Dinner at the embassy and glimmers of hope

Second day in Bethesda. Going to see Daddy.

I am my own traveling preschool. I have found that walking around with three kids tends to attract a lot of attention… from other kids. I can’t tell you the number of times random toddlers have been caught up in our family parade, the number of times preschoolers have wandered around with us for a few seconds before we realize that I’m not their mommy, and the number of times parents have been frustrated while trying to persuade their kids NOT to follow us.

It happened when we were in Bethesda last April.

"I wanted to press the button!" Only heard this several DOZEN times a day.

The Warrior Family Coordination Cell was a godsend. They organized events that got families of Wounded Warriors off base that gave them the tiniest break from worrying.

When we received an invitation to go to dinner at the Royal Dutch Embassy, I can honestly say I didn’t want to go. My husband’s parents and brother had already left for home. It had been a couple weeks that I’d been out with all three kids by myself since the accident. While our kids are very well-behaved, they were still kids and I was mortified at all the possible things that could go wrong.

Most importantly, what would I wear?

Welcome to the embassy. We will be running around in circles in the driveway while mummy drinks the free wine.

I was relieved to know that it was not a sit down affair and children were welcome. Phew.

We arrived by bus and marveled at the architecture and landscaping of the embassy. The kids and I took a few pictures. I had a lot a glass of wine.

I saw a couple of babies at the dinner, both securely fastened by Baby Bjorns to their parental units. This wasn’t children, I thought. Babies weren’t children! Children run, pull table cloths, and say inappropriate things at the wrong times. My three were getting antsy inside and I could tell they needed to run so we went outside and found a table for us.

I let them chase each other in the large front lot of the embassy because why not? Better out there than inside with glass bottles and people to knock over, right? They were soon joined by a boy about M’s age. And the chasing continued.

I later caught up with the boy’s mother. She said that her son saw my kids from upstairs and wanted to come out to play “with all the kids”. They’d moved to DC area about a year ago from the midwest. His father lost both legs when his vehicle ran over an IED in Iraq. She had to pull her son out of school mid-year and start over in DC so they could be together while her husband continued his rehabilitation at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center.

I had to swallow because the lump in my throat was hard to ignore. I asked her, “How is your son coping?” I apologized immpediately after I asked. I felt stupid for wondering, for prying, and for thinking that I had any right to any information not offered.

If she was offended, she didn’t show it. In fact, she said it was okay and went on, “My son does remember a time when Daddy had legs and I’m thankful for that. He [her son] is going to a new school and he’s doing well there.” I admired their courage, openness, and honesty. I felt a glimmer of hope when I talked to her and when I watched all four kids run in circles.

VIPS in the pic above. I'm sure the people behind them were pretty important too.

Later that night after the girls fell asleep, I asked my son M what he thought of the embassy. He talked about his new friend and how his dad got hurt in Iraq too. He talked about how his new friend’s dad’s legs had to be cut off. Then we sat in silence. He was able to fall asleep quickly that night.

The week before he cried himself to sleep every night. He wanted to go home and to go back to school. He hated sharing a room, let alone a bed, with anyone. He tried to make deals with me like promising he’d clean his room for a month if we went home.

I didn’t blame him. I wanted to go back to normal too. If I recall correctly, I was making trying to make deals too. Just let my husband live and I’ll stop being a Christmas Catholic. Just let my husband’s pelvis heal and I’ll read the Bible more and to the kids, even the boring parts. Just let my husband keep his left leg and I will do whatever you want.

I didn’t exchange phone numbers or email addresses with that family. My husband’s accident had happened only a couple of weeks before so I was still numb. Looking back I realize now that so many reached out to me and while I heard it, I didn’t listen. I couldn’t listen. It was hard to hear anything over the echoing, neverending worry in my head.

