Category Archives: true love

12.19.09
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Homecoming

Shortly after my last post, the computer finally informed me that HE was en route. Theoretically leaving our house at the same time that he left Atlanta, we got in the car, fought rush-hour traffic (going in the good direction, but nonetheless, traffic), parked the car in the hourly lot, and herded ourselves into the airport to the nearest arrival screen.

His plane was already here! It was not yet assigned to a gate.

I tried to get in a line to talk to an airline rep, but she announced that this was not a line to talk to her. Talk to the hand, folks.

We went upstairs to ticketing. The line was enormous. People were anxious and frustrated because a HUGE storm was heading this way, and they wanted to escape before getting stuck here. I can sympathize.

I left the kids in line and went over to the board again. A gate had been posted: seventeen. I pulled the kids out of line, and we went in that direction. I talked to the security man, and he told me that to get to the gate, I’d need a gate pass from that really long ticket line. But then he pointed to the hallway where the passengers would all come out, and suggested we just wait there (oh, you mean that spot right there with all those people standing and waiting?).

Checking the board, I saw that the plane was still not at the gate, so we walked just a bit down from that entry hallway to the big windows where, as luck would have it, we could see Gates 15, 17 and 19. There was a plane docked at 19, and another plane approaching. We watched it park – at 15. We waited.

Then Peter had to go to the bathroom, so I hauled everybody about 50 yards to the nearest one. When we got out, the boys who waited outside were hopping around: It’s here!

We got to the hallway and joined the crowd. Passengers were just beginning to stream off. Lots of soldiers. I watched a young Private being greeted by his parents and some teen aged girls: sisters, I assumed. One girl took a picture, and the mom was crying. I was crying.

More people came off. No Bill. The kids started getting antsy. They moved farther and farther into the hallway to try to get that first glimpse. Still no Bill. I started to worry about what would happen if he wasn’t on the flight. I didn’t think I could face my kids’ disappointment. Or mine.

We waited.

Finally, there he was. I saw him before the kids did. Our eyes met, and he smiled.. “He’s coming!” I told the kids who strained hard to see him over all these tall people who didn’t seem to understand that whatever their errand or destination or business was, it was not nearly as important as this business of ours, this reunion, this welcome home.

And then they saw him, and swarmed him. I stayed to the side with Mary, out of the way, watching, crying. Finally, some of the other people noticed our group, and recognized the significance of this soldier’s arrival. “Well, this is a Merry Christmas,” said one woman to my husband.

Mary squirmed in my arms, and I let her down to run to her Daddy. He lifted her and turned to me, wading his way with the weight of clinging, crying children. And then a welcoming kiss.

He’s home. What a marvelous Christmas this is.

I started to take a picture right after we met, but a woman passing by kindly offered to take one of all of us.

It took a while to get his bags, but we made it out to the van, loaded up and then headed for the McDonalds close to where Fritz was to play laser tag. Welcome home, hon, let’s dine in style! But it was getting late. Fritz barely had time to scarf down his food before I walked him over for his 8 pm start time, and it was 830 before we neared home with the snow beginning to fall.

When the little ones were asleep, and the older boy reclining on the sofa waiting for his roommate to return, we were finally alone. Of course, the clothes came off. I put down the Mom hat. Discarded the Strong Woman cloak. Laid aside the shield of Fortitude and the breastplate of Perseverance. Then the many layers of garments: Single Parent, Bill Payer, Sole Decision Maker, Lone Disciplinarian, One Who Never Sleeps, One Who Never Cries, Happy Face, Comforter, Good Fortune Teller.

Eventually I was left with just a few skimpy undergarments: Feminine, Emotional, Sensitive, Vulnerable with a sheer, frilly robe of Wife covering them. What then?

I sobbed.

