101 Reasons I am a Terrible Military Spouse

There aren’t really 101 reasons I am not a very good military wife, but a recent blog optimization article said that titles of articles with numbers in them are more likely to be read.  I wanted you to read what I have to say, ergo, 101 reasons (or whatever the real number is) reasons I’m a terrible military wife. :)

I don’t write that to put myself down, but a recent YouTube parody called “I have a Mom Crush” got me thinking about all the things we assume about our fellow friends, family, colleagues, and social circles that probably aren’t all that right. Sometimes, we need to be willing to let it all hang out there honestly, so that people in your same situation, with your same fears and anxieties can relate.  When people relate, they don’t feel alone.  When people are not alone, they are a lot less likely to make destructive or harmful decisions.  This is why the Army (or military or community) family is so vital to the success of our society. Finding connections between people isn’t just the hallmark of success amongst the military.  When we can find connections between people anywhere, in any situation, it’s good for communities.  When we are together, we ARE stronger—no matter how cliche that sounds. It’s just that social media is set up to show the best sides of ourselves, so we tend to assume that other people don’t have problems that could relate to our own struggles.  We don’t share the pictures of ugly cries, or the snot bubbles of frustration, anxiety, and anger experienced by everyone.  It’s easy to capture of a profile picture of joy.  It’s a lot more difficult to capture one that expresses us when we are really at our lowest...and then post it so others know they aren’t alone.  Plus, ugly pictures make people uncomfortable.  Trying to empathize in 140 characters can sometimes push people out of their comfort zones.  Others feel that sort of reality is private and others think there is just too much TMI on the internet anyway.  The problem is that more and more people are seeking to use social media as their communities, and yet it's very difficult to be authentic in the online world.

Professional Head Shots make everyone look perfect.

Thanks to my secret life as a writer (it’s probably not so secret, but I like to pretend that it’s my alter ego), I have the opportunity to come into contact with a lot of people that can take a look at my gorgeous head shot and bio and sum me up in five minutes. People have said to me: “I don’t know how you do all you do” (I don’t really do either, I just do it); “You have it all together” (I don’t really, it’s just a controlled level of crazy that makes you think it’s normal); “You’ve done so much” (I’ve done stuff where I’ve applied my passion, there are other parts of my life that I’m terrible at: kids crafts for example); “You are so beautiful, I don’t know how you could possibly understand” (What you see in the mirror and what I see in the mirror are probably two different things); “You make moving look so easy” (That’s because I kill myself trying to control everything and I fail all the time); and a bunch of other stuff that just turns into a long list of platitudes, but rarely captures the nitty gritty of truth. My head shot and me are two different things.  It’s just one glimpse of me.  Same thing with my profile pictures, or what you see about me from the outside.

The truth is:  I’m just like you.  A mom, wife, woman, just trying to do her best.  I also happen to be a military wife, military brat, and military-grandbrat (the military runs deep in my family).  I love military life, but let’s face it, it has its moments where we are called to embrace the suck.  My friend Sara tells me at my whiney moments to “Ruck Up.”  The rucksack is the military backpack soldiers carry their gear.  To “Ruck up” is to put your back pack on and keep moving.  In the civilian world it equates to “put on your big girl panties and get on with it.”  Much of life is rucking it up.  While it’s all good and well to have a boo-hoo, sometimes you need a friend that listens and then says “Ruck Up.”  Let’s move on, part of life is embracing the chaos and crazy as your own.  I can whine through it all, but it’s a lot more doable  when I acknowledge the uncontrollability in my life and choose to make it my own, instead of letting it make me.  I am pretty good at rucking it up in the middle of the chaos.  It’s the moments before the backpack goes on my back and the moments before I get to take it off that trip me up. I call these the bookend moments.

Living out of boxes.

I can excel at a deployment; a transatlantic or transpacific move; the regular change in my life; getting to know people and hosting things; but I suck at either end of it.  I loathe the bookends.  I am a mess waiting for assignments.  The anticipation kills me.  In fact, anticipation in general kills me.  I’ve been known to read the end of a book just to make sure that everything turns out okay.  I loathe the time leading up to a deployment and waiting for the last good bye.  I loathe the last couple of weeks waiting for my soldier to come home. I stress when I am planning a party and worrying about making sure everything is okay. I want everyone to be happy. Packing up my house, or waiting for my precious stuff to arrive make me hum with stress. I’ll confess, my soldier has come home more than once to walk through the door and I bust out in tears, throwing my hands in the air, and dramatically proclaiming, “I just can’t do this anymore!”  True story.  Luckily, we’ve done this for awhile now that that my dude knows to give me a hug, pour me a glass of wine, and take my to-do list out of my hands for awhile.