All I remember is being thankful that the kids and I met another family who, while their circumstances were far different from ours, faced an extremely difficult situation and who were now trying to move forward in their lives. I had hope that no matter what was happening, recovery for my husband was not only a possibility but a real goal. No matter what, we could face this accident and we would move forward like that brave little boy.

If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some reading to do.

Would You Go Back and Do It All Over Again?

The first time I tried to Twitter I got followers too fast. Like five in the first minute. It freaked me out. Why would someone want to follow someone they didn’t know? Why would a stranger want to know what I was thinking or doing or saying in 140 characters or less? Why follow me?

I didn’t get a chance to figure any of that out. I didn’t even tweet once. I deleted the account before the vast Twitterverse sucked me in.

And I don’t know why Twitter called out to me a couple of weeks ago. Maybe my favorite gossip columnists were revealing blind items on Twitter. Maybe I was envious my friend was following LeVar Burton of Reading Rainbow. I mean, come on. LeVar Burton? How could I resist?

Aside from friends who have Twitter accounts, I’ve found that I can categorize who I follow into two groups. The first fulfills my creative side. I follow authors (yes, Judy Blume and Neil Gaiman tweet!), publishing companies, agents, and everyone I can follow in the writing world.

The second is rather obvious. I follow all things military. I am tempted to follow the Royal Navy because why not? I follow the White House, the USO, and charities and organizations dedicated to military families. Included in this category is military spouses.

From snarky to serious, active to retired, the variety of tweets and blogs is immense. There are blogs that focus on recovery after accidents, Wounded Warriors, PTSD, family life, careers, and the list goes on and on. No matter what the subject matter, there is a huge sense of community on the internet that didn’t exist a decade ago when I first picked up the Navy wife label.

Not that there isn’t this community on military bases. There is. But jumping into a complicated social circle who’s dynamic constantly changes is intimidating. Even more difficult if everything that was familiar to you, your family and friends, your education, and/or your career, is no longer within arm’s distance. Sometimes the social circle is impenetrable.

But with the wonderful world of the blogging, tweeting, Facebook, and all things internet, you can find support in any way and at any time.

A woman on Twitter posed the following question this afternoon: “To all you military wives and girlfriends, bearing in mind the heartwrenching months your husband or boyfriend is away, would you still fall in love with him and live your life with him?”

She got a few responses, all saying they would do it again.

Then she got mine: “To quote Sex & the City, ABSOF*CKINGLUTELY. Pardon my Bradshawism.”

She tweeted back: “How do you cope with not seeing him for months?”

I said I didn’t know. It’s different every deployment especially now that we have three kids. I am so busy raising our kids, making sure they’re busy, making sure they’re fed and clean and well-rounded, making sure I listen to every time they talk about Daddy. It really has become about them, not me.

I didn’t hear back from this woman. Perhaps she was inundated with private messages of support. Maybe she was offended by my Bradshawism.

Whatever the case may be, how awesome is it to be instantly connected to people who live a similar lifestyle, to pose a question or two and have it answered immediately, to have dozens or hundreds WANT to support you and give you answers they themselves may not have had a decade ago.

While I have no regrets about the life I’ve lived, I do wonder how different my early experiences as a military spouse would have been if all of this were around back then. Would I have felt less alone? Would I have had more answers?

All I know is that if I lived my life any other way than I already have, I wouldn’t be where I am right now. And right now it’s pretty good.

Bad apples and kindergarten

It was seven years ago when my husband and I were sitting in our new spacious home in central Texas. We didn’t know that less than a year later, his job would no longer exist, forcing us to switch duty stations.

We loved where we were living, loved that our son M was happy at the preschool on base, and happy that I was working again. We put M to bed and stayed up to watch some movies, a weekend ritual. This is the conversation we had about family planning:

Me: “Do you think we should try and have another one?”
Him: “Another movie?” (LOOKS AT ME) “Oh. OH! Yeah, sure. Why not?”

A few weeks later I peed on a stick and the result was very obvious. Any more obvious the plus sign would have been proceeded by an exclamation point or “DUH”.

