As a result of a post I read here: http://bluechristian.blogspot.com/2005/09/life-of-army-wife.html , I wanted to take some time and reflect on my life so far as a Navy Wife.
The letter at Blue Christian paints a very negative story. And as I read it, I felt as though it were lifted up as a sort of, "See this is what it's REALLY like for military folk."
These are my thoughts today, and I will try to be objective.
Since Andy has been in the Navy life hasn't been particularly easy. We've been in a constant state of transition since we were married. We've spent a lot of time apart. We've not been able to be together for any birthdays, and few holidays. We've gone to sleep alone in beds far away from each other very frequently.
We've dealt with small things being blown way out of proportion: (I.E. The loss of a glove causing Andy and his shop to stay at work for most of two full days, the fear of Andy losing rank, and the temporary grounding of six planes).
We've dealt with the fear that Andy wouldn't be able to be with me for the birth of our daughter.
Our housing allowance didn't quite pay for the place we were renting for our first months in the Northwest.
I was sick for three months at the end of my pregnancy, and at times felt that my doctor just wasn't taking me seriously.
We haven't lived in one place for more than a year. We've moved a lot.
Our move from the Florida Panhandle to the Northwest was paid for mostly by us becuase they didn't recognize my move to Florida to be near Andy during training as valid.
That's a look at the bad.
Now comes a BUT. A BIG BUT. (I like BIG BUTS and I cannot lie... Do you believe I just typed that? Oh my...)
Because I am a Navy wife I've seen way more of the country than I ever thought I'd see. From Florida to the tippy top of the Northwest. I live on an Island of all things. I've seen mountains and beaches and met lots of different people. Heck! I might get to live someplace really cool for our next duty station--like Spain!
I have medical coverage that rarely requires I make a payment of any sort. I am very limited in what doctors I can see, but even there if I get a dud, I can change. I had a good doc in the Northwest, and I don't think a civilian doc would have or could have done a lot more for me during those three months of sickness.
I had a baby this year. I had a WONDERFUL labor and delivery experience at the military facility. My doctor was wonderful, the nurses were wonderful, the birthing room was beautiful. And... I didn't pay a cent for it.
I HAVE a housing allowance. My husband's base pay isn't spectacular, but with the housing allowance, we're able to make it.
I'm able to be a Stay at Home Mom to Carolyn without our finances being too strapped. Granted, most of our furniture is second-hand, and I don't go all out on decorating stuff, but we are still able to go out to eat occasionally, and buy frivolous things like DVDs.
We are in a financial position that was stable enough that we felt comfortable having a baby.
My husband WAS able to be with me when I had Carolyn. In fact, (and it doesn't always work this way), provisions were made so that instead of going on the month long detachment that he was scheduled for, he stayed back after C was born and went to a month long school. That meant he didn't get any leave time with C and I, but he did get to go to sleep in the same house as us for that time. (and this was after a very discouraging conversation with someone higher in the chain of command saying, "You will go to sea because that's what we do." Things looked terribly bleak, and then turned around)
When my Mom was referred to hospice, he got a morale call without even having to ask, or me having to call the Red Cross.
When my Mom was dying, and I made the Red Cross call, Andy's command did all they could to get him here to see her, and gave him enough leave time to see that I would be ok.
Some of this was luck. It doesn't always work out this well. We know that. We feel blessed, and we feel compassion for those who have do deal with births and deaths alone because of a deployment.
And as for the separations: In a word, they suck. They are hard. They are sad. They are scary. We miss each other. Adjusting at the end of them is difficult.
BUT
Because of them, we don't take the time we have with one another for granted. We cherish it as the gift that it truly is. We cherish each other. We don't leave things unsaid.
We feel empowered because we have faced many challenges (Navy related and otherwise), and we're still together, still in love, still gooey eyed about each other, even.
Distance doesn't always make the heart grow fonder...
But getting through adversity together (Even if not locationally) DOES.
I can't speaak for other people and their experiences. I can only speak about mine.
So far our experience as a Navy family has been difficult, frustrating, tiring, and stressful. But it hasn't been without positives. I don't know if we'll decide to continue with the Navy thing after Andy's contract is up or not. There are a lot of day to day frustrations that can weigh you down.
All I know is that this is where we are now. As I say to myself every day, "It is what it is," and all I can do is take it for what it is, and do what I can with it.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Friday, September 23, 2005
A Glimpse of Hope
There is a lot of bad news these days. Bad news about the economy, gas prices, massive hurricanes, war, on and on and on it goes.
And everywhere I turn it I find lot of pessimism about all of the above. Gas prices are killing us. People are so down and out. Things are awful. The world is out of control and we're all headed for disaster.
Today I was exercising at Curves. Because of Carolyn's daily schedule, the best time for me to exercise is mid-morning, also known as the time of, "The Old Lady Crowd." I have noticed that older ladies especially gravitate to these conversations of pessimism, talking about how awful things are these days, and how depraved the world is.
Today, I heard something different.