Many times, I have cried. At the airport, it was joy and relief. Other times, it was worry or exhaustion or frustration peeking out like a too long slip. This, though, was an emotional release. In my husband’s arms, the trial was over. I am no longer alone. I can be strong, or not. I have a choice, whereas only a few hours earlier, I had to be strong no matter what.

He is home. My heart is at peace.

10.02.09
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Dinner for Eight Minus One

The only thing I remember about our first wedding anniversary is eating defrosted wedding cake. At the time, my husband was either unemployed or underemployed, so that cake was probably the highlight of that day.

I do remember our second anniversary, though. The local paper had run a review of a restaurant not too far from where we lived, located a few miles north of New Hope, PA. We decided to go there, and then walk around the quaint, trendy shopping area of that tiny town. Since the review stated that the place took all major credit cards, we didn’t worry about how much cash we needed to bring. We are not ones to carry much cash, I guess being part of the plastic generation. Debit cards are a wonderful thing, although, as Dave Ramsey points out, they don’t really help you stick to a budget.
But this meal wasn’t about being budget-minded anyway. We had appetizers, and a lovely meal and dessert. I even had wine, secretly glad that nobody could tell I was about 6 weeks pregnant with my first child. This was an elegant place with French provincial food, and I was glad that we hadn’t gone to the ATM first, because we could not have predicted what the final bill would be, and I would have fussed and fretted the whole time calculating if we had enough on hand for this entree or that dessert.
Finally, the bill came and the total was extravagant. It was okay, since we didn’t celebrate like this frequently. But then our server told us that they did not, in fact, take major credit cards. We explained, in embarrassment, that we had not come with cash because of the review. They were aware of this problem and graciously permitted us to leave, with an addressed envelope, to mail in a check at our earliest convenience.
I guess we looked honest. I certainly doubt I would remember so much about the place had this confusion not nearly ruined our evening. Although, by the following spring, our lives, changed by the arrival of our son, no longer included such quiet, unhurried, peaceful meals. It is possible that this “last hurrah” would forever be in my memory simply because of the circumstances.
Sometimes, we still do get out, just the two of us. Not this year, of course. And not always. I have begun to accept that our anniversary is best celebrated with our children anyway. They are, after all, the fruits of our love. The original Oktoberfest was a wedding feast, and the following festivals have been anniversary parties, so to speak. Our annual Oktoberfest, next weekend, parallels that theme nicely.
Outside of the Oktoberfest, we do like to have a private celebration. Even if it’s not quite as elegant as that cozy French place.

To celebrate our 14th anniversary, we had another intimate, peaceful dinner at a small, romantic bistro not too far from home.
This place takes major credit cards, and although I’m sure Dave Ramsey would tsk tsk over my use of the debit card instead of cash, he would probably approve the bottom line total which, even without adjusting for 12 years of inflation, was a fraction of the cost of that long ago meal.
09.30.09
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Memory Lane

Bill and I have been emailing memories back and forth this month. Today is our 14th anniversary. And because we both like to keep things neat, we married on the same day we began to date. That anniversary is our 20th. I was 18; he was 21.

I don’t think most people will “get” many of these one-liners. They’re not for you – they are for us. His are in bold, and mine are in italic. These are just the ones from our engagement, wedding and honeymoon. (Note: his are romantic, mine are sarcastic, witty or detailed)

Asking your father for permission to marry you a little too far in advance

Getting on one knee and asking the most important question of my life

bridal fair (aka: your personal “Heidi” moment)

Seeing the most beautiful woman in the world taking my hand at the altar

perfect weather and beautiful pictures at a gorgeous park

Cutting the cake

realizing we had no keys to the getaway car

Dancing to Elvis

But I don’t want to go to the parking lot at the Nuerburgring

what do you mean the office is closed?

pasta mafiosso

Frau Rau

Wuerzburg’s closed on Mondays?

Bartering for a hotel room

Drinking wine in Trier by the black gate and beer in Munich

Der Dom Tuer ist schluss Tuer! (RING!)