I sheepishly admit that I questioned the results of the ultrasound test for gender. The words “REALLY?” and “ARE YOU SURE?” may have passed my lips.

I was terrified of the idea of having a daughter. I watched too many episodes of Maury and Dr. Phil. Girls at the age of thirteen not knowing who the father of their babies were, giving an entire town paternity tests, “my daughter dresses too sexy”, and so on.

And then there is the old adage, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

I was petrified of having a daughter just like me.

Don’t get me wrong. I was not a bad apple. Okay, maybe slightly rotten but not bad. There was no rebellion. Even went to a four-year university right after high school and grad school after that. Yes, I went out to the clubs. Yes, I may have had a drink or two. And yes, I may have had some questionable wardrobe choices.

So why was I so scared?

Imagine living with someone who was extremely stubborn, never stopped until she got what she wanted, and was at times so sassy it would make you pull out your hair. Someone who’d stare off into her own world just so she could concentrate. Someone who didn’t care if she was the center of attention or singing to herself and quietly enjoying her own company. Someone you had to literally make eye contact with before you spoke just to make sure she was listening.

Yes. This is who I am. My poor husband. This is who my daughter has become. Again my poor husband.

This personality was apparent at four months when my husband and I noticed that she preferred her older brother over all her own toys. She loved her brother and shows this loyalty to this day, defending him and yelling at those who insult him. She is a force to be reckoned with, runs to her kindergarten class with her arms waving wildly while yelling, “I’m here! I’m here!” as if the day can now begin because she has graced them with her presence. She is a social butterfly but doesn’t mind being by herself.

By herself but never lonely.

She had her first boyfriend at the age of four. F the next door neighbor is in her kindergarten class and she’s has even… get this: given him a smooch already! Cute, right? Cute now but not cute at say, ten. Or twenty.

But along with this strong will and determination is someone who is also passionate about life, optimistic to no end, and fiercely loyal to those around her. Someone who roots for the underdog not because the majority could sometimes be wrong but because it’s the right thing to do. Someone who finds the good in everyone and everything around her.

Our daughter went from a fuzzy ultrasound picture to kindergarten graduate overnight. While I have come to terms with our daughter BEING JUST LIKE ME, I feel like that is nothing compared to the new fear that has overwhelmed me.

She is growing up too fast.

Happy kindergarten graduation! Mommy and Daddy are so proud of you! We love you so much!

Happy Father’s Day

Happy Father’s Day from all of us. This was taken last year while my husband was at the VA Hospital in Palo Alto, CA.

May your day be filled with ugly ties and unidentifiable cards and clay sculptures!

It’s the baby’s turn

Happy Father's Day from L

L loves Daddy and monkeys. So explains her choice in Father’s Day card.

We went to a birthday party this afternoon and L fell asleep in the car on the way home. I love it when they fall asleep in the car. It’s the only time they’ll allow me to carry them. There must be something that clicks in their brains at about eleven months that says DO NOT BE CARRIED UNLESS YOU ARE SICK OR ASLEEP.

I put her down quietly on the couch on the living room and covered her with a blanket. For a brief moment I looked at her long black curly eyelashes against her fair skin and remembered when she used to be a drooling baby. She never fussed, never cried. Seeing her brother or sister always soothed her, made her smile, and mimicked everything they did or said. Even now, when her siblings are at school, she looks a bit lost without them. She becomes a bit more reserved if her siblings aren’t there to watch her, support her, and sometimes egg her on in the middle of church service.

L opened her eyes and looked at me. “Mommy?” she said. “Last morning you said Daddy was coming tomorrow.”

She was probably having good dreams about Daddy who promised to make her a Rapunzel or Curious George birthday cake.

“No,” I whispered. “He’s not coming tomorrow.”

