Did you see this article about #sixwordwar – soldiers summarizing their war-time experiences in only six words?  So many of the submissions are fabulous:

“Four trucks out, three trucks back.”

“I’ll never be this cool again.”

“Never deployed, uncomfortable with thank yous.”

I spent this weekend writing my own six word summarizes of war from the domestic front.

“Quality family time: daddy’s on skype.”

“Mustn’t forget: child psychologist appointment today.”

“WTH? They won’t accept the POA?”

“Family Separation Pay doesn’t cover lawncare.”

“Valium? No thanks. I prefer vodka.”

“Every morning, check for strange cars.”

And I thought of some related to redeployment:

“A weight lifted from my heart.”

“Remember when? No, you weren’t there…”

Let’s not leave the war stories to just the soldiers.  I’d love to hear your own #sixwordwar experiences.

There is nothing alarming about waking in the middle of the night and sensing another person’s presence in the room.  George is too little to just magically appear in my bed, but Mary, and even on rare occasions Peter, will relocate to my room without waking me.  Sometime later, I may wake up and feel her there; perhaps I hear her breathing or some slight movement.

Bill was gone half of June, and he’s been gone all of July.  Just as finding a little person in my room in the middle of the night is normal, so, too, is not having him there in the bed.  I get used to rolling over and finding pillows.

Early this morning, though, I heard the baby crying in his crib.  As I roused myself, I felt someone else in the room.  Turning in my bed, I saw a body much, much too large to be Mary or even Peter.  I had a moment’s panic before I remembered picking my husband up from the airport late last night.

All is well.