We live on post. Housing is roomy enough, and I have set up our 'home' even though we don't really know where home is anymore. Things are better. Neither I nor my husband are as crazy in the head as we used to be. I no longer have to worry about him bringing home soldiers who sit around and get drunk with him and make sexual hints to me behind his back. At one time I thought that was how army life had to be, but now I realize that is no kind of life.

With a little help I have been able to see the viscious trap many families in the military fall into: alcoholism, lies, hurt, a feeling of no escape. He hasn't drank in over half a year. And I told him straight up that I can no longer live with his lies. What is a relationship, really, if there's no trust or honesty? It's certainly not a healthy one, nor is it one I want myself or my daughters subjected to anymore. He has reached out for all sorts of help and programs and has shown me in every way possible that he is serious about getting help. He has been through alot and I know that. I've been there for him. I wait. And hope. And pray. I also save my money and have my back up plans... just in case. He is who he is and I no longer try to change him. Either he continues to be someone worth living with, or he doesn't.

The truth is we do care deeply for each other, but I can no longer be the coward I have hated so much, who accepted so much...so we'll see what happens.

Yes, I am a huge Twilight fan, though I keep it fairly quiet. Stephanie Meyer created a timeless story than can take even a fifty year old back to the age of seventeen- a time when love really was true, and when it was all that seemed to matter. She created an amazing man who can only be found through paper and pen. (And to think I lived that close to Edward in Forks, Washington when we were stationed at Fort Lewis.) November 21st, the book comes to life in the movie theaters. Being who I am, I will not go see the movie for the first week or two. I truly live in my books and movies and if there is a person's head in front of me at the theater, then I will most likely smack it... so I will wait till the hype calms down a bit and the crowds become sparse.

The reason I even bother to mention Twilight is because the first four books were my dearest companions as I journeyed from Texas through Louisiana, through Mississippi, through Alabama, through Georgia, up to South Carolina to pick up my husband, and back to Georgia to a new army post. I mostly read them at night, after my girls were tucked into the hotel beds and the lights were dimmed. Out came the flashlight and alive came Edward and Bella. I would stay up reading til I couldn't see anymore or until the book and flashlight would fall to the floor, my eyes closing. Of course I read Breaking Dawn, but that was after we arrived at Fort Stewart and I had to wait until August for its release. I can only say that Stephenie Meyer has a mind I would love to visit.

We were walking through Wal Mart the other day, the only major store around Hinesville for about 45 miles, when a soldier commented on how bad ass my husbands Sea Hawks jersey was. We found out he was from Seattle too, and was just recently stationed here in Georgia. His english was so crisp and clear. For once I finally heard my own North Western accent. I hear alot of odd slang and accents around here. Black, South, slurred....you name it, the accent is here. I had a best friend from Alabama who was stationed in Washington with us and she tried to tell me we sounded as though we spoke more proper or something. I thought it was odd but now I know what she was trying to say.

It's good to write again. I've missed me.

I believe my armywife blog days may be over. I have nothing to write about and when I sit down to write, I draw a blank. My husband has been active duty for almost six years and though I was told the other day that I am still just a baby to this armylife, I feel as though this is all I know- to the point that I can no longer distinguish the difference between before and after life inside the gates enough to write my observations or opinions anymore. I don't know. Maybe I'm just tired and don't care anymore. But let me give it one more try.

I took my daughter to ballet class the other day and sat on the steps of the empty hallway next to the open door of her classroom, classical music floating through the background and the occasional ballerina walking by. I tried to study medical terminology but couldn't focus as I realized despite moving and all things brand new, including the scary turns life can sometimes take me on, the one bit of familiarity I could cling to was simply being in a ballet studio.

When I was in high school and my heart needed healing, I could dance and drift away to another place. I could hide in the dance studio where I was an assistant ballet teacher and smile as I taught the sometimes plump little girls with thier pink leotards and frilly tu-tu's, the kind that only little girls can wear. Or I could hold onto that barre and focus on nothing else but bettering myself as a dancer and lifting my leg higher than before, or turning faster than ever, or balancing with perfection and listen to the click click click of my beautiful brand new pointe shoes on the hard wood floors and the only competiton I felt was with absolutely no one else but myself... those were the days when I could truly breathe and when I knew who I was and where I was going and what I could become.

I always thought I had to get out of that dirty, rainy little nothing of a town but I had no idea how much I would miss it once I was gone. I married my husband as a teenager and had a baby soon after and had kissed ballet and all my dreams goodbye. I had breathed my last breath of true youth and young freedom. We fought together to survive those early years, just me and him and that baby. We barely had enough food for dinner some nights but we had more than enough love to feed the whole damn world. We truly knew what love was. He was my knight in shining armor, the only boy I could EVER want. I was his queen of all queens.

As time passed, the boy turned into a young man and somehow gathered enough strength to leave for a little while and train in the army as a means to try and better himself, but most importantly, to provide for his young family- now with not one, but two precious daughters to care for. It was torture, the time apart, but as time proves over and over again, it surely passed. So grateful to be back together, we moved to an army post in Washington, a place where he learned how to become a true blue infantryman and how to become one with the Strykers. War took him away again, not for to long, but long enough to see and do things that he would never forget, as much as he wished he could. He lost friends to death and he himself was injured. His countenence grew darker and darker with each passing day after his return. Nobody cared about him. He no longer cared about anyone either, much less of what his God wanted for him. Something was under his skin and wouldn't ever let him rest. He could no longer look at his family the same. He saw them as a burden, they were in the way... of what though? He had no answers. In moments of sanity, he didn't want to feel this way.

