My sister’s husband left for Iraq a little over a week ago. Pray for them.

“Send me a picture of Bill,” I said. She married a guy named Bill, too. Makes things easy for my Dad. “I want to keep it out so I see him all the time and remember to pray for him all the time.”

So she sent me a picture of him taken as he and his unit were leaving.

“Why is Uncle Bill carrying a gun?” asked one of my sons.

“Because he’s in the Army,” I said in my Duh-voice. It’s funny. My boys play Army all the time. They even argue about whether or not the General would be carrying a gun, and frequently discuss which war they’re fighting in for the tactical nuances in their games. But for them, and for most of us, we forget that it’s real people who carry real guns and go off to fight a real war.

Yesterday we went to the pool at the Officer’s Club. The kids couldn’t help but notice the man with one leg who went to the lap pool for a workout. “Did somebody cut off his leg, Mommy?” asked Peter. The older kids accepted my explanation that he lost it in the war, but Peter is too young for that. I just agreed that someone had cut it off because it was broken.

…real people…real war…

Bill flies to Atlanta today. Last night I asked him, “Are you flying in civvies?”

“No, I’ll go in uniform.” And then he explained how the Army thinks it’s good for regular folks to see them.

“Well, if you see somebody do this (I put my hand to my chin and then extended my arm – the ASL way to say “Thank you”), it’s not meant to be an obscene gesture.”

But my husband doesn’t need a thank you. He doesn’t feel he’s doing anything heroic. He’s just a guy doing his job. And even though he wears a uniform, he doesn’t carry a gun to work.

{As an aside, please feel free to participate in the Gratitude Campaign. Believe me, that soldier may just be doing his job, and may not have ever deployed, but it’s not just an ordinary job. It does deserve a thank you.}

Last month, Bill flew from Virginia to Ohio to meet me and help us drive the last leg of our trip to our new home. He was in normal, everyday, vacation clothes. There were two soldiers in uniform on his flight, one sitting near him. The stewardess offered the soldier an empty seat in First Class, but the man, of higher rank than my husband, declined. “Give it to somebody else.”

Like my husband, he probably gets embarrassed at thank yous. Like my husband, he probably recognizes that there are many others who have done more, sacrificed more, suffered more, lost more, deserve more.

Like the man with one leg.

Like those in harm’s way right now.

Like the family members left behind to wait and worry.

Real people. Real war.

Real heroes.

If you read nothing else today, read this.

Many thanks to Kristen for sharing it.

Boy: Are you calling me a liar?

Girl: No-oo. If I were calling you a liar, I would say, ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire!’

Please pray for Sarah and her unborn child. Sarah’s water broke and the baby is not yet 24 weeks gestation.

To Jennie’s Beloved.

We did finally make it to Virginia, and we are getting settled, slowly.

I’ve had a few moments of utter discombobulation when I couldn’t tell you what state or what time zone I was in. The layout of the house is a bit confusing, too, especially at first. But over the past six days we’ve gone from frozen pizza cut with dinner knives served on paper plates to tacos made the way I usually do it (okay, I bought the package of spices instead of using my own blend, but that was a recent change) served in serving bowls to regular dinnerware on a table covered with my favorite cloth.

The main possessions are unpacked, and, perhaps, this coming week, I may be ready to start hanging curtains and pictures on the wall.

There are a few missing items that I’m eager to locate. I have a lamp shade, but have no idea where they would have hidden the table lamp itself. Jenny is missing a baby doll, and I know I didn’t do anything with it, but we’ve emptied every box labeled “Girls’ Room.” And most urgently, I would like to find where they put the little brackets that hold the shelves on our three heavily loaded bookcases. I could have the living room looking very nice in a short hour if only I could put the books away.

Unpacking may be a lot of work, but in a way it’s a bit like Christmas. To open a four foot tall box and see a hundred individually wrapped items is like finding a treasure box. All my kids have enjoyed sitting and unrolling drinking glasses, coffee mugs and an occasional vase.

And despite all my efforts to downsize before moving, I have a tendency to reserve a few things that I might need. You never know if that shelf or cabinet or soap holder might be useful or just the right touch for a bare corner. But now that we’re here, I’ve already looked up the Amvets number and can not wait for the opportunity to call them for a pick up. I just don’t want to make them come twice, so I have a bit more work to do.

Off to hunt for brackets, coax juice into a feverish tot, and grill steaks for a dinner salad.

Every talented and proficient employee was, at one time, a newbie.

Today, our internet and cable installer was on the wrong side of the learning curve. We were, in fact, his first time.

Just remember, those “average” installation times are really “averages.” For every talented and proficient employee who does it in two hours, there are a few installation virgins who take seven.

In an hour or two, the packers should be here, opening every drawer and dumping every personal item into boxes. They will dutifully wrap individual wooden blocks if nobody stops them, but then drop a Stetson hat in the bottom of a box and dump boots on top of it.

{sigh}

I’m not as ready as I was last time. But it will all get moved. I had a difficult time maintaining my composure yesterday, since I really wanted to scream and cry and lock all the children in a soundproof room so I wouldn’t have to hear their whines and I could actually get stuff done. And there was a moment there, when my resolution for the month was in serious jeopardy. But I took a deep breath and explained to my husband that if he interrupted my laboring one more time to show me something neat he unburied from his desk, I was going to lose it. He backed off, and I calmed down.

Now I’m off to put my clothing in a special “DO NOT PACK” room, otherwise I will spend the next week and a half wearing the same thing every day.

Everybody’s moving. And everybody’s cleaning out their homes. The drop-off shed at the thrift shop is overflowing, and the curbs are lined with all sorts of treasures. If you’d care for a nice oak table, about the size of a desk, there’s one in front of my neighbor’s house. It looks to be in good condition. It’s just missing it’s legs, lost during their last move.

I’ve only retrieved one thing from a trash pile: a half dozen black metal stakes with hooks on the end meant to hold a potted plant in your garden.

I am grateful, though, to be the recipient of many neighbors’ generosity. The neighbor with the garden hooks has also promised me a large, inflatable pool – a good size for my bigger kids.

Another neighbor gave me a backpack to carry a kid just like the one I had when Bill was deployed and I had to mow my lawn while pregnant and while keeping an eye on three little kids. I would put Katie in the backpack. That backpack became faded by the sun and ripped from years of use. This same neighbor also gave me a pair of doggles. Greta is starting to have clouding on her eyes, and my neighbor said she’ll need sunglasses because the eye drops she’s sure to be prescribed will make her eyes sensitive. Greta does not appreciate her kindness.

I haven’t even told Bill about the nice white cabinet another neighbor offered. She got it from yet another neighbor who has given me tons of school supplies and clothes that fit Billy. Sometime this weekend, Bill will have to carry that cabinet over here just as he had to bring over their dark green leather sofa a few weeks ago. If I were buying a leather sofa, I would have picked a dark brown. But a free dark green one is very budget friendly.

I’m doing my part to help the local free-trade economy. Children’s clothing in excess of my needs has been parceled out to different neighbors with appropriately aged kids. The rest is off to the thrift store. And I’ve been happy to donate or loan out school materials and reference books to one neighbor who will begin her homeschool adventure this fall with her three school-aged children plus one preschooler.

Despite all the trading and giveaways, there are always times you can’t find a good new owner for your unneeded things, and so they end up on the curb waiting for scavengers. So, if you’re in eastern Kansas and you’re looking for a deal, Fort Leavenworth is the place to be.

…I’m just glad it’s over.

And, yes, shouting “GOAL!” while sitting next to your sleeping baby will wake her up and will annoy your wife.