A lady who my family has loved for ages now, came in. I was delighted to see her, and said so. She came in during a very uncomfortable conversation about my mother and smoking *another story for another place* and then things shifted to the economy and how hard it is for people.
The ladies were lamenting the high gas prices and the cost of health care for those who are down and out, etc, etc, and it really seemed as though things were going to go down that hell-in-a-handbasket route, when suddenly Mary Allen said, "I don't know that it's as horrible as we think. I think that it may return us to our communities. We might start being together, living together, seeing one another."
I told her that was the most optimistic thing I've heard anyone say in a very long time. She was delighted at that compliment "coming from a young person."
In her words I caught a vision of hope--Imagine if she was right, if the awful circumstances hitting so many of us these days brought us together. If we started taking care of one another, watching after one another, paying attention to lives other than our own. Maybe if circumstanecs caused us to hunker-down and center in our society could actually be transformed from one of depravity, hopelessness, and cruelty that we see on the nightly news to one of love, and caring, and concern.
I know it's a long shot. Hope usually is. But for a second, I let myself grab onto that hope, and I stopped being so pessimistic.
It was refreshing.
And everywhere I turn it I find lot of pessimism about all of the above. Gas prices are killing us. People are so down and out. Things are awful. The world is out of control and we're all headed for disaster.
Today I was exercising at Curves. Because of Carolyn's daily schedule, the best time for me to exercise is mid-morning, also known as the time of, "The Old Lady Crowd." I have noticed that older ladies especially gravitate to these conversations of pessimism, talking about how awful things are these days, and how depraved the world is.
Today, I heard something different.
A lady who my family has loved for ages now, came in. I was delighted to see her, and said so. She came in during a very uncomfortable conversation about my mother and smoking *another story for another place* and then things shifted to the economy and how hard it is for people.
The ladies were lamenting the high gas prices and the cost of health care for those who are down and out, etc, etc, and it really seemed as though things were going to go down that hell-in-a-handbasket route, when suddenly Mary Allen said, "I don't know that it's as horrible as we think. I think that it may return us to our communities. We might start being together, living together, seeing one another."
I told her that was the most optimistic thing I've heard anyone say in a very long time. She was delighted at that compliment "coming from a young person."
In her words I caught a vision of hope--Imagine if she was right, if the awful circumstances hitting so many of us these days brought us together. If we started taking care of one another, watching after one another, paying attention to lives other than our own. Maybe if circumstanecs caused us to hunker-down and center in our society could actually be transformed from one of depravity, hopelessness, and cruelty that we see on the nightly news to one of love, and caring, and concern.
I know it's a long shot. Hope usually is. But for a second, I let myself grab onto that hope, and I stopped being so pessimistic.
It was refreshing.
Friday, September 16, 2005
Like a Child...
Tonight the thought at the top of my brain is: Being an adult is really lonely.
It is. As I've written elsewhere in this blog, this phase of life--after college, starting a family and/or launching into the career world--there are a lot of adjustments to be made.
I find that the biggest adjustment I have to make is the isolation and the pressure to be responsible. To pick up when I feel like letting the house stay in chaos. To struggle to be rational and stay constantly in 'perspective.'
I remember when I was a kid... If I felt sad, I was sad. If I felt happy, I was happy. If I felt bratty, I was a brat. I wasn't overly concerned about social graces, and looking back at some of the things I said and did, and some of the interactions I had, I'm mortified.
But tonight rather than being mortified at younger me, I'm jealous of her.
Thinking back over my life, I can almost trace the deadening of allowing myself to feel what I was feeling and really be vulnerable. I had the innocence of any small child. I started withholding a bit of myself in Jr. High and forming a shell of protection after I had that movie-magic moment of kids surrounding me on the playground driving pieces of who I was straight into the ground.
In High School, I was impulsive and guarded all at once like most teenagers.
In college... Well, college is like a rebirth of childhood in many ways. When I said that then, I meant it because I'd go out and sled and flop on my belly in the snow on Scott field, and I'd skip arm in arm with a friend, and I'd allow myself to sometimes be rambunctious and out of control.
But tonight I mean that the feeling of feelings erupted again--and I allowed myself to be vulnerable and sometimes that was part of being out of control.
And then I stopped. I think that was the moment that the magic of childhood ended... That pixie-like ability to play ring-around-the rosie around the rock on the schoolyard, and frolic like a faerie in a public garden died... That's when I 'grew up.'
But I remember that Jesus tells us that we can't come into the kingdom unless we are like children.
Could this be part of what he means? Could he mean that we are supposed to feel what we feel.. to be vulnerable? To be sad when we're sad, happy when we're happy, and brats when we feel bratty? To call our friends at 2 a.m. and say, "I need you," and collapse into a ball of tears at their feet? To call Him at 2 a.m. and say, "I need you," and collapse into a ball of tears at His feet?
Tonight. I think it does.
Lord, teach me to be like a child. Reawaken the magic. Embolden the feelings and the openess, and be near me when I cry, "I need you."
It is. As I've written elsewhere in this blog, this phase of life--after college, starting a family and/or launching into the career world--there are a lot of adjustments to be made.
