What Is The Price of Freedom

Really. What does our freedom cost us? I just received a pretty depressing email. With pictures that would imply exactly what the price is for the freedom that we enjoy. Pictures of flag draped coffins. Pictures of soldiers in desert ABUs with their heads bowed, or kneeling around a fallen comrade. Pictures of a horse drawn hearse, taking a flagged drape coffin and the soldier that lays within to his final resting place.

These pictures really strike a raw nerve with me. After living at Dover for 4 years, I don't need to be reminded what the price is. Dover is the home of the Department of Defense mortuary, so all fallen heroes go to Dover first, before they go home. After seeing the processions from the flight line to the mortuary, time and time again, I know. After seeing hearses leaving the base or going back to the flight line to send these heroes on their way home, I know. After wondering every time a C5 landed, if it was bringing someone home, I know. After listening to Tim's accounts of missions that would ultimately bring these soldiers home, I know.

The reality of it is, when these soldiers leave to defend our country, they all walk on the airplane. The shitty side of it is, some of them come home in a transfer case. Some of them come home alive, but on a medical transport. Some come home on gurneys or in wheelchairs. But our military busts their butts to make sure they all come home, one way or another.

Along with the sadness and heartache that those pictures invoked, is anger. It pisses me off to no end, to know that these men and women are so bravely defending the values we hold near, yet back home they get little support or encouragement. So many people in this country take for granted their rights and they forget about those who protect and defend them. So many people have forgotten that it takes effort and sometimes life to protect our values, our freedoms. Yet they don't hesitate to scream if someone steps on those rights. It angers me that so many people expect their rights to be free. They expect it to just 'be'. And then in a time of war, they turn their backs on our troops and criticize them. Our troops are following orders and upholding the commitments that they made. Some of them may not like it or agree with it, but they are following the orders given.

As the military spouse, it's evident every day. From the African American in Walmart who said, 'Yo, look what white boy is wearing' to the people who protest and try to verbally attack him for doing what he believes in. But for those very few people who go out of their way to thank him and acknowledge the sacrifices that he has made, that our entire family has made.... Thank you. It is nice to know that some people remember (without reminder) what the price of freedom is. It is nice to know that some people still believe in and support the values that our military is fighting so hard to protect. It is nice to know that some people are still willing to stand behind our military and be proud of them. And it is nice to know, that there are still people in this world who remember what freedom is all about and what it takes to maintain and protect it.

Smoosh & Sniff, Diagnoses, Day Spa & Shattered Pieces

It has been the craziest few days. By crazy I mean I'd pay someone to do this all for me. That kind of crazy. It rained for almost 4 days straight. That means, the little critters that belong outside we're looking for somewhere dry to hide out, and my house is all of a sudden the safe haven for a bazillion little tiny ants. ANTS! Creepy crawly things. Nasty critters. Yuck.

So we figured the best way to get rid of these ants is to figure out what they are first, and go from there. It turns out there is a very odd way to identify these little bastards. Smoosh em and sniff em. I am not kidding. There is such a thing as an Odorous House Ant. So anyway, you smoosh the ant and sniff it. If it smells like coconut, it's an odorous house ant. Picture me and Tim, smooshing these ants and then smelling them. They smell like coconut. So at this point we really have 2 options. We can either bait the little fawkers and hope they take the poisons back to wherever their home station is, or we can start smooshing em up, get the house smelling nice and coconutty, then start drinking umbrella drinks.

Then I got a new diagnosis. Not only do I have FMS, but I also have RLS. My legs can be fine all. day. long. But as soon as I lay down to go to sleep, they hurt. They feel like little bugs are crawling on them. (Yes, I know this could be happening with my little coconut ant infestation.) They feel like they have run a marathon, with that achy, jumpy feeling. It SUCKS! So I get a new medication for that. The bad news is it makes me high. The good news is, I'm very happy when I'm high.

Changing topics, try to keep up. I've been telling Tim for the past couple months I need a break. I need a break from kids, from housework, from responsibility. The big problem was, I didn't know what to do with myself. It's been so long since I had purely 'me' time, that I didn't know what to do, where to go, who to talk to. Nothing. I was drawing a complete blank. All I could say, was that I needed to get away. Just for a few hours.

So Tim, being the resourceful and incredibly sweet (loving, thoughtful, creative) man that he is, booked me a 3 hour appointment at a day spa. 3 WHOLE HOURS. 3 hours where it really was all about me. No kids. No cell phone. No responsibility. Nothing for 3 whole hours! It was absolutely amazing. He promises me that I get a trip to the day spa when he gets home from any trip that we net family sep pay on. Major bonus for me.

So I got there and they had me change into a robe. Let me just hang out and relax for a few minutes. The lights were very low everywhere in the place and the music was something so subtle that most of the time I was hardly aware it was there. Purely awesome. Anyway, I got this mud rubdown that felt incredible. Followed by a very long massage. The masseuse was familiar with FMS, so she recommended something between deep tissue and Swedish. All I know was it felt incredible. I can't even begin to explain the state of relaxation and total unawareness I was in. I was able to forget every single problem I had for a few hours and it was absolutely phenomenal.

