Army Logic

You have to love Army logic. Here are two examples Gary told me yesterday. The first one is one of those “WHAT? And they think this keeps them safer?” The other one is amusing.

ARMY LOGIC ONE:

In an effort to mitigate the injuries and deaths due to IED’s the Army has come up with an extremely well thought out plan. When soldiers see a disabled vehicle – often used to plant IED’s-- on the side of the road, they are to dismount their heavily armored humvees and push said vehicle with their bare hands to the nearest police checkpoint. Stunning logic. Isn’t it?

ARMY LOGIC TWO:

PFC Moron (names have been changed to protect the retarded) passed out in the supply room from huffing canned air. As a result of this mishap, any soldier ranked E-6 and below is no longer allowed to possess canned air. Rather, they must go to their Platoon Sergeant (PSG) and request canned air. Said PSG then goes to the supply room and obtains canned air from… wait for it… wait for it… PFC MORON!!! Yes, folks, PFC Moron will now be in charge of the company’s canned air as he has shown his complete competence in the correct usage of this product.

Two Years Ago and 200 Pounds Ago

Two years ago today I had gastric bypass. Te changes in my life are amazing. Broken down in inches:

I've lost...

Waist - 22 inches
Arms - 4.75 inches
Thighs - 7.5 inches
Neck - 4 1/2 inches
Calves - 4 inches
Hips - 18.5 inches

I've gained so much more. Confidence. The ability to shop for clothes in normal stores, not stores where clothing is designed for the super plus-sized. Energy beyond anything I can remember. So many things I can't even put into words.

Through it all, my husband loved me. We have our issues but he always thinks I'm beautiful. He hesitates to even say he thinks I'm more beautiful now with the weight loss. The only thing he'll admit to is finding my new self-confidence beautiful. To him, I have always been beautiful.

Here are a few pictures to show the change:


**

IT’S MORE THAN A THREE DAY WEEKEND

Memorial Day has come to mean a lot to Americans. It’s the start of summer. The time of the year we break out the grill, suntan lotion and invite friends over for a sun-soaked day of fun. The Tuesday after Memorial Day we return to our normal routines… returning to work with a bit of a tan, maybe a hangover and by Wednesday it’s all just a blur.

That’s what most of America sees, feels and experiences.

It’s so much more than that. The meaning of Memorial Day has been lost on so many. This is ironic being as we are in the midst of not one but two wars that are taking its toll on our nation.

Memorial Day is meant to be a day of remembering those who gave the “ultimate” sacrifice. The day we honor those who gave their lives in support of our country.

Tomorrow, when most are barbequing and some are remembering our fallen soldiers, I ask you to remember some of the less-remembered casualties of war:

Paul Varner – Paul’s death was a result of a tragic training accident. Paul was a young man who loved the Army. Looked up to his leadership. Wanted nothing more than to prove himself as an honorable soldier. He is not forgotten to those in Delta Company, 2/4 INF. He is remembered the soldier who has Paul’s “battle rattle” tattooed on his arm. A tribute to his fallen friend.


He is remembered in the dreams and nightmares of SSgt Gary Robertson. Who reluctantly admits to me that some nights he dreams of Paul? He tells me of how he blames himself for having chosen Paul to be one of the soldiers to go onto the training field. Or how he has flashbacks to gently washing out a helmet splattered with brain matter. Of gently wiping down the ID card left on the field after Paul was medi-vaced.

He is remembered by me. I met Paul once. Gary and I were leaving Military Clothing and Sales when we ran into Paul. Paul immediately went into “parade rest” stance – the way a soldier stands when talking to a superior. Gary told Paul he could relax, they weren’t in uniform. I was struck at how proud Paul was to have purchased his new rank. He had just been promoted. He asked my husband questions on where to put rank, how, etc. I knew this was one proud soldier.



Paul is remembered by SPC Jimmy Vidal. Jimmy was the other soldier who was involved in the shooting. To meet Jimmy is to meet one of the sweetest men you’ll ever meet. It’s hard to picture him behind a gun. Yet, he is a wonderful soldier. A man full of honor. A man full of pride. He is also a man who must struggle with the memories of watching his fellow soldier get shot. Of wrestling with questions such as “why did I live and not him.”

