On Thursday, I had two families over. My friend, Rachel, and her family were moving to Kansas the next day, so this was a goodbye party.

Rachel and I met in 2006, and the following summer we sadly moved away (to Kansas). Being able to see them again was the number one reason I was happy to return to this area in 2008. Now it’s their turn to move.

As they left our house Thursday night, there was much wailing. This is the thing I hate most about the Army life. But as I reminded us all, the Army brought us together, too.

I hold it true, whate’er befall;

I feel it, when I sorrow most;

‘Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.

– Tennyson

It will be easier on me, since Rachel and I can email and blog to stay in touch. The kids will have to write letters for now, but maybe in a few years, they’ll be Facebooking. I suggested to Billy that they all go to West Point together. It has the wheels in his mind churning.

The treadmill makes an excellent blacktop for car racing.

Taking a break from Jedi training.

There are times Jenny is a huge help.

No camera shy kiddos here.

Dirt is all little boys really need.

Farewell, my friend. You will have a great time in Kansas. We shall see each other again, I’m sure. Let me know when you pick a place to retire, and I’ll buy the house next door.

This awesome organization goes to Bangor, Maine to greet troops heading out or home from deployments (fueling stops tend to be Maine, somewhere in Europe, and then Kuwait).

From their website:

Untold thousands of pictures have been taken of the soldiers and put on the web site for their families. We make a special effort to be there for as many of the outbound troops as possible since we have learned that these pictures are so treasured by their families.

I have to agree. I don’t know why, but having some nice ladies smiling and hugging my husband and going out of their way to make him feel special for one minute is comforting. I get all warm and fuzzy feeling.

They also send care packages to the troops. If you are looking for a great way to support the troops (and don’t actually know anyone), they happily accept donations to fund their work.

Bill passed through on July 10, Flight 2, top 2 pictures of page 5. He, like so many others photographed, was on the phone (with me) – last chance before international charges apply.

Oh, what she said, over and over again.

Today is a better day than yesterday. The goodbye part is always the worst.

Yesterday, a woman signing and dating something for me said, “July 1st! It’ll be Christmas before you know it!”

I replied, “I hope so!”

I am happily looking forward to December. I re-read Bill’s orders last night, and joyfully discovered I’d misunderstood them originally. I thought he was supposed to head for the States by a certain date, but actually, he’s supposed to be in the States by a certain date. That makes a difference of 2 or 3 days which is a really big deal to me. It also means he has a slim, but possible chance, of being home on Christmas Day. Can you guess what will top my Santa wish list this year?

I took this picture of Bill and the kids before his ride came.

And then there’s this rare shot of me and the kids. Normally I’m the photographer. My husband doesn’t love me enough to photograph me regularly. I have to beg.

I filled a pretzel container from BJs with peanut butter cups. One per kid per day first thing in the morning, and when they’re gone, Dad will be home. Don’t tell the kids, but the jug is a tad small, so I’ll be sneaking in a few pieces a day for the next month. I wanted to use Hershey Kisses, but BJs didn’t have any. They are a little smaller and might have worked. I opted out of hard candy because of the baby. Peppermints would have fit. If you consider doing something like this, I think a good estimate is that the jug would hold enough candy for 2 1/2 – 3 years worth of days. That’s one piece per day. Since I need 6 pieces per day (one for each kid) and Bill will be gone for 6 months, I needed something to hold three years worth. My larger pieces put me closer to the low end, but I’ll finagle it. I’d have to be prepared to adjust anyway. It is better to have too much candy than too little. No kid will argue that Dad can’t come home until next week because there’s still candy left.

Katie has been busy making a countdown chain. She had wanted to make a countup chain, but that is 1) depressing and 2) cluttering. I had her date the links so I won’t have to worry about running out. Again, if December has a few links left and Dad comes home early, she won’t be upset in the least.