I, on the other hand, lost my mind as well. How could the only boy I ever loved and who ever loved me change so much? He now had an empty soul, eyes so dark, and a hatred so deeply inbeded that not even death itself mattered to him anymore. He was now something so opposite of what he used to be.

Our love was there...somewhere. It had to be. If I just dug deep enough maybe I could bring it to the surface and let it renew itself. If I prayed hard enough maybe the God that was there for me as a child would show himself when I needed him more than ever before. Maybe, if I could somehow look inside myself and reach into a part of me that didn't think could possibly exist and hold onto that woman who has to be strong no matter what happens, maybe she'll be strong for me. Because I'm losing ground. I can't find reality. The baths I take everyday aren't to spoil or pamper myself, they are to help me find myself, and maybe to help me hide from this dark world that I live in inside these gates. When I turn out the lights and light a tiny candle and hide my face deep in the water with thoughts of never coming up for air, it's to protect myself from the world that nobody warned me about when we were young and desperate and we joined the army at war time.

I can look around and see the families who have been where we are. I can pick them out pretty easily. We try to smile. We are supposed to have pride. So why don't we fly the American flag outside anymore? It's not there. Not anymore. We can't go to the grave sites of the men who died in war because it hurts to much. We can't go get help because that would be the end of us for sure. We are experts at hiding what this has done to us. I applaud the soldiers and families who can endure all of this and come out shining. Maybe you are stronger than us. Maybe you are better than us, or maybe it's just how it is. I do applaud you though.

Maybe someday while I am at my dance studio, pirouetting, or leaping through the air, or just simply breathing, I can get myself together and be as strong as you are, as strong as I should be.

Maybe.

We get a tiny bit of clouds and drizzle and everyone here throws on thier coats, hats, umbrellas even, and call it rain. I call it a little bit of home as I wear a short sleeve t-shirt and stand out in the chilly air soaking it up. Who'd have ever thought I'd miss the rain so much?

I am ready to begin work at the hospital. I've been asked more than once if I have been there yet and seen what there is to see? I knew they meant the burned, tore up soldiers from Iraq. The soldiers who are missing parts of thier bodies, skin, face. The guys in wheelchairs without arms and legs, or with bandages around thier burned faces, or what is left of a once beautiful face. Of course I have seen it. And I am going there to do what ever I can to help out.

Home life is okay. Fine, even. I rarely walk on eggshells anymore, ever since I found this excellant article on co-dependency, and it woke me up a bit. While self-medication through alcohol and 'shutting down' are still regular occurances for my soldier, he understands that I don't like them very much. We have somehow managed a twisted compromise involving alcohol and family and army and religion. To try and prioritize that list just isn't possible right now. It depends on the moment, really. I'd like to say that Iraq was the only cause of PTSD and a messed up life, but I believe the infantry unit he was in began the hell years before he ever deployed. He was low-crawling and 'killing the enemy' in his sleep way before he ever left for war.

Fortunately I am relearning that I must take care of me, and not just by going to ballet or school or work. My children are becoming more of my focus-as they should be, as well as myself, and not just him. I am beginning to remember that my opinions matter, and they matter alot. I am also learning to be fair and patient, less judgemental, more compassionate. Everyday seems to be a learning experience around here, for some reason. If I dare to hope for a better place, it's okay. I'm not disillusioned. Hope, kind words, and willpower really do make a difference. I've witnessed it many times over.

There is still hope here.

The other day my neighbor and I were visiting and the conversation turned to the all the disrespectful, uncontrollable children in the neighborhood who run around and cause trouble. She said it was never like this until about last year when the army started moving all the wounded soldiers and thier families into housing. She commented how it's all those infantry families that are causing the problems. Then she stopped in mid-sentence and suddenly looked trapped, and very apologetic. I just laughed and told her it's probably very true. I wasn't offended in the least.

I believe I have finally pulled my head out from under the covers and can take a good look around. You'd think I'd been in depression the past few months and maybe I have. It's probably not to uncommon for a situation like mine, especially with a surprise move just before the holidays. I miss my family and thought I would be celebrating one last holiday season with them, but we have always known we could leave anytime and always made the most of each Thanksgiving and Christmas, knowing it could be our last with them for awhile. We have some good memories.

Back at Lewis I was within four hours driving time from my family so I never quite knew how other army families felt, being so far away from home. I wondered why many wives hid inside thier homes so much. Now I know. We really can't afford to fly us all out there and back this Christmas, and neither my husband nor I are from wealthy families so they can't help us out either. Oh well. At least I will be with my husband and my kids will be with thier daddy this Christmas, which is a miracle in itself at wartime for an active duty family.

Fort Sam is a slight disappointment, but I have to remind myself it's not the typical army post I am used to living on. This is more of a training/medical post and I rarely even see an army vehicle, rarely see army helicopters fly around, though I DO see alot of military funerals. I see plenty of AIT students, doctors and nurses, and wounded soldiers from Iraq.