This is only one example of a fallen soldier who gave all here on American soil.

There are other casualties of war. So many more. Death is the ultimate sacrifice. Or is it? What of the soldiers who return from war only to find their family is destroyed? Broken up by the passing of too much time apart. Too many doubts?

Or of the children left behind waiting for mommy or daddy to come home. The little ones who can’t understand WHY daddy isn’t home. The four year old boy who cries in his sleep and whimpers “daddy.” Who takes for granted at such a young age that daddies and mommies go to work and are gone for “two forty seven years.” Or, in four year old lingo, forever.

The soldier over in Iraq who misses out on the ceremony of watching his only son receive his first black stripe on his karate belt. Or misses out on his granddaughter’s first steps. Or first birthday. Or more simply, misses being able to lay in bed with his wife and watch silly sci-fi shows while she falls asleep, albeit drooling, on his chest.

These, my fellow Americans (wow, how Kennedy-ish of me) are some of the casualties of war so much of America doesn’t see.

With that, I leave you with this:

Quick Update

*Gary came home for two weeks. It was wonderful to see him. His dad had quadruple bypass and is recovery quite well. Gary is, of course, back in Baghdad already.

*Gunner has adjusted to Gary's coming and going quite well.

*We spent a day in Colorado Springs at the zoo and had a great time.

*I broke up with my mommy board. :(

WOW.. I finally figured out how to change my password

Things have been ... hectic! Gary's supposed to be on his way home from Iraq right now. His father had a quadruple bypass yesterday. At this point, Gary's emergency leave home has been delayed TWICE because... wait for it... wait for it... THE RED CROSS MESSAGE WASN'T ON THE CORRECT FORM.

That's right, folks. Your men and women serving this country are held up by such bullshit as that. His brigade commander apparently didn't get enough coffee today or something and decided that he would delay Gary's homecoming by not signing off on the form because it wasn't on the RIGHT FUCKING FORM!!!!!!

At this point, seven hours after Gary is supposed to be on a flight from Iraq to Kuwait, I have no clue where my husband is. If he's coming home. To where he's flying.

I hate the Army. Not because it deploys my husband. But for little shit like this.

Update

*I miss Gary (surprise, surprise).

*Gunner is adorable and suddenly behaving. Though very hyper.

*Madelin is crawling!!

*Work is boring, but fun. We need more customers. But with most of the post deployed, it just isn't happening.

*I'm trying not to get my hopes up that Gary will do something for me for Valentine's Day.

That's about it. Very boring here.

I Started My New Job Today

Yep, back to the working world. Ewwww.. it was boring today. It looks as if it could be fun. Who knows. I sort of had fun. I sort of hated it. I sort of loved it.

Happy Birthday Gunner

On July 7, 2003 I peed on a stick. Seven sticks actually. It later became known as “The Night of Seven pregnancy tests. On July 9, the nurse called with the blood test results: I WAS PREGNANT!! My due date was March 11, 2004. Gary and I were ecstatic.

My pregnancy was full of all day sickness. Lots of insomnia. And tons of planning. Because I was 35, I was referred to a perinatoligst, meaning I got ultra-sounds every month. I got to see my precious boy growing from an amoeba shaped blob to a beautiful little blob of boy.

On December 30, 2003 I went to the perinatologist for my routine visit. I had some swelling and was very uncomfortable. At 29 weeks (a normal pregnancy is 40 weeks), I was admitted to labor and delivery with blood pressure of 200/111. For 24 hours they collected my urine, kept me hooked up to an I.V. with a horrible medicine that made me hot, miserable and unable to even turn over without Gary’s assistance. I was given two steroid shots to help mature the baby’s lungs.

When the urine test results returned, the protein count was so high the doctor immediately decided to take the baby. I was rocking a full blown case of pre-eclampsia.

