by Alyssa Day
OK, no remote possibility of coherence so will sign off. I do love you in spite of your current in-the-doghouse status.
February 20
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: Emergency room all night, the sequel
This time with Lauren. Thank goodness we have wonderful neighbors. I called poor Lori at 2 a.m. to find out if I could bring Connor over to sleep on her couch, so I didn't have to haul him to the ER, too.
It's 6 a.m. and we're finally home from four hours at the ER. Why is it that kids always get sick at 2 a.m. on Saturday nights? I asked the doctor and she said there is an actual reason-something about low metabolic rates while sleeping. Whatever. All I know is that they should label one of the waiting room chairs with my name.
Lauren woke up and came in my room and said, Mommy, my neck hurts. She was burning up—skin literally on fire—and her temp was 103 degrees. With that fever and her neck hurting, I was terrified that it might be meningitis. So, we went to the ER. They got her right in and the doctor was very concerned. Lauren was lying weak and limp on the table. I felt like my heart stopped beating, and I was hearing words in slow motion.
Possible meningitis. Spinal tap.
I really needed you there. I don't even know what country you're in (or flying over). I know I could call Robin and she'd get a message to you but, by then, why bother?
I'm not as strong a person as I thought, when I'm alone in the emergency room with a desperately ill baby. It's just so hard sometimes to carry all the responsibility and worry alone.
They gave Lauren baby Motrin and wanted to watch her for 30 minutes, before going to the extreme measure of a spinal tap. So there we sat, amidst the cold and antiseptic smell, red biohazard syringe box on the wall, monitors everywhere. Lights and beeping. Watching the leisurely pace of the nurses, and then the urgent rush when an ambulance arrived with a car crash victim.
Well, baby Motrin is a Miracle Cure. Lauren was up drinking juice through a straw within about half an hour. Within two hours, she was up and playing peek-a-boo with the nurses. Evidently, it is just some terrible virus. The doctor came back in and said, "Don't these viruses suck?" That's clinical medical terminology that I had to agree with. So they watched and monitored her for a while and then sent us home. The doctor said she should be good as new in a day or two.
I caught sight of myself in the mirror after I took Lauren home and tucked her into bed. I looked like a casualty, myself. I'm surprised I didn't frighten anyone. Lori said to get some rest and call her when we wake up, so I'm taking her up on her gracious offer and going to try to get a nap now. I love you and miss you, but you'd better be here for the next ER visit. It's definitely YOUR SHIFT.
35
Phone Sex on Monitored Lines
January
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: We are definitely a G-rated couple.
OK, so my idea of saying hot, romantic things on the phone didn't work out all that well. At least we tried. I'm sorry I kept laughing so hard, but the whole situation was pretty hilarious.
Nothing personal.
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: WARNING! VERY PERSONAL E-MAIL!
[Editor's Note to Readers: Content censored.]
To: Alesia
From: Judd
Subject: re: WARNING! VERY PERSONAL E-MAIL!
Wow! Thanks for the warning! I'm glad I didn't open your hot e-mail when anyone was around. I miss and love you too, and have lots of hugs saved up for you.
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: Well, THAT was romantic. NOT.
I'm going to go read another romance novel to fill my unrequited needs for hot and steamy.
To: Alesia
From: Judd
Subject: You want romantic, why did you marry an engineer?
Plus, the idea that the phone lines and e-mail may be monitored, and I would be tortured for the rest of my natural life for saying mushy things, is a little inhibiting. Just think, we'll have six months of romantic saved up for when I get home. I am a man of action, more than words.
He had a point. Nothing like the prospect of monitored phone lines to dampen your enthusiasm, unless you're some wacko exhibitionist.
When we had kids, our romantic candlelit dinners transformed into pizza in front of a Disney video, like most people's do. When Judd was gone for six months, my need for romantic, mushy things escalated in direct proportion to the length of time he was gone. So, I came up with the bright idea that we would have a hot, passionate phone call. The problem was, we couldn't really schedule when he was able to call.
In hindsight, it might have been better to try when the kids were asleep. The phone call went something like this:
Me: "I miss you so much. I'd like to run my fingers through your hair and—Lauren! Do not hit your brother with that hammer!"
Judd: "What hammer?? Why does Lauren have a hammer??
He was definitely getting excited, but this is not what I had in mind.
Me: "It's a toy hammer, honey, from the kids' play tool bench. Relax. Think peaceful, warm, and happy thoughts. Think of hugs and kisses and—Connor! Do not shoot arrows at the dog!"
Judd: "Arrows?? What is going on there? I leave for a few months, and my kids are juvenile delinquents. With weapons."
Me: "It's his Robin Hood set. Just little foam arrows. But it's the principle of the thing; we don't shoot family members or pets in this house. I'm telling you, you need to relax. You are totally losing the spirit of this romantic interlude we're supposed to be having."