Take the "to-do" list and pass me a glass of wine, and no one gets hurt.

We’re heading into a big move right now and the truth is that it’s hard.  I am running around with my house half packed in boxes and storage bins, trying to mitigate the damage that my movers look at as junk, but are precious memories to me.  I am trying to figure out how to feed my family healthy food and not eat out all the time, when my kitchen will be packed up for somewhere between 6-12 weeks. You think the Freshman 15 is bad?  Try the PCS 20.  I’m trying to figure out how to work through it all.  I’m worried about where my kids will go to school and if they’ll be happy. I feel guilt when they are pulled from their friends, although I know their passport and adventures rival many of their peers.  I both want to see my friends, and am loathe that each time we get together is yet another good bye.  I worry about our families when we travel far away, and I often pray that no one dies while we are overseas.  I often wish I was strong like that other military spouse I just saw post about her PCS binder or her teacher gifts worthy of Pinterest or the one that is weathering her 6th deployment. We all have things we wish we could do like someone else, but you know, you’ve got qualities too that someone else wishes they have.  The diversity of our abilities is what makes the world pretty awesome.

Polish Pottery will get broken.

As my mom tells me, no matter how many broken pieces of furniture I try to prevent, no matter how many lost boxes I try to label, and no matter how many ducks I try to put in a row, something will happen.  And whether I worry myself to death (which I probably will continue to do—Type A here), the move will happen, the party will be thrown, the deployment will end at some point, the teacher will be thanked, and we’ll do it all again because military life is nothing if it’s not cyclical. You can’t control everything.  You can’t be everything.  You have things that you are good at, just like me.  And you have things you could work on, just like me.  And you’ll have things you never achieve, just like me.  It doesn’t mean you are a bad person, or a bad military wife, or a bad any-type-of-spouse.  You are you, and I am me.

So, if you look at another spouse, military or not, and think you’ve got that “Mom Crush” or that she (or he) have it all together, remember that the way you see another person isn’t always the way they see themselves.  I’ve got 101 ideas why I think I’m bad at what I do and 101 wishes I could do our life like someone else, but I’ve also got 101 reasons why I love our life and the way we do it is just right.  Be yourself and find someone willing to be authentic with you too and you’ll succeed at anything, even when you think you aren’t.

Day ???? (I'll figure it out later): Where is My breaking point?

Do you ever wonder where your breaking point lies?  I've been flirting with mine on and off lately as you've seen from my posts. I'm in a rough patch. I'm old enough to know that eventually it will pass, but young enough that it still entangles me; consumes me; grabs me by the throat and tries to rule me. My rough patch and me are like the devil and drama dancing the tango.  

The last two weeks of my life fit this hashtag: #youcannotmakethisstuffup. I'm living my own personal soap opera and even I am left stunned by the crap that stalks me. 

There are various reasons why. Number one: I DON'T LIKE TO RELENQUISH CONTROL. Number 2: I think I walked under too many ladders or crosses too many black cats or something. Lately stuff is just stupid. 

When you have cancer (or any other kind of tragedy, disease, problem) you instantly lose control over your life. Consequently, you try to retain tighter control over those things in life that you can. For an inherent control freak (I.e. ME), this presents problems. 

I'm sorry, but the whole "Let go and Let God" approach is like Mount Everest to me. It's my sin, I know it and I try to tackle it daily but when I lack control, I find myself slipping closer to my personal breaking point.  Plus, stupid things can make me a little crazier than normal as well. 

This week has been our move. I'm used to moving. My son and I counted up 15 moves in my 39 years this week as we talked about our newest adventure. I'm an old salt. A vagabond at heart. This life suits me, so don't think I'm complaining about my lot. But it doesn't make it easy. The process of moving is inherently exhausting mind, body and spirit. 

And my body is tired. It feels old and fails to respond with the vigor I know. In my heart, I know my cancer slows me down. And I resent it immensely. I have no place in which to focus my fury. No outlet for my angst. I am stuck in this short period of time that is called my move. I am trying to focus my energy on my children who are also struggling with yet another move. This will be the fifth in six and a half years. During all this, my husband is wrapping up school--all so we can leave earlier than planned for me to try and get the right treatment. It's the perfect storm.

And the storm began brewing when we decided to stick with our plans to go to SC for thanksgiving.  I over did it as usual and then to cap the cake with more frosting, we misses our connection by five minutes (it was still on the Tarmac waiting when we arrived) but they wouldn't let us on the plane. This les to a six hour layover and arriving home about 1 am the day our move started. On top of that, I came down with some nasty virus. 