I was wheeled back to the operating room. Scared shitless. Gary was the usual rock. At 3:54 p.m. December 31, 2003 the most wonderful boy in the world was carved from my body. He weighed in at three pounds, six ounces. Sounds small, but for a baby born at 29 weeks, six days gestation, he was considered a “horse” the neonatologist told us.

Gunner arrived in the world breathing on his own. Amazing in and of itself. After three hours, they decided to put him on the ventilator since he had to work so hard to breathe. He was only on the ventilator for 36 hours.

Ultimately, my precious boy spent seven and a half weeks in the N.I.C.U. He was 10 weeks early. The Lord blessed us – the boy has no residual effects from being premature. He is a perfect, rambunctious, wild FOUR YEAR OLD today. Amazing. Simply Amazing.

Three days old:

Today:

So That Others May Believe

On Christmas Eve, Gary’s squad and one other squad spent their patrol time guarding one of the few Christian churches in the heart of Baghdad. Intel had come through that insurgents were going to make a strike on the church that night.

Originally they had planned on clearing the church to ensure the worshippers were safe. Then it was decided that they would allow them in the church and beef up the security. Amazingly, this was a decision left up to the individual squad leaders. Meaning, Gary and his fellow squad leader were able to make the decision to allow others to worship.

I told Gary that I was proud of him. He was raised in a church going family. Me, not at all. Though I wholeheartedly believe. I said something referencing Jesus and our general worshipping of God. To which he replied, “Baby, I would guard a temple, a mosque, a pagan’s gathering point, anywhere. I would guard those sites on the most holy of their nights in the most dangerous of situations. I can’t pick and chose what I believe in to guard. I’m a soldier. I want to guard other’s beliefs. I want the four year old Muslim child to be able to worship his God just like I want our four year old to be able to worship our God. In the end, we all just want to believe. ” He didn’t say it to sound badass (though he sure did in MY eyes). He was matter-of-fact about it. Much like he is on things that I’d be emotional about. He said it because that’s how he believes. That’s how he picks his gun up and carries on when he’s away from the ones he loves the most.

He does it so that others can believe.

WHAT? Me ... WORK?!

I interviewed for a job at 10:00 a.m. Thursday. By 11:15 a.m., I was employed. Making more than I asked for. With hours better than I could imagine. At a place less than five minutes from my house. Amazing.

It would appear the woman had made the decision to hire me even before I interviewed. I guess I just rock that freaking much.

Now I have to actually CONTRIBUTE to society.

I wasn’t even sure I wanted to work. I found the job quite on a fluke. I had tossed around the idea of getting a job while Gary’s deployed to build up our savings and pass the time.

It’s a perfect job. I’m so nervous. I’ll keep ya posted!

Letter To My Husband

Dear Deployed Husband Whom I Love Beyond Words:

I knew what I was getting when I married you. I knew you were in the Army. I knew you would deploy. When we got married, you were on R&R from your tour of the DMZ in Korea. I KNEW you would deploy again. I expected it. I accept it.

However, my darling, you knew you were getting married as well. It’s not as if I just showed up one day and said, “Contratuations! It’s a wife!!!” With marriage comes responsibilities. You knew when we married that you would deploy. Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, you should put some effort into our marriage even when you are deployed.

I understand the paper and envelopes you took with you were locked in the CON-EX for a few weeks. Correct me if I’m wrong, doesn’t the PX over there sell paper and envelopes? Could you not have picked some up to write to me and your son while you were waiting for your own supplies? Or borrowed some from someone. Or written on a napkin. ANYTHING. Something. The mail is free for you… utilize it.

You think nothing of telling me when something hurts your feelings. Yet, I am supposed to hold back my feelings. I’m not allowed to tell you when you hurt mine because what if you go on a patrol and you are thinking about me and you miss a sniper. Things like that.

Yes, my love, you are being shot at. You do have to avoid IED’s. I can’t claim to know what this is like. I am in awe of your bravery. Truly I am. I know I couldn’t do that. I know I would cower like a scared puppy the first time I heard the mortar sirens.