Judd: "OK, I'm sorry. I miss you, too, sweetie, and I —"
Me: "PJ., if you yark on the floor, I am going to sell you for shark bait—oh, no!! Not on my silk robe!! Why is my silk robe on the floor?? Lauren!!!!"
Well, even Aphrodite had her off days.
36
CNN Breaking News Usually Sucks
January
To: Alesia
CNN BREAKING NEWS BULLETIN:
U.S. plane down in Indian Ocean. No details available.
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: Today I thought you died.
For an hour today, I didn't know if your plane had gone down in the ocean.
For an hour, I frantically searched the Internet for further news of who/what/when.
For an hour, I alternated between praying and crying—between hope and despair.
For an hour, I wondered how to tell Connor and Lauren that Daddy was never coming home.
For an hour, I regretted every harsh word we've ever spoken to each other, and wanted to yell at you for leaving me.
For an hour, I wanted to hold you, kiss you, and punch you in the nose for putting me through this. For an hour today, I watched my world crumple, I love you so much, and I'm so glad you're safe. If you die, I'm going to kill you. Don't ever put me through another hour like this one.
We have the unique privilege these days of being able to see news events live. This is a privilege that, some days, I'd be glad to live without. When you turn on the television or get a breaking news bulletin beamed to your wireless e-mail, you can instantly learn that a plane has gone down, or that a member of the U.S. military has died. But it takes a lot longer to find out which plane has gone down. Or who has died.
That space in between—the black and terrifying limbo until more details emerge—is the cruelest hurt inflicted on military spouses. First, the feeling like I've been gut-punched. What plane? I know he was headed for patrols over the Indian Ocean. Is he there now? What plane was it, dammit? Why don't they give us all the news instead of doling out these flashes?
Then, searching the 'net like a madwoman. CNN, the New York Times, somebody somewhere has to know what plane it is.
Next, the phone calls begin. All the friends and family who know that he might be out there. That it might be his plane. Is he OK? Is it Judd's plane? Wher
e's Judd? What's going on? What plane was it?
As though they believe I have a secret satellite link or psychic connection to the information even CNN doesn't yet know. It gets harder and harder to stay calm on the phone.
A hurried trip to the bathroom. I'm either going to cry or vomit, and I don't want my colleagues to see either. He might be dead. What would we do without him? What do I tell my kids? Splash water on my face and go back to the computer to search for any new word.
Then, finally, the knowledge starts to trickle in. CNN breaks some more news. The CO gets a message to his wife, or to the squadron/spouse liaison, and the e-mail chain is activated. It's not Judd's plane. It was another plane. The Search and Rescue team picked the crew up, safe and unharmed. A fervent prayer of thanks for my family and for the families of the crew members who were in that downed plane.
Back to work. Phone calls have to be returned. Documents have to be reviewed. Nobody knows that I just lived through an eternity in the space of an hour.
37
The Working Military Spouse
January
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: I’m always the only one in the airport with nobody to meet her.
It's kind of pathetic.
I came down with pneumonia on my business trip, but had a wonderful Texas-style steak dinner. Will tell you all about it when I can breathe and/or talk again.
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: Out to eat again
Only the fifth time in two weeks. By the time I pick up the kids, it's almost 6:30 and they're starved. How do single parents DO this? I am giving Connor the chance to do small tasks that a "big boy" would get to do, so I gave him the money to pay the check. The cashier asked him, "How was your dinner?" Connor said, "Well, it was good, but if I drink too much juice I get diarrhea."
We had the talk about Too Much Information when we got home.
To: Alesia
From: Judd
Subject: Did you have your review yet?
Did they tell you you're wonderful and give you a big raise?
We just got back from flying and I am falling-over tired. I miss you all so much! Don't work too hard.
To: Alesia
From: Judd
Subject: Yes and No
Good thing you married me for my cooking, er . . . my sparkling personality, er . . . WHY did you marry me again? Oh, right. My sense of humor! :)
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: Working at the Cheese Factory
Connor overheard me talking to somebody about lunch at the Cheesecake Factory, evidently, because he asked me today if I had a good day working at the Cheese Factory.
Actually, the Cheese Factory was a little stressful today. I'd come up with some funny cheese-related metaphors, if I weren't so tired and the thought weren't so . . .cheesy. (Couldn't resist.)
I'm working on that huge project and overseeing other attorneys on it, so I feel an enormous responsibility to make sure it comes off perfectly. Then a colleague of mine (who has no children, of course) said something about a friend of hers who— HORRORS—feeds her kids frozen waffles for breakfast! My colleague said, "How hard is it to give them something healthy, like cottage cheese and granola?"
I just looked at her in disbelief, picturing my freezer full of Eggos, and the look on the kids' faces if I were to put a bowl of granola in front of them in the morning. I may as well try to feed them tree bark. All I could say was, "Just wait till you have kids, and then talk to me. There will be some mornings when you'll think French Toast sticks from Burger King are nutritious enough, if you throw in a banana!"