Ten km from Fuessen.

trying to spell our last name using a combination of German and English letters and not being able to find the keys or my wallet or whatever and having to go back to the pension only to find they were with me the whole time (aka: when you find out you married a ditz).

Disappointment at Nymphenburg (swans in the mud)

venison aspic (Augustiner Braeu)

No room at Garmisch and the VERY American woman at the pension

The bridge at Neuschwanstein

And that smaller castle with one bedroom and the table that lowered to the basement kitchen. (Schloss Linderhof)

And finally, a terrible train ride, a long flight, an end to a honeymoon, but the beginning of a beautiful marriage.

08.30.09
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Happy Birthday, Bill

Yesterday, Bill’s parents, the kids, Neighbor Girl and I went to Friendly’s for ice cream sundaes to celebrate Bill’s birthday. The kids have not been to a Friendly’s since we lived in New Jersey (2005), so this was quite a treat. Wish you could have been there, honey.

My sister sent this cute photo of her and her husband toasting my husband. She doesn’t say what they’re drinking, but I’ll guess some sort of Pale Ale for him and cranberry juice with vodka for her.

Thanks to everybody who has left comments on Bill’s blog. He has appreciated them.
07.26.09
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Nostalgia

Fencing is an expensive sport, especially at the beginning when you have to buy the equipment. And when you have two beginners needing equipment, the outlay can be quite painful. For Christmas, the boys received all they needed to “dry” fence, that means to fence without all the fancy electrical equipment. They got a jacket, mask, sword, and a bag to carry it (they already had gloves). We spent more on them for Christmas buying that than we normally would spend on them in all. They didn’t get much else.

Now we’re moving them to an electric class which requires an electric sword, a body cord, and a lamé – a vest with metal filaments.

Ouch. I think I spent the same amount that I did on their Christmas package. And I guess one of them complained that the poking of the sword into the chest was uncomfortable, so the coach told them to get a chest protector. This plastic shield straps to the chest and costs so much that I wondered if it was bullet proof too. Personally, I think a painful poke in the chest will help make you a better fencer. It’s the Dodgeball method of improving your skills: If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball. If you don’t like getting poked, improve your parrying.

But besides the physical pain of buying the equipment, I didn’t expect the emotional pricks. My husband prefers épée, but when I met him, he was fencing foil because that’s what the team needed. My boys are fencing foil because that’s “classic” fencing where you really learn all the basic moves. Considering how much money I just spent, they will be fencing foil for quite some time. Their coach sized them up for blade length and decided that Fritz was ready for a full-sized weapon. We already own adult-sized foils. All I really needed was a right-handed grip. Grips are $5. Swords are over $100.

But I don’t know about the condition of my husband’s old equipment; I don’t know how to test or clean them; and I don’t know how to put them together. I sighed and not for the first time wished my husband were the one doing this or was at least just a phone call away.

I turned from blade selection to see Billy trying on a lamé. Suddenly, I was transported back nearly twenty years and there was a very young version of my husband suiting up for a bout. I don’t know if it was the way he zipped it or his demeanor or his physical appearance. But whatever it was, the memories of those early dating years rushed in for a brief moment.

Boy, do I miss this man.

07.22.09
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Tell me you love me

I happened to be up at 2 am, so I checked my email to see if there was a note from Bill. It is, after all, mid-morning by that time in Afghanistan.

Nothing.

I went back to bed, sulking. Why hasn’t he written? I mused in a pathetic manner.

Perhaps, I retorted to myself, because he knows it’s 2 am here, and that you should be sleeping and not checking email.

And when I woke up later, at a decent hour, there was, of course, a love note.

And thus my morning is glorious.

07.04.09
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Not sleeping through the night: Part Two

Bill hasn’t left the States yet. He’s down south standing in line, standing around, getting equipment and filling out paperwork. He leaves in a few days.