BUT… but… my life here goes on even while you are over there. Our son’s life goes on. It is hard for us here. Very hard without you. We have so much time on our hands to sit and miss and think about you. Bills still have to be paid. Dinner made. A three year old to contend with. A three year old who misses his daddy so much he has turned into a living terror. Doctor’s appointments to be kept. Simply put, our lives go on. Without you they go on, and they are harder now.

A knock on our door scares the living daylights out of me. What if it’s the dreaded knock of them coming to tell me you are gone. The ringing of the phone in the middle of the night is the same. What if it is you calling to tell me you have been seriously injured. Don’t you see what we go through?

You have often said you think it is harder on us than on you. Why, then, is this deployment all about you? Why can you not just once do something small to remind me that I count. That I’m a good wife. Please? .It would help my daily cryfest end sooner if I had something to lean on.

Love,

Your Wife

Waa Waa Wednesday, Complete with Video

Today I cried. At Walmart. I didn't know what kind of oil to choose for the oil change. That's what GARY does. Does it get easier? Is my husband REALLY gone for 15 to 18 months?!?! Yeah, yeah, yeah..

I knew what I was getting into when I married him. I accept that my husband has to deploy. I accept that his job is more dangerous than some other of my friend's husbands. I accept that there are also people with far more dangerous jobs. I know I'm not alone. I know other spouses have gone through this, and worse. SO WHAT?! I miss him. A lot!

I worry about him. And miss him. And ache for him.

We aren't a perfect couple. But we're US.

He is my rock. I feel out of touch. And vulnerable. And lonely. Heart-breakingly, bone-achingly lonely.

**Then.. and THEN.. I found this video. It's of my precious grandbaby, Madelin, at the deployment ceremony a few weeks ago. She makes me smile. She's all that is right with the world. Her and my crazy son, Gunner

If you click on the title of my post it will take you to the video.. I couldn't figure out how to do it otherwise**

I wish I had

I wish I had:

*A fun female friend to go riding in a convertible with – top down (on the car, not us!)—blaring music and laughing. Nothing “Thelma & Louisa”-like. Just fun.

*A friend, male or female, to go to a coffee shop to sit and talk about random things. Nothing that is in our lives. Things such as serial killers, successful women, etc. Just random, odd things.

*The desire to shower and get dressed.

As for my birthday -- not a single card or gift. I suck.

You'll Hear From My Lawyer!!

Yesterday was quite the banner day. I missed Gary something fierce. The “service engine soon” light came on. The air in the tires on the car are low. Oh and someone actually uttered the following phrase to me, “Tomorrow you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.” That, actually, makes me snicker. I honestly thought this was only said in movies. Apparently, I was wrong. Some background info…

Across the way from me, there lives a young soldier, his wife, children and three dogs. The limit for pets in post housing is two. A mere technicality when you’re above the law. These poor mutts bark incessantly. Either Gary or I have gone over and told these people to hush their dogs on numerous occasions. They do. For a while.

Yesterday afternoon, as I try to peacefully read blogs, I hear loud music for quite a while. I go investigate…lo and behold, parked in the backyard of the aforementioned family’s abode is a car with the windows down and some techno crap blaring. And, interestingly, no one in said car. Well, of course it is at that house. I just have good luck with random coincidences such as this. I knock on the door . Pvt. Rat (house resident) opens the door.

ME: Hi. Is that your car out back with the music blaring?

PR: No.

ME: Oh well….

::suddenly inside I hear a voice.. the voice of Pvt. Hero*)

PH: It’s MINE.

ME: Great. Turn it down. I can hear it on the next street.

PR goes to close the door. I remind him gently that his dogs are exceedingly annoying. Apparently, this infuriates ole Hero. He steps outside, closes the door, gets in my face as if I’m some lower ranking soldier he’s trying to intimidate (think of a drill sergeant on the Tide commercials.. ya know?)

PR: You listen here. (as if I have a choice being as he’s less than two inches from my face) This man is a UNITED STATES soldier, serving in the UNITED STATES Army. He just got back from Iraq. He’ll be PCSing (moving) in a week.