The attitude is different here as well. The feeling in the air is of newbies who have yet to have a clue of what lies ahead of them-war. So many of them are focused on drinking, playing, and trying new sex partners every weekend, when they should be learning how to save lives and become real soldiers. My husband had some friends over once and they happened to bring along a female soldier and she spent the whole evening snuggling up to two different guys. Come to find out both guys were married, but not to her. I was disgusted that it was brought into my own home.

I know people will do what they want in this world, and I almost feel it was a curse to be brought up with the morals the way I was. It makes it difficult for me to be around this environment. I really believe seeing all the shit that goes on around here is what set me off into a depression. The reality of it all, and knowing my husband has to work right in the middle of it, and all I can do is trust.

Of course it's rampant all through out the army, but for some reason it is right in my face here, as much as I try to look the other way. I know single soldiers have a right to do what they want, but when a trusting wife is waiting back at home and female soldiers are trying to lay thier dirty claws into the married men just for the hell of it, I get sick. I've just seen way to much of it here.


Onto the lighter side of life, I found a ballet studio with a wonderful instructor and I look forward to my classes each week. They keep me alive really. Pirouette's and pointed toes and a dancer's demeanor. I just drink it all in. I have even picked up a yoga class, as odd as that class is to me. I have heard the health benefits are tremendous so I just had to try it. Hell, I may even start eating blueberries and oatmeal everyday. But I refuse to hug a tree- unless it's one of the Evergreens back home. I miss them that much.

I really want to post some positive, uplifting words but I have very little good to write. That is why it's been a month since I last posted. But life goes on just as it always does, so keeping busy with school, working, volunteering, and dancing just as I always have is what currently keeps me going.

Thanks to those who still come back here and read. I see there are still a few people left!

Every now and then I ask my husband if he's ready to get out of the Army, move to Alaska, build a cabin, and live the real life yet? He was willing after he came home from Iraq, but I wasn't ready. Now I'm ready but he wants to stay in the Army. We clearly are on different pages.

It's not just that I want to live in Alaska. I'm more after simplicity. I want to get back to the basics of life. Just to be able to peek outside and not have to worry about the fast-paced, false world we live in now. To see a wild animal or a wildflower. To see a sunset or watch the stars and breathe fresh, clean air. I long for all that.

No more soldiering. No more war. No more news. No more lies and tears and lonliness. No more putting my life on hold so he can do it all. Of course I'm proud of him, but I'm tired. And he is too.

Sometimes one can feel trapped to stay in this life. What will we do out there? How will we give the kids health insurance and a decent home, with food, toys, a future? Infantry skills are great for the Army, but I can't exactly kill people out there in America...

That's why I'm going to college my love, to become a nurse and make some money and help people all the while. So we can get out and look around and breathe again. See what life is really about. I have forgotten that world to the point that I am afraid of it, and you have forgotten it even more so than I. Here, on the inside, it get's so cold and lonely. The outside looks brand new and adventurous.

I miss my sister. She needs her big sister when that first little baby comes. I miss my parents. I want to know them again before they get to old and don't remember who I am. I know you miss your family, though you don't even seem to know who you are anymore.

I especially miss you, my love. There are so many divorces in this world. Everyone you and I know have been divorced or are unfaithful to each other. The rings on our fingers mean nothing to them, but it has always meant so much to us. Let's hold on to each other and get away while we still can...

So he has at least a couple more years on his contract. One can have a daydream moment, can't she?

I drive to the barracks to collect his green bag full of dirty ACU's and give him a quick kiss on the lips. He looks thinner in the face and very, very tired. If I am lucky he will get to come home soon. In the mean time half an hour here and there will have to get us by. At least he is not in Iraq again, I tell myself.

I text him tonight, telling him I wish he were here because I miss him. I want to see him again. He texts back and says soon enough, be patient. He sends me a text picture of a waterfall in Washington that he named after me. The memory soothes my lonliness for awhile. I miss the Washington coast I tell him. We'll have to make new memories here, won't we?

Yes.

He asks for a sexy picture of me which I text to him, no longer caring if his friends see it or not. He likes my pictures and it helps him get by.

Good night, my love.

Good night.

I know better than to harrass him to much while he trains. He can't control all things so there is no point in getting upset with him.

Awake. Kids off to school. I run my errands early, before the heat picks up and before traffic gets to busy.

Looking for work is not always fun, especially when I don't know my way around this enormous city. If I take one of the interstates West, then I would take it East to get back home. Deep breath. I can do that. Not bad for a shy, skinny girl who was raised in the country with orchards, fields, and combines being my only entertainment. I would ride my bike two miles on empty country roads just to meet my best friend halfway for a picnic in a field of wildflowers. Quite a difference from driving in the seventh largest city in the U.S.

I set my purse down and check my cell phone. Yeah, the ringer is on just like the last time I checked it. No phone calls. I hate feeling so dependent on someone who can't help me when I need it the most. Moving here has been limiting to say the least. I am completely on my own, which in some ways has been liberating, but when it comes to simple things such as finding a new store or looking for a job, I feel helpless.

I throw the cell phone on the couch as I walk out the door and head across the street to the neighbors house. She is out front for a smoke as usual, and I smile at her. She is barely familiar, yet the only thing closest to familiarity I have here. Another neighbor is with her and they are chatting away as armywives do so well, with an occasional bout of laughter one could probably hear up the street.