We went to dinner at Chow Baby for the second time in 2 days. Because it really is that awesome.

We got home, Tim was taking his Statistics midterm and I was feeling up for some new bodily mutilation. So I send a text to my girl Dena to ask her where a good place to get inked or pierced is. She calls me back from the hospital. She fell and broke both her ankles. Her right ankle was a clean break and they may not even have to cast it. Her left ankle is in really bad shape though. 3 bones are completely shattered. As I type this, she should be in surgery to get things put back together with plates, pins and screws. It figures, the one time I ever shut my cell off (for the day spa) all hell broke loose. She tried to call but only got voicemail. She did find another neighbor to watch her kids and dogs though.

So I went over to the house to ask the boys what they wanted to do. They both wanted come to my house, so I loaded up kids, the kennel and one dog. The other dog refused to come inside and we couldn't catch her, so she stayed outside at Dena's all night. One on of the boys was finally able to catch her this morning, so now I have 2 extra boys and 2 extra dogs. Talk about a crazy, full house.

On a side note, Tim bought a trailer yesterday for his motorcycle. Then today he found the exact same trailer somewhere else for almost $200 less. So he's on the phone now to see if he can either return it or if they will price match it. Fun times.

It's been a long and crazy couple days. I'm having a hard time being patient waiting to hear from Dena. We all (her boys and I) just need to know she's okay. That she's going to be okay. She has to be okay. She's all those boys have. Their closest family is their dad in NC. Grandma is undergoing chemo in NY, and their uncle is with Grandma. So D has to be okay.

Back to Normal

Well as normal as things can be around here. Tim is finally home. He was gone for 31 days this last time. Just up north, still in country, so safe.

When we still lived up north and he was flying regular missions, I never actually depended on a time that he would be home. I lived by, "I'll believe he's home when I can see the whites of his eyes." So many times I got my hopes up that he would be home at a certain hour, only to be disappointed when it came and went with no sign of him. It was never his fault, but rather the fault of an often tempermental airplane, that sometimes just didn't cooperate. The thing would leak and groan and just be a overall POS. There were many times when I would be sitting at home thinking it was about time that he came home, and then he called to tell me he was still in Spain... or Germany... or, well other places. So basically he'd be sitting on an airplane for hours on end, just waiting to see if it could be 'fixed' in time to take off. Then when he found out they couldn't fly it, it was usually close to the time I was expecting him. So after the first couple missions, I figured out that Tim just ain't gonna be home until I see the whites of his eyes.

Now, he hasn't flow like that in almost a year. But I still have that 'whites of the eyes' mentality. Even if he is flying on a commercial airline, it's hard for me to believe he's going to be home at a predetermined hour and be excited about it. It's just not 'normal' for us.

When Tim is away, I'm forced to be it all. I have to take care of things on my own. He can't just drop everything at the drop of a hat and rush home to save me. I've had to learn to adapt to this lifestyle and I 'get it' now. Pipes burst, trees fall, kids get hurt... shit happens. On a fairly regular basis.

When he's home, we make the most of it. When he's gone, we miss him like crazy, but life does go on. C still has to go to school. I still have to go to the store, make dinner, bathe kids, etc. Life still goes on when he's not home. We can't just stop everything and wait. Hell, if we did we'd wait forever.

What matters now is he's home for awhile. At least a couple weeks. It's not long enough, but we will make do. I'll take what I can get. We will have our 'normal' with him home. When he goes, we'll have our 'normal' without him. It won't last forever. It can't last forever. Some day, he'll walk in that door, and he'll be home to stay. Some day, I won't have to let go, so that he can go do what he does elsewhere. Some day, he'll only leave for the day and then be back home again. I miss him. I miss the little things like being able to sit down to dinner next to him. Just having him here. Just knowing he's going to walk in the door at the end of the day. It's crazy how much those little things mean, and how much I took them for granted. Until I realized those were the things I loved. Those were the things that meant the most. I need for him to walk through the door each night and sit down to dinner with us. I need for him to be there at night, just so I can reach out and touch him. And I need him to give me that kiss goodbye each morning, the one where I'm not even hardly awake, but I'm aware that he has taken the time to kiss me. To tell me he loves me. To tell me goodbye, but only to come home that night to kiss me. To tell me he loves me. And to tell me hi.

It's the little things I miss the most when he's gone. I continue to exist when he's not here, but a huge part of my very being is missing. He leaves this huge gap in my life that nothing can quite bridge. It's lonely without him. A kind of lonely that the best of friends can distract me from, but can never quite fill. The days are a little longer, a little more solemn and serious. The nights stretch on forever. We count down the days until he's home. We exist, just in a different way.