After I get over the mind-numbing, statistically improbable odds that a UNITED STATES soldier, serving in the UNITED STATES Army on a UNITED STATES Army military post was living near me, I reply:

ME: Great. Newsflash: My husband is a UNITED STATES soldier, serving in the same damn UNITED STATES Army. It doesn’t matter. Turn your music down. Your friend still needs to keep the dogs quiet. I don’t care if he’s leaving in a week. You still need to turn down your music.

I turn to walk away. Hero keeps yammering nonsense. I ask him what unit he’s in. He tells me it’s none of my fucking business. Uhm, ok. It sort of is.. but …. I walk around back and decide to take a picture of Hero’s car’s license plate. I have friends in high places, folks. It does NOT pay to piss me off. Or more like, my daughter has friends.

Hero comes storming out. He yells at me, “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer tomorrow!!” Attempts to back into me, and speeds off.


SERIOUSLY? I’ll hear from your lawyer?!?! AWESOME! Before he speeds off, I ask Pvt. Hero if his lawyer has a name. I can’t be sure, but based on his rapid peel out in his hotshot car, I’m thinking his lawyer might just be sans name.

Then I started thinking… What if he does have a lawyer? I could potentially be screwed here. I mean surely there is some vague Louisiana law that prohibits someone from asking a jackass to turn their music down. Right? I’ve probably broken a multitude of civil laws. I’ve committed quite the tort on this fine, upstanding soldier. Rather than panic, I began to review my options. I am, after all, an Army Wife. ARMY STRONG. HOOAH!

I came up with two options. While both are sound plans, I think we can all agree Option Two is, by far, the best.

Option one: When said nameless lawyer contacts me, I can call JAG (Judge Advocate General for you non-military type… it’s like free legal for us military folk). They’ll surely defend my honor. Sure that’s a perfectly logical plan. BUT BUT.. . then it came to me.

Option two: While I know a plethora of the J.D. type having worked in that field for many years, why call on them? Why not go to the best money can’t buy.. AVITABLE. You know… if I can get him to tear himself away from his inappropriate, hypersexual, alcohol-saturated other “friendship” that disrespects their spouses with Miss Britt. It won’t be easy, but perhaps I can woo him with tales of rewards in the form of Diet Coke with Lime, ice cold. A never-ending supply.

Not only is this man a blogging genius. A veritable minister of snark (though snarky implies femininity, I love this word nonetheless). Surely this man can draw upon some patriotic bone in his vast body (hey he’s the one that likens himself to an 800 pound gorilla… not me) to defend the honor (or lack thereof) of a deployed soldier’s wife. We are at war people. We all must do our part!!!

Picture it… Pvt. Hero (all of 145 pounds of shaking, self-rightious rage) versus the one, the only, AVITABLE!! Oh… oh.. oh I hope to hear from that lawyer today. Tomorrow. SOON… I even more reverently hope and pray that Avitable will tear himself away from his alcohol-sodden affair with Miss Britt (who, by the way, is encouraged to join the Dream Team legal defense I’m sure to need) to defend me.

Let the trial of the MELLENIUM begin!!!!

*Hero is a term used derogatorily in the Army to rfer to someone who is anything but…

**There are more minor details to the story. Including an anti-climatic ending… but this is a long enough post. Maybe tomorrow the legal drama will continue.

Milestone Birthdays

Warning: This will be a woe-is-me post.

There are certain milestone birthdays we all have. One, 13 (you know.. because you’re now a TEEN), 21 (bring on the booze legally now!), 25 (insurance rates go down, you’re now a quarter of a century), 30, 40, etc.

I don’t remember my 13th birthday. Chances are it was nothing special. None of my birthdays were that spectacular growing up. Boo hoo.

Twenty-one, I got so wasted due to my then-boyfriend feeding me shot after shot after shot of Jack Daniel’s that to this day I sport a scar on my forehead and a chipped tooth as everlasting souvenirs. You can say I remember that birthday for sure.