I swore at one point in my life that I would never be a lawn chair armywife, that I had better things to do than waste time by hanging out front, chatting with other desperate housewives, no matter how good the gossip may get. But things are different here and if some much needed socialization means sitting out front, then by all means.

The conversation is good and I join in easily, no longer that shy girl from the country. We all agree that eventually even the sweetest girls have to learn some bitchiness in order to survive this life. The eighteen year old across the street has yet to gain confidence as an armywife. She keeps to herself, hides in her house, and shakes when spoken too. I introduced myself to her once and she could barely utter two words. I remember before my husband was in the army, I lived in awe and fear of wives who were married to active duty soldiers. I was afraid they might swallow me whole if I looked at them wrong.

The conversation progressed from the local neighbors, to Tricare, to planning a trip to the range, to our husbands and female soldiers. Ouch. Touchy subject. It's unfortunate some of the situations we have witnessed involving infidelity. I have often wondered why Uncle Sam doesn't just throw all of the soldiers, male and female, into one big bed and just get the giant orgy overwith. Hell, throw in a bunch of wives to make it more realistic.

We have all wondered about odd situations involving our husbands and female soldiers, all in the name of 'army business.' We have seen to much shit go down and what can you do about it? Worry till you can't see straight? Get even? Trust blindly? How about trust and be the best person you can be, so you can at least know you did your part in the marriage, and hope your spouse will show you the same respect and decency you show him. If he doesn't, then bravely move on.

And then get even.

My husband finally got a moment to breathe and we were able to go the the infamous San Antonio Riverwalk. What a peaceful walk with hotels and shrubbery, restaurants and flowers surrounding the water; people relaxing as they enjoyed a delicious meal outdoors, pretending they really could feel cool air from the water take away the humid heat of the sun.

We had a selection of eateries and unanimously decided to give Dick's a try. The waitors there were known for their rude behavior and bold comments and while I knew my husband would have fun with that, I secretly prayed they would look the other way and just let me enjoy my bourbon glazed salmon in peace.

The guys working that day clearly didn't see a need to pick a fight with my husband and they focused thier attention on the older, fatter crowds and made it clear to them that was why they were getting picked on. One guy even told a family to keep thier kids the hell away from him. I was easily entertained and tried not to laugh to loud. I think my husband was slightly disappointed no one said anything rude to us, but he didn't feel the need to start anything either. Of course I was relieved. There were a few military guys there and one of the waitors interupted thier conversation to ask a simple question,"What are you guys talking about? Blowing up shit and stuff? Yeah, I like that shit too."

I am slowly learning the post and it frustrates me more than anything else. There are very few outlets for family members and soldiers alike, very little entertainment. I understand that is what we have San Antonio for, but damn. Of course Burger King owns the lunch crowd just like on any other post and it appears the PX or bowling alley is the only hang out around here besides a couple of bars for the nightlife. Yes, I did find the library and yes, it is where I go to clear my mind.

I am amazed at the cemetary here. Not a day goes by when there's not a military funeral or two in session. Literally everytime I have driven by on the main road, I have seen a funeral. I have watched the widows dressed in black and saw the 21 gun salutes. I felt as though I had no right to invade thier privacy by looking, yet I couldn't help but wonder about that soldier's life. Was he old and retired? Did he fight recently in Iraq or Afghanistan and just couldn't hold on to this life anymore? Was his wife and children, mother, father, family or friends in the most severe pain I couldn't ever imagine feeling? How in the world does that pain get better? I have decided it is best not to dwell on it. As a military wife I could go insane wondering about all the what-ifs this life holds.

The house that Uncle Sam built is beginning to feel a little more like home now. Majority of the unpacking is done and I have set up house pretty close to the way I had it set up back at Fort Lewis. Only this house feels more Southern in just about every way, right down to the front porch almost being an extended room.

I have come to understand that geckos are actually our friends because they will eat our enemies, and killing cockroaches has become a sport I share with my kitten. She notifies me if one is under the couch late at night, and I take all my frustrations out on the nasty critter until it is dead. Really, not only do we talk 'normal' in the Pacific Northwest, but we don't have to deal with even half of the insect issues the South deals with.

I have such kind neighbors who will bend over backwards just to help someone out. Whether it be a listening ear or helping me find the dance studio somewhere deep in the heart of San Antonio, or bringing over Pepsi chicken and key lime pie, just because. They have been there for me. I am finding out kindness can be contagious.

Contrary to what I thought for a little while, armywives are still an asset to soldiers. My house is often a hangout for soldiers and I have passed out a blanket and warm dinner more than once in the past few days. I hate not seeing my husband regularly, but I do see him from time to time which helps prevent the insanity from seeping in. He always brings a few buddies with him and of course I don't mind, but when there isn't someone tagging along, I cherish the rare moments alone with him.

I have made an ongoing list of things to do when my husband is away (whether it be training, tdy, war, what the hell ever) because if I don't keep busy, I become that crazy armywife who needs to seriously get herself together...

