Deployment Demons Have Been Summoned, Part II

As I write this, I am sitting at the service department of the car dealership waiting for news about my car (presumably very bad with the possibility of causing high blood pressure, cursing under the breath, and a stiff cocktail at the end of the day). 

Of course, out of nowhere, or actually because the deployment demons have been summoned in full force, a little light popped up on my instrument panel yesterday.  In the 5 years I have driven this car, I have never seen this little light.  But of course, Hubby has not been gone 4 days and BAM! I have a new “growth opportunity” to contend with.  After driving around town for my daily dose of mind-numbing errands, I sat down to look at the car manual.  It reads:  “Anti-lock brake system: If the ABS light stays illuminated or continues to flash, a malfunction has been detected, have the system serviced immediately by your authorized dealer.”  Oh snap!

Sometimes, Ignorance really is bliss.  However, I, not knowing much about cars and because I follow directions, immediately called the service department for an appointment.  So here I sit.

How much “fun” will I have this time around from the deployment curse?  This time my fun began less than 1 hour after I dropped Hubby off at the airport.   The drop-off was a kiss-and-go.  He kissed us all good-bye without much fanfare and told the boy “See you later, Alligator.”  A round of “I-love-you’s” and I pulled away from the curb.  Deep breath.  Smile.  Go.

As we drove home, the Boy and I discussed what a great visit we all had, and how he was going to stay in better touch with Dad through email.  Yada, yada, yada.  I had warm, fuzzy feelings toward Hubby until I put my hand in my coat pocket to retrieve my house key, only to realize that HE had my house key.  And HE was 30 miles away at the airport, probably already through security.  It’s starting to snow.  It’s dinner time.  I have cold, hungry kids and NO house key.

Spoiled Wifey Moment:  I am sometimes, *ahem*, a bitch.  This little fiasco couldn’t go unreported.  I did call Hubby to inform him that he should check his coat pocket.  Did he feel bad?  Yes, as he should.  I realize this was one thoughtless act was completely accidental (We were doing the divide and conquer with the kids.  I was strapping Diva Darling in her car seat, while he was rounding up Little Man and locking up the house.).  But it still caused a lot of *ss pain for me nonetheless.

I called my neighbor who rescued me and the kids from the cold and hunger.  We took refuge in her home, and I started dealing with the situation.  My kind neighbor couldn’t locate our spare key, and we weren’t sure if she even still had it.  I called my landlord.  He didn’t have a spare either. *sigh* Two house keys were making their way to the other side of the world.  The spare’s location was unknown.  I was locked out.  Perfect, just perfect.

The locksmith was called.  He was very courteous, prompt, and EXPENSIVE.  I didn’t bother with price comparison when it’s a Saturday night, snowing, and I’m annoyed.  (Aside:  It is rather disconcerting how easily a lock can be picked.  It didn’t look like any special tools were really necessary.)  Anyway, a quick fix and we were all back in the warm house by bedtime.

Now every time I come home, the new and shiny gold doorknob reminds me of my Hubby.  Whether it is a good or bad association, I’ll never tell….

CAR UPDATE: Punch to the gut.

A sensor has gone rogue.  The sensor replacement part only costs $20, but it’s located behind a wheel, axle, and 2 hours of labor to get to it.  As I’m calculating money and scheduling logistics, the service technician says, “Oh, by the way, your brake pads are measuring 4/32 and should be replaced.  If it measures 2/32, it won’t pass a state inspection.”  Hmm, do it now since I’m here or wait until next month, consuming another day of precious child-free time?

I had to call into the support network.  My kind neighbor, the very same one who sheltered us during the lockout, is meeting Little Man at the bus stop.  This is the very same neighbor who 3 weeks ago watched Diva Darling when I was curled up in a ball of misery, incapacitated from a violent, nasty stomach bug of doom.

Deployment Curses, or Growth Opportunities, (depending on your attitude) come forth in threes.  Dare I ask “what else?” Or 2 out of 3 and I catch a break this time around?  Meanwhile, I keep adding to the ever-expanding THANK YOU fund to my neighbor.  If you have any you-are-as-close-to-an-angel-on-earth-and-are-the-BEST-neighbor-ever gift ideas, please let me know.  

Good times!

Dark Gloomy Start to 2013

Here it is almost the end of January and I’m STILL UNINSPIRED to write, share, remember or connect with others.

