I'm not even entirely sure where to start. In all of my blogging years, I have never taken this long of a hiatus. So I will start with this:
Matt is gone again.
Readers will remember, I am sure, our deployment of 2009. Crazy time that it was. I was never lacking for writing material--the nonfiction of my daily life being far more entertaining than anything I could ever produce with my imagination. Am I lacking for material now? Surely not. I am just lacking motivation.
Allow me to get the self pity part out of the way first in an effort to clear my mind and allow the not so "woe is me" material to finally filter through. Matt returned to a ship back in the Spring of 2007. It has been a whirlwind three years. Constant underways and long work hours. Saying goodbye for a deployment in August of 2008 only to have him return two months later, only to have him leave again a couple months after that for a full deployment. Only to have him return home and begin months of 130 hour work weeks and Monday-Friday off the coast underways. Only to be told he was reporting last month to a ship on an active deployment to serve as their air control man. Why Matt , I won't ever know. Ok, granted, he's beyond amazing in that department. He has made a name for himself in that community and that I am very proud of. I don't doubt he is *the* man to have, however, he had countless duties and obligations to his current command and the idea of flying him out there when there were willing and able men just sitting here on shore duty biting at the bit to go and even some men on other ships deployed to the same area able to do this job was beyond ridiculous. I am not just saying that because I didn't want him to go. Of course I didn't. Although he was working crazy hours and off the coast alot, he was, atleast, still here--somewhat. Now he is halfway across the world again. It is just the logic of this one that baffles me. But alas, it is not within wifely duties to hunt down the jackasses that hand picked Matt's name and go beat them. Jersey style. So, here I sit. Alone again. I probably shouldn't mention the fact that we have under a year until our next 6 month+ deployment. And that when he returns from his current position of serving as a pawn in the Navy's version of chess, it will be peak Chief selectee season. A time of year when most Chiefs will be otherwise obligated not only to their work but to their Selectee duties. Oh I had hopes, dreams, of Matt's return sometime this month given that the man he is standing in for was due to report yesterday to the station here in order to be flown out. But this man decided to take some vacation time first. Then he'll get around to flying out there to relieve Matt. I can't begrudge the guy--well, I could, but it wouldn't be right. Every military member deserves their vacation time. I just so wish this man's didn't impact my family so greatly.
We have yet to receive any kind date or timeframe for his return. That is one of the hardest parts of this current period of separation. Sorry, kids, no paper chains or candy in jars to count down until Daddy's return this time because Mommy has no freaking clue when it'll be.
So here I sit on the laptop out back--listening to the sounds of the neighbors' mowers running and looking at my jungle that I tended to not even 5 days ago and realizing it has to be done again. How I loathe it. How I loathe that I spent 7 hours last weekend making it pristine and knowing I only have to do it all over again because who else is going to? But I know damn right well some other piece of lawn equipment will break. It did last weekend, too. It's just the way it is.
Amidst all this--how am I faring you ask? I'm here. I can't say I'm happy, or sad, or angry at this very moment. If you had asked me this morning when I received the news that Matt could very well be gone for much, much longer than we had anticipated, I would have sobbed to you, "I'm sad! I'm very, very sad!" If you had asked me last week when the weedwhacker decided to be a jackass and stop working in the middle of yardwork, I would have growled, "I'm mad! So very, very mad!" and if you had asked me a couple weeks ago, I would have shrugged, "Eh, I'm numb. Really, really numb." Funny how emotions change with me like the wind during times like this. Yesterday morning I woke up looking forward to the day I had planned--heading out alone with a couple of good friends to see Eclipse then have dinner with those friends' families. But around 10am, for no reason whatsoever, a crushing weight of despair, sadness and just pure depression took me over. It was suffocating. The only analogy I can begin to use to describe the raw emotions on a bad day is that of a fresh flesh wound. A chunk of skin and tissue and meat being ripped from you until you can think of nothing else but that screaming bloody wound. The pain comes in waves on the bad days-always present, always in the forefront of your mind but, at times, it becomes so intense it is like someone threw some acid on it just for shits and giggles. Your very breath escapes your lungs and its near impossible to swallow past the lump in your throat. Other days, the "good" days, that wound becomes nothing but a minor annoyance. Still there, of course, but you find you are able to ignore it--push it from your mind if you concentrate hard enough on other things. Of course then you find yourself falsely hoping that it's healing. But that is a delusion. It doesn't heal. It won't. You can try to put a band aid on it, throw a few stitches in it, but it'll always be there until the day he comes home. That is when you can truly begin to heal. However, you'll always be left with the scar. A reminder of what you have endured--and what is yet to come.
Melodramatic for a deployment that is "only" 9 weeks or so? Perhaps. But you'll forgive me--my perspective of this life is a bit screwed up at the moment. I am still drying my four-year-old's tears on a daily basis--tears she sheds for the father that has been barely around for her life thus far. So yes, you'll excuse me for my, perhaps, slightly jaded perspective.
Now that that whole mess is over..moving on.
So, what the hell have we been up to in the last three months?