*Exercise (my faves: walking, jogging, weights)
*Make chocolate chip cookies (remember to halve the recipe and double the chocolate chips to your liking)
*take the kids to the park, the one with giant sprinklers...we have never experienced such magic
*work or school or both, of course
*re-evaluate goals and write them down often
*eat green olives stuffed with feta cheese while typing on your milblog
*look for that other ice skate until you realize there are no ice skating rinks nearby
*give some of those cookies to the soldier who took apart your AR-15 rifle and cleaned it for you because he just couldn't help himself
*get pictures of all your husbands tattoos because you can't stare at them when he's away (especially the skulls that glow in the black light)
*continue the ongoing debate of getting one yourself
* pat yourself on the back for withstanding the peer pressure of your husband and all his buddies who tried to convince you to get that spur-of-the-moment tattoo just because they did. God bless the milky skin that hasn't been inked
*download music from itunes (a few faves: Where'd you go by Fort Minor, Dante's prayer by Loreena Mckennitt, Season of Love by Jaci Valasquez, Holiday by Britt Nicole, Flower of Scotland by Brora)
*apply to nursing school and hope that you will still be here next spring when school starts
*take bubble baths often
*send lots of pictures and a weekly email letter to friends and family back home because they really do appreciate it
*get a kitten, the entertainment alone will keep you smiling
*go on giant southern cockroach hunting sprees, no hunting license required
*read this woman's blog
*walk up the street about midnight. Enjoy the 88 degree weather and marvel at the night lights of San Antonio
*grab that map and try not to get lost upon leaving those gates when heading out into the real world
*sing lullabyes to your kids at night because it tends to soothe you just as much as it does them
*let your youngest crawl into bed with you at night once in awhile...the world suddenly doesn't feel so lonely
*don't shop to much...just a little bit now
*do buy sexy lingerie. You'll get to wear it someday when he gets back
* do buy sexy bras- you can wear those even when he is gone
*Ok, buy those cute shoes while you're at it, they will help keep a smile on your face just by looking down
*plan some really fun Halloween crafts and decorations to do with the kids...gotta love Halloween!
*take lots of pictures with your digital camera
*learn to make a quilt
*paint a dresser and make it adorable for the kids bedroom
*count how many drill sgt's you can see at the PX in a week. If they don't have the hat on, just look for that black badge...not to many, huh? They rarely stop working
*take a peek at Craigslist.com. It's unbelievable what good deals you might find
*watch your daughter pick her nose with her own tongue. It's highly impressive
*take up salsa dancing. What could be sexier? I miss, miss, miss the latino dance club back at Fort Lewis
* dig through the cupboards and return all the neighbors tupperware and dishes, as well as the neighbor kids clothes left behind from the last sleep over
*buy a leapard print broom because you really will sweep around the house more often
*more ideas to come

I read this from the Seattlepi.com and had a good cry. I don't know how families manage to go on after thier soldier is killed. There was a camp at Fort Lewis to help some of the families deal with the pain. Some excerpts from the article:

Kaylee wadded the clay into a ball.

"This is the Iraqi that killed my dad," she said, her voice rising as her fists pummeled the clay into a flat pancake. "I hate you, I hate you. I hate you."

And this...

"After lunch, the kids trooped back to their rooms for one more task -- writing letters to the ones they had lost. The adrenalin charge from playing with the soldiers evaporated, and the mood turned quiet.

"I love you," wrote Chrizchele Bunda, 9, whose father died while patrolling the Tigris River in Iraq in January 2004. "I wish I could see you one more time..."

As painful a reality it is to read this, I'm very glad to see the government reaching out to these families and offering something, anything to help honor and remember thier soldier, as well as keeping them a part of the larger military family, for they always will be.

The geckos that hang out on my front porch late at night seem to be my only source of companionship, although I tend to run and hide from them more often than I actually talk to them. (Are they even geckos?!) I think the few words I've ever spoken to them went something like, "Get off my porch, please." I said please to the geckos but called the giant cockroach on my wall a motherfucker and tried to kill it. It kept on running even after I heard a crunch and it quickly disappeared under my couch. So the Texas bugs and I aren't getting along very well, I don't think we ever will, and I have been so busy unpacking, running normal just-moved-in errands, soothing my "I miss home, mommy" kids, and all the while hoping to catch a glimpse of my husband here and there if I drive past the right location at just the right time. There are no arrows down the commissary isles of Fort Sam, the first time I feel like I really need them the most.

In between everything I have managed to come across a magical find: ballet classes during the day, so I don't have to try and find a babysitter. I can't even fathom the bliss I will be in an hour and a half per day, three days a week. When I put on a pair of toe shoes or ballet slippers, life as I know it vanishes and nothing else matters. I can't wait to get started.

I'm beginning to feel the pains of a PCS move concerning school and work. Not so easy for an armywife to just pick up where she left off in another state. Damn. I can always volunteer at the army hospital with my CNA training until I take a Texas state test and get a job, but then will it be a waste of my time if we end up moving to Georgia this spring? And how much longer will I have to keep putting off nursing school? I have no idea why, but I called a recruiter and asked him again about getting my LPN through the military. I have an appointment this week with him but really should cancel it. I want to join the military but know I can't when there is no family care plan. I keep running around in circles and I'm not quite sure where the staight-away is for me.

I sure hope husbands out there realize how much thier wives sacrifice for thier miltary careers. It's all out of love, but damn, this is crazy.

Okay, one positive thing out of all this: I know my husband is safe.

Is this real?

My head is spinning, my mouth is dry.

I am both excited and sad.

Is this what it's like when your husband receives orders for our first real life PCS move?

Let me back up a bit...