So, continuing on with my day, halfway through a meeting with a client, I discovered Lauren had drooled cereal on the shoulder of my suit. My client was very impressed, I'm sure.
This is going to sound stupid, but what you're doing makes what I'm doing seem unimportant, sometimes. I mean, I love my job and work hard for my clients, but "I got a class action lawsuit certified today" seems rather trivial next to "I patrolled the skies looking for Osama." It's a weird feeling. I guess some of us have to keep the economy going here, while you guys take care of us out there. I think a lot of people are feeling that their jobs are less important these days.
February
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: Coworkers don't really understand.
I hear "you look tired" a lot. I finally told a couple of the guys that telling a woman she looks tired is as bad as asking how old she is. I know they're just concerned, but I hate hearing that I look as bad as I feel.
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: I adore our housekeeper.
I would rather go without food than give up the cost of having her come in one day a week. When I found myself scrubbing bathrooms at 4:45 a.m., I knew it was time. After I quit the habit of pre-cleaning (so poor Stephanie didn't see how cluttered our house always is!), my life got so much better. (Of course, hers probably got worse!) She is the most organized person I've ever known. I came home one day and the entire pantry was reorganized, with the soups alphabetized and the cans arranged by size. Then, today, all of the kids' books were reorganized in their bookcases by category and size.
I love that in a housekeeper.
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: The "Work" Pie
A lawyer at work actually asked me today if I'd thought about how big the "Work Pie" was going to be in my life as opposed to the "Mommy Pie."
I'm not kidding.
I still have no idea what I said to him. I was, literally, speechless.
Then I arrived at daycare to find out that Connor got in a fight, because he was telling his friends that only girls can be lawyers. I told him that boys can be lawyers, too, but girls are just better at it! (Just kidding; not starting any gender issues in our 4-year-old!)
The "Parent Pie" has to grow considerably when your spouse goes on deployment. There's just nobody else there to cover it. The civilian single parents I know have terrific support networks in place. They often live near family, and have friends they've known forever. But in military life, you rarely if ever live near your family, because you're being shipped all over the country and the world. You make new friends, but it's rare to know someone well enough in a couple of weeks to ask them to keep your kids for a few days, so you can go on a business trip.
You have to find new schools and new daycare arrangements, and then, the real fun begins. You have to find a new job. First, you manage to smile through all of the interviews where the first question is, "Why did you move here from name of state halfway across the country?" Once you admit the military connection, employers wonder how long you're going to stick around for them. It's rarely an advantage in the job market.
Then, you find a job that may or may not pay anywhere near what you made in the last place you lived. You negotiate the dance of forging new business relationships, and networking from scratch in a new state where everybody else went to college together or has worked together for years. If you have a job that requires licensing, you begin the expensive and difficult process of becoming certified to do whatever you do in this new place.
It's tiring, frustrating, and very stressful. And a little bit of resentment may creep in over the whole process, because your spouse has a job ready to step right into the moment he arrives. Sure, he has to meet new people, but often many of the same men and women he met in flight school or training have been stationed at the same base. So, there are bound to be a few familiar faces, at least. And there's no period of time where he's not earning money, because he's never unemployed.
This can make life a little tense for the unemployed spouse.
Working while Judd was on deployment was like walking a tightrope with snakes and tarantulas underneath it. I never knew what might bite me in the butt if I made the slightest misstep. I used to panic over what wou
ld happen if I were in a car accident coming home from work and seriously injured. Nobody would show up at daycare. What if the authorities took my children into protective custody because their horrible, neglectful mother never came to get them? What if my purse burned up in the car fire, so the fire department couldn't find my identification, and I was in a coma for three weeks and nobody knew who I was or how to contact Judd?
Of course, when some semblance of sanity returned or, as Judd said, "I Stopped the Tragedy Train at the Station," I'd remember that everyone had all the emergency numbers. Several friends were on the list to be called if something happened and daycare didn't hear from me. Everyone knew how to contact the squadron if Judd needed to be found.
And I had a system in place with my Mom. If I didn't call her daily, she'd call me. And if she didn't hear from me, she'd call the police. Just in case a meteorite had crashed onto my head while I was taking the groceries out of my car, and the children were already in the house, alone.
It could happen.
So, I woke up early, woke the children, made breakfasts and lunches, drove them to school, drove the hour or hour and a half to work, worked all day, made the hideous return commute, cooked dinner (or went out to eat), played games, read stories, did art projects, gave bubble baths, brushed teeth, sang lullabies, watched the news and worried, cleaned the house, did laundry, e-mailed Judd, went back to work on whatever was in my briefcase that day, made lists of what I needed at the store, and, finally, fell into bed for four or five hours, so I could wake up and do it again.
