Adios

Today marked a shift in the tides, a time of change, a day of new beginnings for Mr. Smartypants, and me, too.  Today we said goodbye to a pair of good and faithful friends of my husband.  I "inherited" these "friends" when I married Mr. Smartypants almost 6 years ago.  I am not nearly as fond of these "friends" as Mr. Smartypants is.  He loved his "friends".  They were comfortable.  They knew him well; he knew them well.  I, on the other hand, had more of a love-hate relationship with them......





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You may remember them from this post. 

Today we said goodbye to these horrendous lovely things.  Mr. Smartypants, always the practical, undramatic type, uncerimoniously walked into the living room, dropping them in the floor, and said, "I'm gonna have to throw these out.  They're done."

"Really??"  My head snapped up from the computer screen my eyeballs had been glued to.  "Are you serious?"

"Yup, they're shot."

"Can I do it??? PLEASE?"

With a chuckle and a nod from Mr. Smartypants as he disappeared up the stairs, I snatched up the shoes and ran outside to the trash container, but not before I grabbed my camera to document this monumental occasion.

I'll refrain from showing you the inside of the trash can....there are just some things that one shouldn't share.

I considered humming Taps or something equally respectful, but since I was paying my respects alone, I figured why bother.  I threw the dueces (that's flashing a peace sign with my fingers as a sign of my exit for those of you not in "the know") and walked inside.  Goodbye, Ugly Shoes, Goodbye.

*UPDATE*

Mr. Smartypants informed me that the lovely shoes had been in his possession for 12 years, that would be 6 before me.  NO wonder they were so nasty.

I am standing on the 50 yard line...

It took almost ten years, but He. Is. Dead.  Osama bin Laden met the same fate as so many of his victims.  Like Mr. Smartypants likes to say: "Keep runnin'.  You'll only die tired."  Well, this weekend, bin Laden died tired.  But the game isn't over.  That wasn't the Hail Mary pass that won the game.  It might be the touchdown that pushes us to a win, but there is still time on the clock.  The enemy is still on the field.  We can't celebrate yet.  It's not over.
For the last 10 years, I have sat in the bleachers and watched the game.  For the last six years, I have sat on the front row, right at the 50 yard line.  It has been a nail-biter, I promise.  Every newscast is carefully listened to in our house.  Every move our government makes affects us.  My husband is in the game and he doesn't sit on the bench.  There have been men down on the field that won't be rejoining the game.  Their teammates won't forget about them and play all that much harder in their absence.  There have been touchdowns: the fall of Baghdad at the beginning of Operation Iraqi Freedom, the fall of the Taliban.  There have been times we thought we might have blown it: Abu Graib, the Korangal Valley.  But here we are, still in the game, still fighting to win. 
Many Americans watch from the comfort of their living rooms, content to be a Monday morning quarterback.  Some come and sit in the stands to watch because the players on the field make it personal for them.  Still others of us stand on the sideline right at the 50 yard line where it's almost too close for comfort.  But we do it, because for us, the game is personal.  That uniform out there, well, under it is the man we love.  So we beg of you, just because we scored another touchdown, doesn't mean the game is over.  Don't pack up your bleacher cushions, or get up from your armchairs.  It's always the last part of the game that your team needs the most support.  Don't forget that the game isn't over. They still need to hear you cheer.  I'll be cheering.  Join me.   I'm the one standing on the 50 yard line....

Yup, it was the Ugly Cry

As a military wife, I'm often asked, "How do you do it?"  Most days my response is "How do I not do it?"  Meaning simply that I don't feel it is a choice to do what I do every day.  This is my life: deployments, seperations, weird work hours, extra dirty (and often extra smelly) laundry...all the things that come with being an Army wife.  In the words of a popular athletic apparel line, I "just do it".  Because I don't have an alternative.  Because the alternative would be to Not do it.  And that just isn't good enough for me.  Mr. Smartypants jokes that he tried to warn me, that he tried to convince me to run the other way (he really did, on day three, but that's another story).  I like to put on my "tough Army wife" face when people ask me that.  Like it's no big deal.  Like they just asked me how I tied my shoes this morning.  But the reality is that it's hard.  Some days I fight to put one foot in front of the other.  So for all of you who have asked or want to ask, how I do it, how we do it....this post is for you.

I would like to introduce you to the bane of the existance of my inner fashionista.  A.k.a. Mr. Smartypants' favorite pair of sandals.  Now, he has newer and nicer sandals that he wears at times (specifically when I give him "the look" or when he thinks ahead and knows that if he comes down in these things he'll get "the look"...and don't pretend you don't have one that your better half gets from time to time, all wives have one), but these are his favorites.  They rank up there with the (seriously) worn out Red Sox hoodie that is quite literally falling apart.  But I didn't put this picture in this post so I could pick on Mr. Smartypants.  The significance of this picture is not the shoes or their state of destruction wear.  The significance in this picture is actually the time it was taken, about 2000 hours, or 8pm for you civilian types.  On a normal night, these would be on his feet.  But see, that's not going to happen tonight, because he's not here.  He's off training up his soldiers so that they can live up to the old Army motto of "be the best you can be". 
It is a fact of military life that they must go off for training.  We certainly wouldn't want to send our soldiers to war without it.  But it means that even though our soldiers aren't deployed (or "down range" as we often like to say), they are seperated from us.  Generally it isn't months, just weeks, but seperation is seperation, especially when our time together is so limited.  And so his favorite sandals sit empty and unworn in our bedroom for now.  And tonight, seeing them there, without the feet that have worn them down, makes me a little sad, and a little lonely.  (It probably didn't help that I have been surfing the internet, reading some blogs of other military wives.  They often bring a tear to my eye.)

So I'll grab another piece of chocolate (thank you Easter bunny, please don't tell my kids), finish off the last drops of Dr. Pepper, curse myself for not making that shoppette run earlier to get more and tell you how I really do it. 
1. I eat chocolate...lots of it...it makes me feel good.  I don't eat other things to counteract the caloric intake from the chocolate...usually dinner is the first to go.  But I eat chocolate, lest my butt decide to shrink *gasp, the horror!!*
2. I drink Dr. Pepper by the gallon *please see point 1 for application of point 2
3.  I stay up late and make blog posts...it gives me something to do when I suffer from insomnia let out my inner nightowl.

I had the joy of having coffee with several wives from our company today.  Many of them have never survived a deployment before.  It made me think about all the ways we react to seperation.  Some of us fall apart, some of us feel so out of control that we micro-manage the parts of our lives we can control.  Some of us eat.  Some of us don't eat.  Some of us lay on the couch for 12 months.  Some of us live at the gym, using the treadmill as our personal stress reliever.  Whatever we do, we each find a way to cope the best way we each know how.  Some of us miss our soldiers at night, when the bed is empty; some of us miss him in the morning when he doesn't come home to change after PT.  But we all miss our soldier.  Don't let our tough exterior fool you. 

We are a resourceful bunch, using the things (or chocolate stashes) around us to cope.  We live on our computers, our iphones and facebook.  Hoping that maybe, just maybe, he'll have time to call.  Technology is our friend, and our worst enemy.  We wait.  It's hard, but we do it.

Then, there are our children....I can't even begin to explain the impact seperation has on our kids...well, I could, but this military spouse blogger does a much better job.  Please don't ignore this link.  I beg you to go read it.  It made me cry, you know, the blubbery, nose-running, snot-flying UGLY cry.  And I don't ugly cry because...well...it's ugly.

So the next time you ask a military wife, "How do you do it?" Just nod and smile when she answers casually, but know deep down, it's hard work.