By the time Bill left yesterday, it was after 5 pm. We were all a little upset. Go figure. I had planned to order some pizza, but that meant we’d all sit around moaning for an hour until it got there. Instead, I loaded everybody up and we went to the pizza joint and ate there. The distraction helped, but now I’m wondering if it was such a good idea. Hey kids, I know you’re sad, let’s just go get some pizza and we’ll all feel better. Then we’ll come home and eat the leftover cake from Petey’s birthday and you can have extra ice cream. Just stop crying, okay? They will already be scarred for life by being abandoned by their father for 6 months, and I’ve made things worse by planting the seeds that will germinate into an emotional eating disorder. Great parenting, eh?

Normal, healthy eating to resume in 6 months.

…to say “I love you” face to face.

…to hold your hand.

…to feel your arms around my shoulders.

…to put my head on your chest and cry.

…to sit in your lap.

…to ride while you drive.

…to fetch your coffee.

…to feed you fattening desserts.

…to listen to you read me news stories.

…to have you take care of something that is broken.

…to have you amuse the baby while I cook dinner.

…to follow your lead during family rosary.

…to let you grill dinner.

…to curl up with you at bedtime.

…to wake up in the night and feel your presence.

…to wake you up to hear the strange animal noises outside.

…to let you sleep late.

…to kiss you goodbye.

Not much posting going on. Trying to “enjoy” Bill’s last week. Trying to keep busy so I don’t have time to think. Blogging also requires thinking. Thinking generally includes crying. Better not to think, so better not to blog.

Perhaps you understand.

Went to see Up yesterday. Loved it. Go see it. Do not think that because it is animated your children, and hence you, are too old for it (yes, Barbara, that is directed specifically at you). I almost didn’t go to avoid taking the baby. She was good as gold, and I am so happy I could share that hour an a half with my husband.

Movies, even matinees, for large families, are way too expensive. $7.50 for kids (all the time). $8.50 for adults. Popcorn and soda for 8? Oh my goodness. I need to take out a second mortgage.

The theater was mostly empty, which was good. Real good. The kids were fine, as I expected. Had we been in a crowded theater, other people might have assumed that my brood was responsible somewhat for the din that is likely when you fill a room with children. I normally wouldn’t mind that, but yesterday, as we left, a young and very pregnant woman (with her husband) told me how great my kids were. She looked like she was having her first baby, and I’m happy that we had an opportunity to show them both that large families are not insufferably chaotic.

Today, a visit to the lawyers to update fun things like wills and powers of attorney. Then we’ll go to DC for a “London Bus” tour. Each of the kids picked out a fun activity. Katie picked the movies. Peter wants to do the bus with the open top. Fortunately, we can get discounted tickets on post.

Why do they call them Army “Brats”? Because mom and dad try to compensate for lost time together by spending ridiculous amounts of money.

Friday: Mom’s day off for the IHM Conference. Hooray!

This week has been baseball, baseball and will-we-or-won’t-we-baseball due to the weather. Game tonight. Maybe a game tomorrow. Then, done. I love baseball, until the last week, and then I hate baseball. I will love baseball again next week when my boys aren’t playing it.

I have also been sorting books and putting together my shopping list for the conference. If you’re friends with me on Goodreads, you may have noticed sudden activity as I have finally decided to inventory my books – well, the school books. We probably have 400 or 500 children’s books that are not for school. Only perhaps 50 would be worth inventorying, if I thought they could last longer than a few years (I have owned at least four different copies of Goodnight, Moon because the book gets read and chewed and abused…out of love, I’m sure).

So, it’s been a busy week. And over it all is this black cloud of impending deployment. Bill and I went out to dinner last night and discussed the various options of getting him where he needed to be and when, which involved him leaving one or two days earlier than planned. After a few minutes, there was a pause and we both agreed we needed to change the subject.

What’s funny is that I have been reading The Temperament God Gave You (thanks, Becky), which says that a choleric (that’s me) does not like to express his deepest, innermost feelings. Spot on. Most of the time, I am pretty even-keeled and my deepest, innermost feelings are relatively benign. Right now, my deepest, innermost feelings are not benign, and it’s a definite struggle to repress them. Repression is good, and don’t let any psychologist tell you otherwise. I mean, what is there to say? The love of my life, my rock, my best friend, my sounding board, my sanity, is leaving me. It’s not hard to imagine how I feel, so why express it?