He called last night at 830 PM to say he and his group had just gotten to a restaurant. I asked him to call me later. {Aside: I think eating dinner so late at night is extremely unhealthy. It amazes me how quickly he reverts to such bachelor-like apathy for decent behavior.}

At 1030 PM I closed my book and turned off the light. I was snoring by 1031 PM. He called at 11. I don’t know about you, but I function much better after even two hours of sleep than after just 30 minutes. Had he been calling from a war zone I would have sucked it up, but as it was, I suggested that saying “I love you” merely 4 or 5 times would be sufficient until tomorrow. I was snoring again at 1103 PM.

He called again at 1130 PM. I love this man. Really, I must. It’s the only thing keeping me from becoming a raving lunatic.

Our filtering software was preventing him from logging in to the internet through the post barracks’ system. {Another aside: it’s 1130 at night – stop acting like a bachelor and go to bed. But, I digress.} So I got up out of bed to help figure it out. It’s a good thing I’m not an insomniac. I fell back asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.

Fortunately, the kids did not disturb me last night, although Little Miss Alarm Clock thought 430 AM was a good hour to get up. She’s been dancing around here since 5. But that’s okay. I function really well on 5 hours of sleep.

09.30.08
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In sickness and in health

Bill had ACL repair surgery yesterday. They gave him a femoral block, and advised me post-op to be sure to give him his Percocet every four hours for the first 24 hours. The block may wear off suddenly, and nobody wants to be up in the middle of the night screaming in pain. He actually attempted to decline his 8 pm dose, but I explained why that was not a good idea.

At midnight, it was his voice and not that annoying alarm that roused me from sleep. I fetched a bit of bread so he could take his medicine with food and leaned near his bedside groggily. I had that slightly sick feeling you get when awakened much too soon, and my primary thoughts centered around climbing back into bed as soon as he was done and trying not to faceplant beforehand.
He took my hand. “Happy anniversary.”
I smiled. It was the next day already, and he remembered.
He apologized for the less than ideal circumstances of this anniversary, our thirteenth. “I can think of no better way to spend it,” I murmured. Even half-awake, I had the clarity to appreciate this opportunity to love him, honor him, and serve him when he needs me. While it is nice to recall those heady days of courtship on a marriage anniversary, it is also fitting to remember those vows of commitment “for better or for worse.”
May these thought sustain me through the next few days and weeks as he recovers.
08.30.08
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How does he love me?

Let me count the ways…

I could list all the things I do for Bill to show him how much I love him, but that would be bragging. I could list all the things I love about him, but maybe on another blog post.

One bit of advice I might give to a married woman (only if asked for advice, of course) is to keep a vision in her head of her husband at his best. This vision will sustain her the 99.9% of the time he isn’t at his best. It is difficult, when angry or upset, to recall to mind nice things about that person who is driving you crazy, so it is a good idea to put into writing that vision, and then refer to it as needed (daily, perhaps).

Here are ways that Bill shows me he loves me. These acts contribute greatly to that vision I have of him, plus I want him to know that I appreciate them, even if I can’t always acknowledge it.