After months of commitment and anticipation, my husband was more than ready to receive new training as a medic in TX and had planned to return to Fort Lewis so he could join his unit in Iraq. As hard as it had been for me to accept, I think I was finally there- able to kiss him goodbye for a year and a half, carry on with tears in my eyes, and even wear a half smile half the time.

One morning, not very long ago, he came home after PT and began hitting his head against the wall.

"What?" I asked, "What is it?"

He was silent, walked to the computer and began to type.

"You can't just come home from work, hit your head against the wall, and say NOTHING at all," I informed him. He turned the computer screen my way.

"Welcome to our new home," he said with slight dismay. I looked at the website and gasped. Looks like my haunted-city-Savannah and fireflies-in-a-jar curiousity will finally be quenched. Very soon. And to top it all off, we get to PCS to Texas while he trains. Who said the Big Man upstairs isn't listening?

My head is spinning and my heart is breaking because this is my home, and I will certainly miss home. I have almost six years of memories made here. Many good, some not so good.

But the house is empty, the gas tank is filled, and the gates of Fort lewis are closing behind me. Just like that.

I started out here as a clueless junior enlisted infantry wife with a young husband thrown into a world of strykers and soldiers and war and death.


I am leaving with a clue. And a smile.

No worries... this is my journal and I will still write.

I took my girls out after eleven-pm-twenty-three-hundred to try and catch the meteors that are supposed to be falling. We missed them last night thanks to the cloud coverage but tonight, being fairly clear, I called out the beloved mommy sing-song of "Pajama Run!" and watched the girls, dressed in thier pajamas, run to the car screaming with delight the whole way.

I circled around post for a little while, as dark and lonely as it sometimes gets on a late weekday night, with the moon roof down and Seattle's smooth jazz playing as a lullabye. We drove out one of the gates and head towards McDonalds, hoping to find thier drive through window still open. It was, and of course thier ice cream machine was shut down, so we each got a dollar chicken burger and a cup of water before taking the short drive over the railroad tracks back on post.

The late night gate guards were all smiles and even waved to my girls as we drove on through in our pajamas, after showing my military ID. It occured to me that I probably shouldn't be in pj's, especially if they decided to do a car search or if I got a flat tire thus revealing to the world that I do wear my pajamas in public (under a long sweater coat, of course) but how could I possibly call out 'pajama run' and not play the part?

We drove past buildings and bright lights before turning off onto a dark lonely road that head straight into nowhere, and after going just far enough into the night so I felt comfortably spooked, we pulled off onto a gravel side and dimmed the lights.

With the moonroof down, windows cracked, and doors locked, we searched the skies for falling fireworks. Stars littered the night and I felt like we were at a planetarium, only with the bragging rights of a live view. I pointed out several constellations to my daughters who each took a turn clawing thier way to the top of the seats hoping to peek thier head outside for a closer view. Eventually I couldn't handle the jazz anymore and began endless channel surfing, wishing I had grabbed my favorite Loreena Mckennitt cd or even the celtic lullabyes cd, bypassing even AM talk tonight.

Getting dizzy. Don't fall into space. Finally, a shooting star.

I excitedly pointed it out to my girls and soon they began to point out meteors themselves, every two seconds or so. I wish I had that vivid of an imagination.

Soon enough another vehicle drove slowly past, turned around and drove by again. Then a third time before parking down the road, hidden behind some bushes. I rolled my eyes and knew I probably shouldn't be sitting on a secluded road with my dimmers on, most likely parked to close to some mighty fortress compound.

I suppose I should have been scared to death. Off post, I would have never left my house that late at night to begin with, but as I have come to know this post as my backyard, I didn't feel the urgency I probably should have felt to run. I understood this person was probably just checking up on any unusual activity, but I also knew I wasn't the only one roaming around here trying to find a good view of the meteor showers. Oh well, at least he didn't call the MP's.

After I closed my eyes the other night, I awoke to find myself in a dark, burned out, barren area. Little patches of smoke drifted around me, obvious remnants of smoldering debree. Several soldiers around me were crouched, weapons aimed ahead, with a look of sternness piercing thier eyes as they moved forward toward a dangerous source I couldn't see. I felt a sense of peace as I sat amongst them, no weapons in my hands, no desert uniform on my back, just civilian clothes that sorely set me apart, though no one seemed to mind. Thier eyes softened for a brief moment as they glanced my way before passing by.

For some reason I was with our soldiers in the enemy's land. I knew I was safe with these men, despite the obvious war torn surroundings, and I could feel myself smile a bit as I knew my husband was also there, and I was with him. My smile widened as he approached me and crouching beside me, he held me for a moment. I would forever be content in his arms and as long as he never let go, I could care less where we were.

Though I didn't recognize the soldier's stern face as he approached us, I could feel panic inside as he firmly pointed to my husband. I could tell by the way he carried himself that he was my husband's leadership.

"No..." I cried out even before he could reach us. My face was wet with tears and I was suddenly aware of the cold ground as my husband swiftly stood up, rifle in hand, tan boots standing at attention next to my faltering body.

"No," I repeated, shaking my head, not letting go of his hand. He kissed me quickly, fervently.

"It's time for me to go," was all he said as he let go and walked away with the others. I was crying, though I didn't want to. I wanted to be strong for him, so he would know I'd be alright. His eyes held mine until he couldn't anymore and he continued on.