At the prodding (well, really demanding, forcing, cajoling) of friends and family, I did what I truly HATE to do and have asked for help this week. I couldn't do it on my own. It was more than I could handle. I set up friends for dinner, coffee runs, companionship, and child care. And I asked our transportation/moving coordinator for ONE thing:

I played the cancer card--not in jest-- we simply said, "I have lymphoma. We need a smooth move to DC with as quick of a delivery of our household goods as can be so I can see my doctors and get treatment". (Treatment is the only thing on my mind these days--I want this crap out of my body fiercely).   The only thing I asked of them was to send me a good team, make it as stress free as possible, do a good job, and get my stuff to DC. 

Well, this is how it played out:

Day 1:  "Ma'am:  we will be there between 9-10 am". Ok. Good. This will work. Hour after hour passes.  Finally, at 1345, they show up with three people and work for 3.5 hours. Maybe 1/4 of my house is complete. No worries, they tell me that they will come back the next day between 9-10. 

Day 2: 10 am passes by...and then another hour and then another.  Finally, they show up at 1230. With two guys. Evidently, the third has been banned from entering a military installation. All day the lead packer is calling around looking for help. He wants this job done today. There is no way with two guys.  Around 2:30 pm, four more guys show up. Things pick up, but still not enough to finish packing. At one point, they are telling me how they aren't getting paid enough to come help "me" out on this extra job. It's everything I can do not to tell them that I've had to take two days of leave without pay to wait for them to come of the job they were contracted to do. They want to stay until 10 pm to try and finish the job. I am exhausted. My body hurts. My kid is falling a part. We tell them to come back the next day. You don't get to stay all night when you can't show up at the time agreed upon. 

Day 3:  they actually show up at 0940. I'm elated. But there are only two guys and the second guy has the flu. I give him medicine. Fluids. He goes to work. I keep being told they will be done by 1. This from the same guy that told me they would be done by 6 the previous day. No time management skills. When you show up for work four hours late two days in a row, there is no getting done early. I think we all hated each other at this point. Hours roll by. They finally finish packing around 1815. A lot of things were left undone. 

Day 4:  loading van day--"ma'am, we will be there before 9 am". Time passes. At 1040 the van shows up. It's 2/3rds full of other peoples stuff.  There is no room for all of my household goods. Plus, they spent a good hour taking things off and rearranging other peoples stuff that was just thrown in the truck. At 1100, I officially lose it. I spent half the morning yelling at people on the phone that said they would take care of this and make this an easy move because of my cancer. It's been the worst move ever (and remember, I've done this 7 times as an adult). They fill the first van. My stuff is scattered across my lawn in boxes and pieces. It's like looking at your life like a broken puzzle strewn across the ground. At 1630, a second van finally shows up to get the rest of my house. So instead of one move with one delivery date, I will now have two delivery dates and two unpack dates all around three huge doc appointments that wait for me at our destination. The sad thing was that our loading team was great. If they had a van that had fit our stuff, then they actually would have been done on time. Both our loading team and my family got screwed today. 

To the man that said he'd "take care of this and make sure I had nothing to worry about". Thanks. You did a bang up job.

Then our driving adventure ensued. Because the moving fiasco was not enough, I am driving one car and my husband is driving the truck pulling the boat we cannot get rid of.  I loath, LOATH driving. Three days, 20 hours were ahead of us. It was totally a bear down and get through it deal for me. So. I'm trucking a long on my end of the trip with the plan to meet my hubby at our first stop. 

He is four hours late...WTHEck????  The boat trailer broke. I kid you not. The wheel fell off the dang thing?  YGTBKM!!! Thankfully, my husband had the great wisdom not to informs of this until we were reunited. I don't handle that sort is this well. (Control remember?)

Then upon our arrival to DC, we are greated with a traffic jam. The number one reason I've resisted DC to date is the traffic. #countrygirl

This lengthened our 8 hour trip to 10. And I'm already pooped. Grumpy car has nothing on me at this point. 

And I hate these moments. They bring out the worst in me. I can't find my Christian charity. I can't find my patience. I can't find my kindness nor understanding. I'm tired. I'm sad. My family Is sad. We both love and hate to move. On the one hand a great adventure awaits, new friends are around the corner...on the other, we leave dear people that were and have been a lifeline not only during these last weeks of finding out about my cancer, but also during this move. I simply cannot thank them enough. And as we arrived at our new home, it was ready for us. Friends had left gifts and welcome notes and beer!:). And the house itself was everything the Tully family had promised

. 

(I'd like to end the post here, but I'm still irritated at my moving coordination so I will close with the below and say several prayers is forgiveness tonight.)

For the dude that promised to help, and then turned this into hell-- well the sinful side of me hopes you have a move just like this one in your future, and I'll hope and pray you have people by your side because today was awful, and the only thing that kept my toe from crossing the breaking point were the peeps I had by my side.