Week Two, Wherein I Get Philosophical

I seriously hate when they want to sleep on the floor. And they seriously love when I let them. Sigh.

Week two is done and gone, and we are getting into a routine: kids to school, go to the gym, pick up Sally, pretend to clean but actually play Merge Dragons, pick up kids, do dinner, pretend to clean some more, go to bed. Things seem less scary and the kids are holding up like champs—they don’t even care when their dad calls, just like normal. Poor Buster has been sick for the past few days and even slept through an entire snow day. One of the things I have been worried about was if the kids got sick—I am so used to having W here to administer a priesthood blessing for healing and (mostly) my peace of mind. But I am realizing that the things I most dread, the things I most worry about are really a trick of the mind combined with my anxiety. We get through. That’s what we do.

 In the past, in fits of anxiety and panic I have railed against the notion of “that’s what we do.”  Why, I would sob, does God ask us to do this? We have the strongest marriage, and love each other the most—why do we of all people, have to be separated so regularly? Doesn’t God know how much it hurts? Surely there are other families who are more independent, who love each other less, who like each other less—can’t they be called to this? But more and more I realize that the military life is for us a calling. It’s what God wants W to do, and what he is exceptional at doing. And so is our family. My kids are so good at this life, the moving and making friends everywhere. Even Buster, who is the most like me, introverted and better at one-on-one interaction, is good at this life. And so, little by little, I am coming to accept that maybe that is why we are asked to do this: the fact that our family can do this is why we are asked to endure through separations. Maybe our sacrifice means that another family that isn’t as strong of a unit gets a chance to be together and strengthen those bonds.  (And maybe that family wants to send us a million dollars and some chocolates as a THANKYOUVERYMUCH.)

Speaking of a million dollars, I now owe my neighbors tens of millions. I spent all day Friday snow-blowing and shoveling and when I finished—literally on the last pass—the plow came by and dumped more into the driveway.  I started over again, finished up, and got the car out to drive to the post office because I was expecting a delicious package of chocolate covered cinnamon bears to arrive. And then I somehow slipped in the driveway and the back of the car got stuck in our grass. In about a six inch hole that I made trying to get it out. And so I sat in the car and sobbed. I begged God to just push the car a tiny bit. I got angry. I got despondent. And then I walked to the post office and got my packages*. I knew that later on this week the snow was supposed to melt and I would figure it out then.  And then my sweet neighbor showed up at eight PM with a tow rope and a “hey, did you mean to park like that?” And I sobbed because I had literally just finished asking God to help again. He worked for the better part of an hour and we got the car unstuck and went home and now I have to face the fact that the one thing I need to learn from this deployment is that I need to ask for help from actual living people, not just from God.  Basically I would rather be stuck without a car for nine months than to ask for help—not because I think I can do it all, but because I don’t want to be a burden and  I don’t want to disturb.  Here’s hoping I can just say “I’ve learned this one now!” and never have to put it into practice again. And while we’re hoping, let’s hope for spring to come.

*And as a complete metaphor for my life, my "you made it" present to myself turned out to be not delicious chocolate covered cinnamon bears, but instead I accidentally ordered disgusting chocolate covered gummy bears. (The kids were thrilled.)