Twenty-five, I vaguely recall that my insurance went down.

Thirty… Yeah what a day. I had told my husband of the time, Scott, that I had never had a birthday party in my life. That I wanted a surprise birthday party for my 30th birthday. I told him this on my 29th birthday. This gave the man a YEAR to plan. My birthday came and went. Despite numerous reminders throughout the year, there was no party. There was no cake. There wasn’t even a freaking present!!! I remember telling Gary this story and he was so sad that this happened to me. Gary, the man with no compassion for other people, actually felt sorry for me.

Well, folks, Monday is my 40th birthday. Let me digress… here is where you send me emails, post comments, etc. exclaiming that you simply CANNOT believe that I am 40. That I look not a day older than, oh I don’t know… 32. Yeah, not a day older than 32. Anyhoooo… Monday. My 40th. Not a damn thing to do. I won’t get a present. I stupidly told Gary that I knew he would be deployed and not to worry. OF COURSE HE SHOULD DO SOMETHING! What was I thinking?! I need that now more than if he were here. I thought the other day that it would be awesome if he had somehow managed to plan something for me before he left. Like arranged with Vicky to do something on that day. But I know he didn’t. I put that hope right out of my mind. I don’t want to set myself up for a sure let down. I thought about treating myself to a day at the spa – hair coloring (not that I have grey mind you.. not one single strand) and a pedicure. But then I realized finances just will not allow this. I can’t really eat cake because of the surgery. I keep trying to think of something fun to do. I came up with a list of things that would mark my 40th in a very auspicious way. For various reasons, none seem practical. Below is the list of the plans, followed by the obvious reason these will not work (ORTWNW).

PLAN A: Have earth shattering sex with two 20 year olds (2 + 20 = 40).
ORTWNW: Surely you can figure this one out.

PLAN B: Begin building an ark (rain, 40days/40 nights).
ORTWNW: I can barely hang a picture on the wall. I sure as heck can’t build an ark.
PLAN C: Go without sex for 40 days and 40 nights, a la Josh Hartnett in the movie of the same name.
ORTWNW: This plan actually WILL work.. and then some. Gary’s gone for 15 – 18 months.

PLAN D: Buy some sensible shoes. At 40 shouldn’t I have sensible shoes?
ORTWNW: Actually, I might have stumbled on something here. SHOPPING. Retail therapy. Hmmmm

So here is where I end this post. I need to go cry a bit more about my sure to be lousy birthday.

Today is My Fifth Year Anniversary

He deployed to Iraq for 12 to 18 months this morning.

Small update

Wow, I can’t believe I’ve gone a more than a month without posting. Of course with my vast readership, the world is nearly in chaos with the loss of my literary skills.

So.. here’s what’s been up. Or down.

My sister has been staying with me for a few weeks. It’s been fun – and stressful. The girl’s nuts half the time. Nuts as in “needs medication.” She has a seven month old son who deserves a post all to himself.

Vicky and Drew got married!! The wedding was very informal. I’m just glad my baby girl is no longer living in sin…lol. Here is the picture of my hubby walking her down the aisle. She walked to some country song -- can't remember which one -- and when she started walking, the lyrics "daddy walks his little girl down the aisle" came on. Sooo perfect. Not even planned.


Gary deploys this week. On our FIFTH ANNIVERSARY. Oh sure, the traditional gift is wood. My husband, being the trendsetter that he is, decided to give me a 15-18 month deployment. Woo-freakin-hooo.

Well, off to prepare for turkey day.

BATMAN!!!

Batman preparing to fight the good fight:



Batman looking out over Gotham City


Batman gearing up for his hard night's work:




Batman and Joker

Promotions!!

Today Gary pinned on his new, improved, super-exciting rank. He's now a Staff Sergeant (E-6). Yippeee... Here are some pictures of said pinning.

Good News/Bad News

ME: I have some good news and some bad news.

GARY: OK.

ME: The good news is I have 30 extra days.

GARY: Uhm.. ok, for what?

ME: The speeding ticket I got for going 45 in a 61.