As many of my readers from my many blogs know, my husband is one of a brigade that had it’s tour extended in Iraq just as they were to head home. It sucked, to be honest. I was crushed, devastated, shocked, appalled, and disappointed. Just to name a few. But it happens. This is the military, these things happen unfortunately.

We are not the first to be extended. There were many units back in 2003 when this started that went to Iraq for a six month tour and found themselves there for 12 to 24 months! What makes us unique? The amount of notice we got. Some of us just hours. But we have dealt with it. It’s almost over. The majority of us that is.

Some have felt the need to go to the press with their grievances and distrust. The most recent, has completely and totally pissed me off. I am seeing RED. In THIS article, is an excerpt that might as well say that any of us wives that have accepted our fate and “drove on” are idiots.

When the 4-23′s Baghdad deployment was first announced, Tamara says the families split into two camps. “There were those wives who sat there and smiled like the women in ‘Apollo 13,’ who just smiled when they were thinking ‘Oh my God,’ kind of like Stepford wives, and then there were those of us who said, ‘This just isn’t right,’” recalls Bell. 

NICE Huh?? Well Screw you too! If you want to protest fine, if you want to paint messages on your car windows, great, if you want to talk to the press about your unhappiness, and your husband is ok with that, more power to you. But you DO NOT run down the rest of us that stand in quiet support of our soldiers.

We are doing what OUR soldiers expect us to do. We picked ourselves up, dusted ourselves off and put on a brave face. We put on our big girl panties and pushed ourselves through what has been possibly the hardest time of our lives. We did it so our soldiers would know, without a doubt that we were OK. So they could focus on their missions. We know they are tired, we know they are homesick, they know we want them home as bad as they want to be here.

We did all of that without going to the press to stab the other “camp” in the back. We did it without any attention, because the press only wants to report the negative, the protests, the outrage. You don’t see interviews from spouses that are upbeat and positive. They want to publicize the missed birthday parties, the poor me stories. They feed on it, they breathe it like the last cubic foot of oxygen in the universe. So congratulations, you got your 15 minutes of fame. Again. And you’ve done it  while insulting those of us that are DAMNED proud of the job we’ve done, and of the job our soldiers have done.

It’s wrong. It’s just fucking wrong.

Signed,
PROUD STEPFORD WIFE

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Again, a Prompt from The Imagination Prompt at Creativity Portal

I used to define normal so easily. Wake up, kiss Hunny off to work, send kids to school, clean house, make dinner, p[ut kids to bed, spend some quiet time with Hunny after work. Go to bed. Lather, rinse repeat. That was normal for 9 years of our marriage. Unfortunately so was a weekly struggle to make ends meet. The mystery of how to make his paychecks stretch to both buy groceries and have telephone service. The constant worry that if one of us got sick or injured without medical insurance we’d have a huge bill. Which four years ago led to the next stage of normal.

Stage two of normal was seeing him off for basic training, waiting by the phone, writing alot of letters, trying my hand at single parenthood for the first time and waiting until he got home. During this normal stage, bills were easier to pay, and we finally had medical coverage. That was a huge relief. Then he came home with orders to Alaska. Alaska has it’s own definition of normal, but we’ll get to that.

Stage three of normal now was living with my grandmother until we were approved to move up here with him. This three month period’s definition of normal was truly hurry up and wait. Wait for him to have time to get the paperwork done. Wait for his NCO to get the paperwork moving. Wait for the higher NCO to kick the first NCO in the ass for holding things up. Wait for housing. Housing came through on New Years Eve (2002/03), and finally so did our approval to join him. Which meant we now had to get packed and get on a plane.

Alaska normal begins. Normal here was 30 below zero in the winter. Thankfully we arrived in February so we missed the dark periods. They’re normal too. In December we are lucky to get four hours of daylight. Normal is moose crossing the road, or laying in the road to absorb the warmth of the pavement from the cars. Normal is trick or treating in the snow with your costume either purchased super big to fit over your thermals, snowpants and coat, or hidden under the coat. Normal is being able to drive at 2am in May because it’s still daylight, and kids saying it can’t be time to come in the sun is still out since summers have 20+ hours of daylight. Normal is not the 1200 pound angry female moose that charged us repeatedly at Denali! No, NO it’s NOT! And for 2 years, normal wasonce again kiss my Hunny goodbye, get the kids to school, see him at lunch, get kids home, make dinner, greet Hunny after a long day, get kids to bed and spend some quiet time alone before going to bed ourselves.