I was left alone, grasping in the dark, trying to find something to hold on to.

I opened my eyes quickly and looked around the dark room. Only dim light from the moon was peeking through the window blinds, telling me it was just a dream. No, a nightmare...one that I won't be able to wake from very soon.

I pushed up close to my husband as he lay with his back to me, breathing softly, asleep. I reached my arm across his back and rested my hand on the curve of his bare shoulderblade, drawing nervous circles into his skin. Maybe I would accidentally wake him up and he would hold me again.

I closed my eyes and waited for sleep to take over. No more dreams, please.

Life is a mixture of emotions as we prepare for him to leave, although most of my time is spent trying to remind myself this is okay, good even, for our future... I tell myself that he will be home again and life will continue on until then. We both act as though nothing big is coming up just so we don't accidentally fight, and we purposefully add more heartfelt "I love you's" while we are still face to face. Extra snippets of kindness are included in our daily conversation, and longer glances at each other are taken advantage of. Experience has told me before that now is the time I have to hold him and tell him in person how much I truly care about him, so I make sure I do.

I'll use this next year and a half as my time to get myself together and maybe even find my new and improved self. I've been wanting to do alot of things that get put on hold all to often and now is my chance to do them. The only problem with that approach to separation and deployment is the fact that no matter how much I do to keep busy, or how many enjoyable activities I have been wanting to catch up on, there is always a literal pain in my heart and an empty feeling that just won't subside until he is safely back home again.

My kids are old enough to have a clue that Daddy will be gone again. They don't like the whole war issue and this time not only do they know alot of kids whose fathers are deployed, but they know a couple whose fathers have died in war, and they are scared. I do my best to tell them that we have prayed and feel this is the right thing to do. I make sure they understand thier daddy, as well as all the other soldiers, are doing a very honorable job.

Of course, deep in my heart, I believe no one hates war more than an armywife. I no longer obsess with politics. I have come to accept this is my husband's job, and though I will never be blind to politics (armywives are keenly aware of the faults of the government), I do accept that no matter what, this is still a great country and I am proud my husband chooses to be a Soldier for her.

I saw the Armywives tv show the other night. Actually, I have watched it faithfully since it aired on Lifetime several weeks ago. It's the wierdest thing to get so enthralled in that show and after an hour shut off the tv, look around, and realize that I'm still living the life.

The episode the other night involved one of the little kids bringing home a neighbor boy who said his father had died in war. Just days before that episode, my daughter befriended a little kid visiting the new neighbors next door and when my daughter came home she told me that her new friend's dad had been blown up in Iraq and that they no longer live on post because he died. I think my jaw dropped or something. I know it happens, as much as I don't want to think about it, but we are meeting more and more wives and children who have lost thier precious husbands and fathers. My heart sinks each time.

So my turn has come up again to truly experience this thing called armywife life. My husband has successfully switched his MOS to become a combat medic and will be away for training, only to turn around and join his unit who by then will be in Iraq. He will be gone for almost eighteen months total. I have it easier than many wives because I will visit him a couple days every month for the next few months until he deploys, so at least I have that much. I switch from moments of anger and despair, to pride and happiness knowing that he will be doing what he wants to do again. Ironically, my good friend's husband is searching for a unit to deploy with because though she doesn't quite understand why, he wants to go back to Iraq. Maybe we will be in this together.

I watched Breakfast at Tiffany's today... cried a little at the ending because Holly Golightly got back out of that taxi and ran in the rain to find her cat. Of course I was happy that she also went back for the guy, but the cat. She went back for the cat. Now that was a good story.

I made some savory stuffed mushrooms and very tall cheeseburgers as well. I didn't even flinch as I ate all of it. Every last bite. All the tomatoes, pickles, onions and sharp cheddar cheese I could possibly fit onto that poor little burger, topped with a round little bun. It was quite a treat. What else was I to do? The rain has been pouring so heavy lately that I can barely even see if I drive and the surrounding grayness is like a permeating fog. This state is literally the color gray everywhere I look. So I took full advantage of the rain and watched a dvd that has been sitting, unopened, on my shelf of dvd's just waiting for days like this one. Up next: A BBC Jane Austen movie. Or two.

The other day I witnessed the Rally for the Troops as a few thousand or so motorcyclists rode in a long line up the freeway in support of our soldiers. It was more accidental, really. I drove right onto I-5, mixing in with the bikers as they rode past the post. After I realized it was the biker Rally for the Troops, I came back and stood up on Freedom bridge for a few minutes with the infamous bridge people, as they cheered and waved flags, to watch the rare sight of so many bikes being rode together.

I've always appreciated the people who stand out on that bridge every Saturday morning, rain or shine, waving flags and encouraging excitement . I wanted to participate with them someday- at least once I've hoped, before we get stationed elsewhere. Though it has crossed my mind before to grab some girlfriends and throw on red, white, and blue bikinis while we waved from the bridge, I knew that wouldn't be very appropriate behavior for armywives (should probably just leave that one for the USO.) Instead, I threw on my black Harley Davidson boots in support of the bikers, and watched as they supported our soldiers.

It was a rush, I admit, with all the motorcyclists reving thier engines and the riders waving as they rode beneath the bridge. Many bikers had on patriotic attire, complimenting thier regular black leather, while others wore regular everyday clothes, and some proudly flew flags from the back of thier bikes.