I am lost, struggling, uninspired, and angry.

I don’t know who I am anymore. 

I don’t know how to find my way back to Self.

Thirty-something Mother of 2.  Military Spouse. Unaccomplished.  Unfocused.  Without a vision.

I’ve stopped dreaming of the future.  This is disastrous for my psyche. For my marriage.  For my sanity.

Not that nothing makes any sense.  I am still functioning.  I am not so depressed that I’ve lost interest in all things.  I find joy, delight and meaning every day .  In the short-term.  In the present.  Mostly through my children.  But when I think of the future, I become angry.  I want my life to be different. A bouquet of flowers at HIS retirement will not be enough.

Frankly, after twelve years, I am tired of the military lifestyle. But what I think I want, I am too afraid to initiate.  What I want currently seems impractical and unrealistic. Either way, someone will be unhappy.  I have spent most of my life chasing happiness. I am afraid to walk out to the unknown when the chance of success and happiness are not guaranteed.  And so I sit, in my comfortable life, getting more and more miserable, as the dreamer in me disappears slowly.  To pursue what I want means to not follow his career and to follow my own path, which would certainly diverge from his.  I am too risk-averse to take the plunge and I hate myself for my own shortcoming.

His next assignment makes me feel trapped, even before I set foot back in the State.

“You knew what you were getting into when you married the military.”  Each and every military spouse has heard this from military and non-military alike.  But I wonder, did I really know?  And even if I did know, and accepted its challenges, am I not allowed to falter? To have doubts? Or must I be totally committed to the ups-and-downs 100% all the time?

This time I know exactly what I am moving back to, having been there before, and it’s nothing short of stagnation.  Hubby reminds me of all the good.  But it’s the bad that left the bigger impression.  The old but tried-and-true tricks of mental preparation for the upcoming move aren’t working any more.  I am not looking forward to recreating myself.  Or raising my children there.  Hubby is getting exactly what he wants (other than a happy wife).  He is successful. I feel like I am getting handed a big bag of nothing. I feel like a failure.

I am tired of trying to find something that’s just mine, and mine alone, that fits into the military lifestyle.  It’s hard enough to re-create myself after being a Stay-at-Home Mom for 7+ years, wanting a complete career change from the pre-kid version of myself and starting completely from scratch.  Add the military challenges, and I’m starting to get worn down before I even begin.  I just don’t bounce back quite as easily as I used to. The idealism of youth is fading.

I feel as if I can’t talk about my dissatisfaction with my fellow military spouses, who I swear are programmed to be positive and uplifting all the time.  I know I am not alone in my feelings of dissatisfaction with this lifestyle and the resulting inadequacies it can produce, but I do think military spouses, in general, follow a pragmatic, no-nonsense, git-r-done  attitude.  “Oh?  You don’t like where the military is moving you?  You knew what you were getting yourself into when you married the military.”  Read:  Quit your bitchin’ and figure it out.  

Plus we all know that we never want to be the first to admit our own weakness.  Ever.  It’s hard enough to ask for help when we genuinely need it.  Asking for help usually revolves around the logistics of living with kids, with a spouse out of the picture--Sick kids, broken down cars, scheduling.  But for me to admit an emotional weakness? My mental anguish? Or god forbid, marital stress?  It’s nobody’s business but mine.  Until I can’t keep up appearances anymore.  

It’s time to call in the professionals.  To help me find me way back onto the path.  Or perhaps to help me draw a new map for a new path.

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Ordinary Moments with Diva Darling

Diva Darling and I had to pass the time while Pride & Joy was at a birthday party.  I didn’t want to drive back home only to turn around again.  Instead Diva and I went to the grocery store and then sat in the car eating Oreos.  Diva was most pleasant, ecstatic to be allowed to sit in the front seat.  I was most pleasant, not fretting about Oreo crumbs. (I didn’t post about it but in the 3 days prior I already dealt with projectile vomit and 2 canisters of baking sugars, thankfully not together, all over Diva Darling’s car seat.  Oreos seem rather innocuous at this point.)

A calm, ordinary, but joyous moment with my child.  No resentment.  Or wishing I was doing something else.  Or rushing here and there.  Just in a state of being.  I’m glad I snapped a picture.  I want to remember that there should be moments like this every day (and there are but I don't appreciate them nearly enough) when I am enjoying the moment, living the moment, not distracted.