1. He makes the bed.
2. He never complains if he has to hunt for clean socks and underwear.
3. He eats whatever I serve him and is grateful.
4. He swaps his toothbrush head out for mine, so I don’t have to.
5. He never complains about the tidiness (or lack thereof) of the house.
6. When he did laundry after Mary was born, he carefully read and followed directions on all garments to ensure he did a good job.
7. He “pinch hits” frequently with various household chores like the dishes.
8. He takes out the garbage.
9. He brings me the baby in the middle of the night.
10. He re-tucks scared big kids into bed in the middle of the night.
11. He makes me drinks.
12. He immediately goes out to buy me a new microwave when I set the old one on fire.
13. He calls me a saint.
14. He tells me I’m too good for him.
15. He tells me he doesn’t deserve me.
16. He makes his own lunch.
17. He tells me every “bad wife” story he hears so I’ll feel good in comparison.
18. He tells me I’m beautiful.
19. He gives me hugs.
20. He sits with me on my porch swing.
21. He puts together my porch swing, and takes it apart, and puts it back together again after our move as soon as possible.
22. He begs for my attention.
23. He tells me how happy he is that we are married.
24. He rubs my furrowed brow to remind me to smile.
25. He tells me that he can’t live without me, but that he wants me to die first, so that I don’t have to mourn him.
26. He sits with our reluctant student in the evening to help him finish the schoolwork he didn’t finish earlier in the day.
27. He calls me from work just to say he misses me.
28. He emails me things he thinks I would find interesting.
29. He asks my opinion.
30. He listens to my advice.
31. He goes along with my crazy schemes.
32. He welcomes my family for month-long visits.
33. He hangs pictures, curtains, shelves etc with precision and whenever I ask him.
34. He buys me chocolates.
35. He lectures the children if he thinks they are harassing me.
36. He never refuses a request for time without the children.
37. He supports and encourages me in my running.
38. He never complains or questions my spending of money.
39. He doesn’t get mad when I damage the car or get pulled over for speeding.
40. He laughs at my jokes.

Happy birthday, sweetheart. Thank you for everything you do for me and for our children.

08.21.08
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Because one day of tears isn’t enough

What a day.

First, there was the trip to Walter Reed in morning traffic which included more than 30 minutes of attempting to find a parking space in the below ground level parking deck (aka: the depths of hell). In utter frustration, I finally gave up (we were now very late for the appointment and even had I found a spot at that point, I knew it would take me another 20 minutes to schlep 6 kids around and locate the office we needed).

Back at home, Bill called from Arkansas to tell me that his flight overseas via Dulles was on time so we could meet for dinner during his layover. Instead of “Oh, honey, I can’t wait to see you,” he got something along the lines of, “I HATE THIS STUPID TRICARE SYSTEM THAT SENDS ME 15 MILES AWAY TO A PLACE THAT HAS NO PARKING SPOTS.” There even might have been ranting about old retired people who have nothing better to do than take up the few parking spots there are and sit all day chit chatting with other old retired people as they wait for their turn at the pharmacy (God forgive me). And I believe I concluded with, “No, I will NOT reschedule the appointment. I’m going to find a civilian doctor like we used to have.”

More thoughts on that another time. Civilians beware: government run health care is bad juju.

Then on to Day 3 of pulling teeth school for Fritz, normally scheduled for the morning, but brought to us today in the afternoon due to hours wasted driving around DC for no reason at all.

{sigh}

I am managing to keep my sense of humor for the most part. OK, I was near tears at the parking deck (not for the first time, I might add – it is, after all, the depths of hell). But I was able to grimly sit back and remind myself it’s just a doctor’s appointment for an injured knee. Nobody’s dying here, just go home.

Then, on to Dulles Airport, pick up Bill, find a restaurant, enjoy a meal, walk around the mall, sit down in one of their mini-living rooms they have instead of random benches (quite nice, actually), and watch the other large families walk by. It would have been altogether wonderful except that everybody seemed to have this ominous weight hanging over their heads like a death sentence: Daddy is leaving.

He’ll be back on Tuesday morning.

I love my husband. I’ll miss my husband. But, come on. It’s not even a week.

When we returned him to the airport, the crying was dramatic. Even the baby was wailing, but she was just unhappy about being in the car seat. It was so bad that I wondered why I even bothered to do it. Why go through all the tears and the angst and the heartbreak? Is it worth it for just a few hours of family time, a shared meal, a hug and a kiss? Is it?

Without a doubt: yes.

As we drove home, Billy started in with the what ifs? What if the plane crashes? What if bad guys take over the plane? What if dad dies?

We know not the day nor the hour. It could be on a plane today or the highway tomorrow. It could be next year or not for decades. But let me not put off a few hours of time together because I didn’t want the pain of another goodbye.