Numerous cars on the freeway honked and the drivers cheered once they realized what the commotion was all about. One driver of a big rig proudly held his Vietnam Veteran hat out the window and smiled wide, as though he were finally getting the recognition he has always deserved.

Many soldiers participated as well, riding thier beloved bikes and dressed in thier ACU's, or wearing cool leather jackets with the word ARMY sprawled across thier backs. I was thrilled to see the support poured out by so many people as they drove past. While some drivers waved meekly from thier steering wheel, others were loud and proud. Many children had fun, smiling as they realized they now had an excuse to stick thier hands out of the moving car windows.

I waved back to the cars and motorcyclists, switching arms as necessary. I always thought it was mostly army families who waved and honked from thier cars to the supporters on the bridge but surprisingly, the majority of honks came from civilian cars just passing through, showing thier support for the troops.

There were many dual-fingered peace symbols tossed our way, and one car drove by as the driver yelled, "Down with Bush, Down with Bush!" But we ignored him. We weren't there to worry about politics, just the beautiful fact that many people do indeed still support our soldiers. It was rejuvenating for me knowing that maybe people are still aware of, and care even, that our soldiers are at war.

I took the my girls swimming, trying to beat the mini heat wave we've been having the past couple of days. 90 degrees is a very big deal around here. The family swimming pool on post is not typically crowded, but it sure was today. This time I decided against swimming myself and sat up on the benches like many mommies do, out of fear of getting hit in the head by some kid doing a belly flop, or possibly swimming into a potty filled warm spot. Just never know what could happen with so many kids. At least the pool isn't shut down for the whole summer like it was a couple years ago. Some kid had pooped in it and the rest of us were just shit out of luck.

Despite all my friends who have moved away, new ones always manage to move in. My husband became friends with a soldier during a temporary job months ago and I met his wife soon after. She has the widest smile and a laugh to match, and we can talk about anything for hours. Last night we went for a long walk in the dark, ran through sprinklers, and talked about everything from the constellations in the sky, to our current goals, to strip poker. We dodged the misquitos and ran past the shadowed fields. It felt nice to be a kid again. I miss the carefree days when best friends and long hot summers were all that mattered.

My newest neighbor gives me hope as well. Her husband was wounded in Iraq and came home early. Though they have alot to deal with right now, his recovery and readjustment, she seems to be very friendly. She has never dealt with any of this before and it is something I can talk with her about since we were in thier position awhile back. This is the part I like about this life, the sharing and the friendships. Leave these gates and it's hard to find someone else who has been in these shoes, but here most everyone has experienced war and the effects of it. If they haven't, they soon will.

There is nothing more frustrating than knowing a free pre-viewing of the new Harry Potter movie will be showing here on post in two hours and I do not have tickets. I was told there would be a separate line for people who don't have tickets, if there is any room left. That's a big if. Two hours ago the line of ticket holders reached clear around the building.

Summer is driving me crazy, but I do love the weather. We are actually getting sunshine and heat in the high 80's (for a few days anyway) but with children running around bored and cranky, and with my life on hold until the fall, I have started counting the days down until September.

Excuse me as I wipe down this keyboard. Sticky fingers were all over it.

The other day I watched the fireworks here on post. Beautiful as usual. Fort Lewis always goes all out for the fourth of July. Big celebration all day with civilians coming in by the bus loads, booths and entertainment abound, even a carnival for the kids. Every year I stop by the enlisted spouses booth to buy something to show my support, even if I did just spend two bucks on some ice cream this time.

Later my husband and I had some friends over for a BBQ and they brought fireworks for after the show. We had the neighbors watching with us until midnight and with every explosion in the sky, I knew it was like a personal invitation for the MPs to show up. Eventually they drove past and I know they saw us, but they never stopped to spoil the fun. Good boys.

During the fireworks show at the stadium, we sat on the crowded track, lounging on an old quilt and lawn chairs, along with half of Washington's population. After wasting money on deep fat fried twinkies and sour lemonade, the show began. I tried to listen to the familiar tunes of Toby Keith in the background as he sang of America kicking ass, and to Lee Greenwood's pledge to never forget the men who have died for our country. I tried to feel the excitement so many others felt as they cheered with each thunderous burst in the sky, or ooohed and ahhhed with every cannon shot off by the soldiers up front.

I tried.

Instead I found myself thinking about the soldiers in Iraq. The true Americans who wear the uniform and who swore to do thier job, no matter what it may entail. My mind drifted to them and to that very moment in time that I knew we shared, me and the whole Fort Lewis population sitting there underneath the darkened skies, and the soldiers who left us to go to that God forsaken country.

I wondered what they were experiencing at that moment so far away, as I sat safely on this army post here on American soil. I said a quiet prayer for them, that no more would die, as far fetched as that may have been.

I felt the tears in my eyes and knew that this year it wasn't for the pride I have for my country, or for the gratitude I typically feel for my freedom. Instead, it was for the soldiers over there, missing the peace and safety offered in this country that I and so many others take for granted. It was for the ones who have died and for the ones who may still. It was for the soldiers, just people like me and you, who are doing what they have to do to come home to thier families.

It was my plea to God to just be with each one of them until he brings them safely home to us, where they belong.