But today is the IHM Conference, and I am focusing on the positive. Today will be a good day.

You know you are under stress when you and your husband get snippy when discussing plans for picking him up from the airport after the deployment for which he has not even yet departed.

When he comes home he will report to the station which cleared him for deployment. From there, he will fly home. He just learned yesterday that his time at that station could be nine hours…or nine days. A military family’s motto is Semper Gumbi!

When he called last night, instead of saying that, he said something about calling me from the airport to tell me he’s ready to be picked up. Or maybe he said he’d call me and tell me that he was getting on a plane and would arrive in a few hours. But all I really heard was “airport” and “home” and “zero warning” (my personal translation).

Now, first of all, I am still upset about his last surprise return. I do not ever want a repeat of that. Not funny. Plus, I imagine him returning to a less than clean home and my hair is in curlers and I’ve got avocado on my face and I’m watching a chick flick that is making me cry so my eyes are puffy and red and my head hurts.

Secondly, I have my own vision of what his return will be like. I am already planning it, even though he hasn’t left yet. It’s a comforting daydream. It involves bathed children dressed in nice clothes. It has me looking gorgeous with hair I actually blowed dry and I have make up on and I’m wearing that attractive black suit that has hung unneeded in the back of my closet all these months. It has a nice meal waiting for us (at home or a restaurant, I haven’t worked out those details yet). No curlers or avocado or chick flicks in sight. The house is clean.

But instead of saying all that, I said something about “what if we have plans” and “what if I’m not home when you call” and stuff like that.

And he hears: “Previously arranged playdates and other appointments are more important than you.”

Which is not at all what I meant. And he knows it.

After a few deep breaths, we started over. He explained the uncertainty of the length of his redeployment, and I assured him of his preeminence in my life and my understanding of the flexibility that was required of us.

(sigh)

We will get through this. But first we have to get through this month, which will be harder than the deployment itself, I think.

“Interview?” asked the sales clerk looking at the black suit and blouse I placed on the counter.

Caught off guard, I answered with brutal honesty, “Actually, my husband is deploying, and I want to have something appropriate to wear…just in case…”

It took her a moment to regain her composure.

Me, too.

Mental note: if ever I go shopping with another women who needs such attire, prevent any and all interactions between the woman and the sales staff. She will not need to deal with that.

The unit with which Bill is deploying requires all sorts of paperwork, including the usual “Next of Kin” to notify in case of a tragedy. He hoped to spare me the discomfort of answering questions like “Who do you want to officiate at your funeral?” and “Where do you want to be buried?” But then he saw that I had to sign the form, so he clued me in.

It’s a good thing, too. I think I am much more suited to answer questions like “Besides the official party, who do you want to be present when your spouse is notified?” And although I am confident that he can plan a decent burial for himself, I would like to have some say in what Gospel reading is read.

“How about this: ‘In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If there were not, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back again and take you to myself, so that where I am you also may be…'”

“I like that,” he said.

“What are you guys doing?” asked Fritz, passing by just then. Ever notice that kids are always attracted to the wrong conversations?

“We’re just talking about passages from the Bible,” I answered, blowing him off.

“But what are you doing?” he pressed. Obnoxiously astute kid.

“We’re just reading from the Bible,” I insisted. He went away.

I was a bit grateful for his interruption, though. I did okay through the other selections, but that one got me a bit teary. It was the same way at the store. I took three suits into the dressing room. The third one was the one I liked best. I looked in the mirror and asked myself if this was how I wanted to look for my husband’s funeral, and that moment of decision was emotional. But it was then that I became aware of the rather loud background music blaring in the store. I don’t know who was singing or the rest of the words, but the refrain right then was, hopefully, the theme song of my life:

“Everything’s gonna be alright…”