I'm still putzing around doing very part time real estate assistant work from home. Shuffling my kids to this activity and that activity, to this friend's house, to that friend's house. Still mowing, cleaning, grooming pets, wiping noses and asses, balancing the checkbook, taking out trash, reading as much as humanly possible and cursing the fact that each morning it is becoming more and more difficult to get out of bed. I'm still struggling, as previously mentioned, with feelings that there is something I am not doing in life. Oh sure, no surprise there--keeping house and home for a decade when it's not in your personality to do such things will, of course, produce such feelings. Madilyn, however, still needs me home. She begins a 9 hour a week preschool program in the Fall and then 1/2 day Kindergarten the year after, but until she is in school full time, here I am. Slightly off my rocker at this point, but still present nonetheless. Books are still providing me my much needed escape although I admit I have developed a little Redbox obsession. Brothers and Dear John (good Lordie, BAD idea to watch those right now), Made of Honor, Remember Me, Alice in Wonderland--basically anything I can get my hands on that sounds halfway decent and can give me 1 1/2 to 2 hours of distraction works. As for books, I've been plowing through Gena Showalter's newest Lords of the Underworld (love those naughty lil immortals), Ward's newest Black Daggers (still like crack!), The Others series by Christine Warren (made my "to buy" list), newest Sookie (big disappointment), newest House of Night (eh, ok), and the Eclipse novella The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner (so far, so good). My to read list is forever growing and I suppose as long as that keeps happening, I'll be ok.
Jules graduated 6th grade and is now officially my rising 7th grader. Dear Lord...her aging will never cease to amaze me. But I thank higher powers every day for that girl. My lifeline. Oh sure, we drive each other nuts once in a while, but for the most part, she is my right hand man. Actually the day we dropped Matt at the airport a few weeks ago, she cried. She always does. But after about a minute, she sniffled, took a deep breath, then announced, "Ok, this sucks, but you have your second in command now, Mom." And from then on, she has been invaluable in helping me to run this household. In some ways, I think this life has strengthened my relationships--with her atleast. But being desperate for adult conversation and only having her to truly provide it will do that. And she just kicks ass. Plain and simple. Many, many times this past schoolyear was I reminded of her maturity, her compassion, her empathy, her humanity--middle school years are not easy ones, but I was so very proud of her the entire year. She is one tough chick. She actually proved that statement in a very physical sense about two weeks into her Spring soccer season when she broke her ankle and the bone in the ball of her foot during practice. Only we didn't realize it. She felt the crack, the pain, but kept on playing in the scrimmage--going on to score a goal. It was a full two weeks later--two weeks! When her foot swelled and became a shade of purple that only belongs in a Crayola box, I realized something was not right. Four weeks in a cast and an entire soccer season lost. The most amazing part of that is that my mother, Jules and I took a girls only trip to Williamsburg during the time pre cast. It had always been a dream of mine to stay in one of the authentic cottages in the Colonial section so for my 30th, my parents made it a reality. We had a fantastic time, but Jules was made to walk--alot--on a broken ankle. Again, I will say--we had no clue. But yeah, let's just call that an "oops!" moment in my mothering.
Alyssa finished up first grade and is anxiously awaiting second to start. Hmmm maybe anxiously is not the word for that child though to be honest. My child who, although she loves her class and teachers and school in general, would rather be home. Homeschooled. Ha, that novelty would wear off *real* fast let me tell ya. Me as her sole and full time teacher? That's not a situation I'd wish upon her. She still kicked ass at soccer and is geared up for another season this Fall. She still teeters that line of tormenting her little sister and absolutely living for her. Such an odd relationship they have. Although content to be a loner if she has to be, she is forever asking for friends to come over to which I reply, "Baby, I haven't drank enough today to allow such a thing." Joking. No, really. I am. But any mother can agree having your child's other 12 year old friends over versus your child's 6 or 7 year old friends is quite a difference. She's looking forward to her "survival" camp in a couple weeks but first anticipating her week in NJ with my parents. As always, she remains my engima though. My most complex child. The one who shows one emotion on her face but is experiencing one vastly different inside. When one allows themselves the time to sit down and just talk one on one with her they will find a very deep thinking child sitting across from them. I only see glimpses of it--it's not often she allows people past the barrier she has set up inside, but when she does, it blows me away. Without fail. I've had to have repeated conversations with her during the last year about how it was ok to show emotions. It is ok to cry. It is ok to be angry. Although she is the child most like me, parts of her will always remain a mystery to me it seems.
Madilyn celebrated her fourth birthday back in May. It's crazy to think I was blogging back when she was stretching me beyond human capacity and now here she is--four. She has given up stripping when angry for good and after a visit to the dentist recently, she finally stopped sucking her thumb. Well, mostly anyway. Once in a while I'll still catch her while she is asleep. She absolutely can not wait for preschool to start and I have no doubts she will adjust to that beautifully. She is the most social of all our girls--perhaps because from the moment she popped out, I was asking perfect strangers, "You wanna hold her?" Our lil hot potato child--passed around to anyone wanting to hold her. End result? A child who will talk to anyone who will listen--and sometimes to people who won't. She is having the hardest time with Matt's being gone--daily tears and shrieks for him. It has gotten to the point that our explanation of Daddy "having to work so we can pay for things like this house" has prompted her to say she hates our home and wishes we would move to a place that wouldn't make him leave all the time. But she's a trooper. Like us, she will be ok. And whenever she finds herself a little aggressive due to frustration or sadness, I direct her to our new MMA heavybag in the garage. That girl has a wicked right hook.
I truly hope I can become better at posting because when I look back on the multitude of last year's entries, I am so glad I composed them. I had forgotten so many of the little day to day things that happened in ours lives--things that were said or done--and I don't like that I could, a year from now, forget what is happening today or tomorrow or the next day if I am not better about writing. And, as always, I have no fear that I will ever lack material--not while there three girls are under our roof anyway.
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