She thought about it for a moment then fell back asleep. I hope she dreamt about Daddy spending lots of time with her. When he finally does come for a visit, they’ll have a few dates together, just as the older two will. And when they complain about not being able to join Daddy and L, I’ll say, “Nope, sorry. It’s the baby’s turn.”

You love me even though you don’t see me a lot

"You are special to me. Here's why: you love me even though you don't see me a lot. You take me to fun places. You are also special because you are almost retired from the Navy."

Give Dad a hand

A holding her present and book for Daddy

Give DAD a Hand!!!

"My dad is handy. He is good at doing things like EXERCISING."

"My dad gives me a hand when I do something well. He is proud of me when I MAEK STUFF." A says, "I am making a birdhouse with Daddy."

"I like to walk hand in hand with my dad. I would like to walk with my dad to BLOCKBUSTER."

Who believes in this kid?

M had an awards assembly today where he said he earned the most awards in the whole school, including an award for straight A’s.

Here is photographic evidence that AT LEAST ONE PERSON believes in him. He’s the one standing with all of those awards.

Who else believes in this kid?

No one believes in me

As I tucked my nine year old son M into bed, I noticed he was sobbing.

“There’s no such thing as magic,” he began. “No one believes in me.”

I didn’t know how to respond and when I don’t know, it’s best to just listen.

It turns out that the latest fad at his school is magic. Not the Pixar kind, but actual magic tricks with cards and coins.

“I showed my tricks to the kids on the block and they said they didn’t believe in me. They didn’t even say I did a good job. They just thought I was lame.”

I thought about it. He didn’t want his tricks to be cool or WOW his friends; he just wanted them to appreciate him and to be proud of him. He wanted their approval.

He went on, “My friend P and X in my class would never have said that. They would have said they thought it was cool.”

“In life,” I said. “We have lots of friends. We have best friends that we tell our secrets and know they’ll always have good things to say. And we also have friends you know aren’t always going to tell you ‘Good job’. I’m NOT saying ONLY keep your best friends but save the really important things for your best friends.”

He seemed to understand the message though in that moment I felt like I failed him. Shouldn’t my own son feel so empowered that he can conquer the world?

Then he mumbled something. By this time he’s crying and I grab some tissues to wipe his tears. Like when Harry Potter falls into Dumbledore’s memory puddle, I get sent back into time when my husband just left that morning for his first deployment to Iraq. M was four years old. The tears flowed that night too.

“What did you say, M?” I asked gently.

“Daddy didn’t believe me,” he said. “He knew it was a trick.”

Ah. I finally understood. Father’s Day was three days away. He was holding back. It was about Daddy and all of these mixed up, intense feelings were coming up as something else. Anything else. But I wasn’t going to prod him. He’ll tell me when he wants to tell me. If he wants to tell me.

Somehow I got M to trust that maybe Daddy only knew that trick and to try more next time he saw him. Surely he couldn’t know ALL of them, right?

M finally calmed himself down. As I tucked him in, I repeated “I BELIEVE IN YOU” several times until his face relaxed. I started to name all of the people in his life who believe in him.

Luckily, he fell asleep before I could finish. I’ll be sure to tell him that he didn’t hear everyone’s names at breakfast tomorrow. With Father’s Day weekend just ahead, I know I’ll be wiping even more tears until the chatter about the weekend dies down at school. I only hope that M can find the strength to seek out his best friends when he really needs them.

I believe he will.

Life lessons learned from my husband, #1-5

I know I’ve learned a lot more in the past decade but here are five lessons I can remember off the top of my head:

1. Every day is Valentine’s Day. Save the big gestures for big anniversaries.

2. Saying I love you is great but showing it is even better.

3. When in doubt, just listen.

4. If all else fails, just spoon in bed.

5. When you have kids, Date Nights do not have to be elaborate. Save money by feeding the kids a lot and send them to bed early. That way one of you can sneak out and get ice cream or Taco Bell, depending on who’s craving is bigger.