In August 2005 normal changed drastically. I started that morning like many others. Get the kids ready for school. Kiss hubby goodbye. Only this time the goodbye would be one year of service in Iraq. Normal took a nosedive for a while there. Until I found a routine. Normal was once again single motherhood. Normal was reading my husband’s words on a screen, or trying to hear his voice with a 5 second delay over the phone and not talk over him. It was packing boxes, waiting, packing more boxes, worrying, packing even more boxes and counting the days. Finally the day was here. He was coming home. He was on a plane the next day. I couldn’t wait. Things would be Normal again. Alaska normal at least. Then the unthinkable happened. His brigade was held over for a 120 day extension. So, this last normal was extended by four months, moved to a more dangerous place and here we go again.

During Extended Normal, I found a new friend, and normal became lattes, and laughing, and shopping, and errand running. Talking, more laughing, learning a whole new language of Lizzisms, and making the time pass quickly. Walking our dogs, working out on occasion, or just hanging out. Then her normal changed, and so did mine. The night she got the call that her husband had been injured in Iraq. Normal now is different for us both, and it involves alot of praying, more worrying, and praying some more. But I really admire the strength she’s shown in this situation. If I can do half as well, I’d be lucky. Normal for her, and her 3 girls and her “Pooh” will involve recovery, rehabilitation (his leg was amputated below the knee due to complications from a compound fracture suffered in an IED attack), patience, but they’re a great family and they’ll get through this. And normal for me is babysitting her dogs, and other furbabies and plants.

I’m not sure normal is ever one single thing for anyone. It morphs, and changes, and you just accept it and move along. In a month or so my Hunny will come home, and for us things will return to “Alaska” normal for a while, then back to Army normal while he goes off for a month of school, comes back and moves us to our next duty station. Where we will learn what Washington normal is, and start all over again. The constant normal in our lives is each other, and that’s really the only normal I need.

*i forget the link for this siggy comment if you have it*

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I’m up, I’m dressed, All I need is shoes, socks and coffee. I think today is a coffee day. Got cut off with hubby yesterday, again. Second day in a row for that. And even though we said I love you several times, it still bothers me that it wasn’t the very last thing he saw from me. Today is his birthday (where he is, not here yet). He turns 33. And for the 2nd year in a row he’s not here to get his birthday kisses. October 25th will be 15 years that we met. 2nd year in a row he’ll miss that too. We have alot of celebrating to catch up on when he gets home.  I miss my other half. Literally. My other half. Noone can really know how difficult this extension really is for me. Noone is really in my shoes, or in my boat as the saying goes. His coming home was to be a new beginning for us. We worked out alot of crap over these internet connections. No I’m not saying our marriage was in trouble, not even close. But because of these things, we were going to be given a fresh start…and my biggest fear is losing that chance. It was then, it is now. We were *almost* there. There are some that have flat out said my situation is no different than anyone elses. Well to them I say a hearty bite me. It is different, there’s a huge difference. The person that says this to me knows this. Everyone else knows what sex is like with their husbands. Sure there are jokes that we’ll forget how, or we forget what  sex is. But we all know every sensation, every bit of what it was like. I don’t. I remember what it used to be like, how it used to feel. But now everything is different. The surgery took things apart and put them back together. I have no idea what sex with my own husband is like now, because I have yet to experience it since surgery. I was told by my doc to report back any problems, because some won’t be noticeable until then. It’s very scary wondering if the most intimate part of your relationship will be changed.. Everything is scary. Anticipating my husbands return is driving me crazy. I’m tired of the waiting, the worrying, the fear. My point is, throughout the year we’ve all heard “we’re all in the same boat”. I don’t agree. I think we’re all in our own boats drifting in a common lake. Sure some boats have two or 3 passengers, but for the most part this is different for every one of us. Not worse, not better, not harder than anyone else, just differences, and those differences should be respected not just shoved to the side under one large heading.

Extra prayers for our guys in the 172nd, and extra extra ones for my friend and her family.

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