TWINKIES?” in the middle of the grocery store. I have no one to blame when my first grader calls your child a dumbass unless of course he really is a dumbass. I have no one to blame when my son draws the internal view of the human body as seen from a zombie’s point of view in the middle of Starbucks.

No one. Not even my husband. We both swear but those words were from me or my permission to watch that classic movie Zombieland.

Fuuuuuck, give me a break already!

LMAO! Your turn!

Dirty little secrets

I have several secrets that I have to get off my chest. Please sit down if you’re not already seated. I warn you that your perfect image of me will be tarnished.

Pour yourself a glass of wine. Yep, it’s those kind of secrets.

1. I justify everything.

I needed a few key career separates when I went back to work part-time. I love pretty things from Nordstrom.
What it really means: Nordstrom Rack. Clearance racks only. Buying off-season is critical.

Handbags are an important accessory. It effects how you see yourself and in turn, how you carry yourself. A confident substitute teacher is an effective substitute teacher.
What it really means: No need to justify a Juicy Couture bag that is TWO-THIRDS off the regular price! HALF-OFF Kate Spade?! No need to justify at all. [Actual prices will not be revealed to protect the Justifier.]

2. I turn not-so-healthy into semi-healthy.

This afternoon I baked a cheese stuffed crust, mushroom and pepperoni pizza for lunch. I had to make it to order. The girls do not like pepperoni and the youngest doesn’t like mushrooms.
What it really means: DiGiorno’s cheese-stuffed pepperoni pizzas, thawed perfectly to move the pepperonis, topped with fresh sliced mushrooms. Serve with milk and grapes.

The kids love having macaroni and gouda with corn.
What it really means: Kraft Mac N Cheese, only half the “cheese” packet but with half a wedge of gresh gouda. Add a can of corn, drained.

Milk with every meal.
What it really means: Milk with every meal so that when we go out to eat they can have soda.

3. I want to get married again.
I would love to renew my vows with my husband. I would love to dance to our songs again. If you ask him, our song is Bryan Adams’ “Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman?” If you ask me, our song is Lonestar’s “Amazed”.
What it really means: I want a new dress and someone to take pictures of me in it.

4. I value meditation and the pursuit of inner peace.
I want to go to a week-long yoga retreat when he retires so my husband and the children can have time to reconnect.
What it really means: I want to be by myself for a week.

5. I am a firm believer in life-long learning.
I want to get my doctorate in education to work in curriculum and supervision and possibly educational policy.
What it really means: I miss being in school. I would like a job where I didn’t have to sit criss-cross applesauce, sing nursery rhymes, and play with markers all day. On second thought…

6. I read ALL THE TIME.
What it really means: Mostly of the vampire seduction genre. Gossip rags here and there. Crossing over into YA, fantasy, and science fiction. Long way from self-proclaimed chick-lit-only phase.

7. I can’t sleep again.
What it really means: I can’t sleep again.

8. I hide my emergency chocolate from the kids.
What it really means: When you’re over, stay away from the Cadbury in the pantry or that will be the last thing you touch. Emergency indeed.

What are YOUR dirty little secrets?

Juicy Couture, Nightmares, and Guilt

I woke up this morning feeling on edge. Then I remembered the dream I just had.

I dreamt that my husband was home. He was yelling at the top of his lungs and holding shopping bags, waving them in my face. I hung my head in shame and sulked. Busted. Caught red-handed.

I have a shopping addiction. I admit it. It’s managed by Nordstrom Half Yearly sales and staying out of the mall altogether.

I remember looking up at him in my dream as he reached into one of those shopping bags and pulled out a new baby blue Juicy Couture handbag (one of those trendy, fancy schmancy brands for those who are not in the know). He read the price tag to see how much the purse cost and I saw the vein in his forehead pulse in slow motion.

The whole time I’m thinking in my dream I thought I cut the tag off that new purse, why did I keep secrets from my husband? We’ve never done it before and ten years into the marriage, why start now?

My husband has always been honest with me. When I have a sneaking suspicion that a dress or outfit doesn’t look right on me (bloated, slight weight gain, whatever), I ask him if he thinks a dress is unflattering. He won’t tell me that I look like a fat cow but he won’t lie to me and say something looks good when I kinda knew it didn’t.

And I’ve been honest with him. When I was pregnant with L, R was home for Thanksgiving and went all out. Beautiful turkey baked to perfection with bacon dressing. Cranberry sauce. Homemade garlic mashed potatoes and gravy. But I didn’t want it. I didn’t want any of it.

“You don’t want to try my turkey?”

“Um, no.”

“Why not?” he asked. “It’s Thanksgiving!”

“I know,” I said. “But… um, it doesn’t smell good. I’m feeling kind of nauseous. I think the baby wants something different.”

“Oh… Okay,” he said. “What does the baby want?”

In the smallest voice to mankind, I said, “Chinese food.”

To this day, he won’t ever let me forget that I chose beef and broccoli over his turkey. On Thanksgiving.

But this is the kind of relationship we have. We tell each other everything.

Until now.

You see, I started this blog with the intention of sorting through the last year. I cannot recall how difficult it’s been for me until something triggers a memory. Little things send me back to a time when I’d wander aimlessly through the hospital, waiting to hear updates on the nine hour surgery to put the pieces of his pelvis back together. This chocolate croissant in my belly in front of me reminds me of the pastries I sampled at the different cafes at NNMC Bethesda. I see my husband’s ID band from the hospital every morning and every night. I keep it in the drawer next to my toothpaste.

I never told my husband I started writing about what happened. In the past few days, I’ve felt this inexplicable release and relief with every post I upload. I write about emotions and experiences that I’ve either minimized or never shared with anyone, let alone my own husband. I should have told him from Day 1.

I called him this afternoon to tell him about the blog and he was actually very encouraging. He’s read a few of my manuscripts in the past and I respect his critiques. He told me that he was proud of me. Then he told me that he had to tell me something too.

I wasn’t the only one with a secret.

He said, “I’m actually feeling really guilty right now. I feel like I should have been injured more.”

Huh?

It dawned on me that he was thinking about our phone call yesterday. I gave him updates about two guys who were in the polytrauma wing at VA Palo Alto. They were in two separate serious accidents with their wives and are still recovering. [To read more about these brave men and their awesome wives, see the Blogroll for the Ryes and Darlings.]

He went on, "Here I am, bitching about what I'm going through when those guys are going through all that. I feel like a little bitch."

I said, "But comparing all of these injuries you've seen is like comparing apples and oranges. You can't pick and choose your injuries. No one had a choice on how they were hurt."

He listened but I know he didn't hear me. He was only one month into his six month deployment to Iraq when his car rolled over. He knows that someone, one of his friends no less, had to take his place after he left. He is not allowed to deploy anymore but feels like he can do one more before his retirement in two years. On top of all that, he did not earn a Purple Heart for his injuries because the accident was noncombat related.

I know this guilt consumes him at times but I really try not to say very much, with the exception of today’s conversation and maybe a few other times just sayin’. I cannot disagree with him, be his conscience, or tell him how to feel.

And frankly, I don't want to. He’s a grown man. A Wounded Warrior. I may never fully understand how and why he feels the way he does. He may never either.

But I also don't want his guilt to define him.

So for now, I'll just be there for him and listen. We’ll share what we’re feeling and what we’re doing without judgment, without fear of being ridiculed, and without shame.

No secrets, remember?