I find that the biggest adjustment I have to make is the isolation and the pressure to be responsible. To pick up when I feel like letting the house stay in chaos. To struggle to be rational and stay constantly in 'perspective.'
I remember when I was a kid... If I felt sad, I was sad. If I felt happy, I was happy. If I felt bratty, I was a brat. I wasn't overly concerned about social graces, and looking back at some of the things I said and did, and some of the interactions I had, I'm mortified.
But tonight rather than being mortified at younger me, I'm jealous of her.
Thinking back over my life, I can almost trace the deadening of allowing myself to feel what I was feeling and really be vulnerable. I had the innocence of any small child. I started withholding a bit of myself in Jr. High and forming a shell of protection after I had that movie-magic moment of kids surrounding me on the playground driving pieces of who I was straight into the ground.
In High School, I was impulsive and guarded all at once like most teenagers.
In college... Well, college is like a rebirth of childhood in many ways. When I said that then, I meant it because I'd go out and sled and flop on my belly in the snow on Scott field, and I'd skip arm in arm with a friend, and I'd allow myself to sometimes be rambunctious and out of control.
But tonight I mean that the feeling of feelings erupted again--and I allowed myself to be vulnerable and sometimes that was part of being out of control.
And then I stopped. I think that was the moment that the magic of childhood ended... That pixie-like ability to play ring-around-the rosie around the rock on the schoolyard, and frolic like a faerie in a public garden died... That's when I 'grew up.'
But I remember that Jesus tells us that we can't come into the kingdom unless we are like children.
Could this be part of what he means? Could he mean that we are supposed to feel what we feel.. to be vulnerable? To be sad when we're sad, happy when we're happy, and brats when we feel bratty? To call our friends at 2 a.m. and say, "I need you," and collapse into a ball of tears at their feet? To call Him at 2 a.m. and say, "I need you," and collapse into a ball of tears at His feet?
Tonight. I think it does.
Lord, teach me to be like a child. Reawaken the magic. Embolden the feelings and the openess, and be near me when I cry, "I need you."
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Updates and Rambles
Ok, so I must admit that one of the biggest reasons I'm writing this post is that I just couldn't stand the fact that my over-sized photos mussed up the nice format here. I could resize the pictures and try again, but I'm on turtle computer, and I've been playing with them for two hours already.
So I'll tell you about things around here. The last couple of days have been really lovely for a few reasons, the biggest being that Andy is in port somewhere out there and has been able to call. He has been able to see some spectacular things: cathedrals, castles, really old houses... and I must tell you that I am so proud of my husband and the way he handles himself around folks who are doing things that we find to be a bit questionable. His honor and integrity got my attention way back before we were dating, and it makes me proud to be his wife today.
So far, I'm handling the deployment pretty darn well. In fact, I've decided essentially that there is no point in half-living even though my 'other half' isn't here. So... I'm doing what I can to enjoy each day for what it is. With a daughter as wonderful, and beautiful, and special as mine that's pretty easy. (I tell ya... Andy gets the short end of the stick on sights to see this year--The most beautiful Cathedral in the world doesn't hold a candle to Carolyn's smile). Of course there is plenty of dealing with what is in front of me as I am able to as well. With everything that I've had on my plate and that I am still processing through, that is a given. But that is part of fully living.
Today, Carolyn had her 6 month check-up and got her shots. She hadn't grown as much as I expected which worried me some, but I'm going to do the one thing I have practiced the most as a Mom--assume it's normal, and watch to be sure. She weighs 16 lbs. 10 oz. and is 25.5 inches long. I figure she's working so hard doing things like wiggling constantly and crawling that it's slowed down gain a bit. She is surely healthy and happy. She hasn't suffered too much with the shots yet, but last round the day after was the doozy, so we'll see how she does.
The air was cool, and damp, and fall-like today. It made me sad and excited all at once. Sad because we are leaving the last season I had with my Mom and I find myself clinging to any and every thing that makes me feel connected to her. And excited because fall is beautiful, and I get to experience it anew through the eyes of my daughter who has never seen it before.
Yes... life is full. And hard. And Good. And I am grateful.
So I'll tell you about things around here. The last couple of days have been really lovely for a few reasons, the biggest being that Andy is in port somewhere out there and has been able to call. He has been able to see some spectacular things: cathedrals, castles, really old houses... and I must tell you that I am so proud of my husband and the way he handles himself around folks who are doing things that we find to be a bit questionable. His honor and integrity got my attention way back before we were dating, and it makes me proud to be his wife today.
So far, I'm handling the deployment pretty darn well. In fact, I've decided essentially that there is no point in half-living even though my 'other half' isn't here. So... I'm doing what I can to enjoy each day for what it is. With a daughter as wonderful, and beautiful, and special as mine that's pretty easy. (I tell ya... Andy gets the short end of the stick on sights to see this year--The most beautiful Cathedral in the world doesn't hold a candle to Carolyn's smile). Of course there is plenty of dealing with what is in front of me as I am able to as well. With everything that I've had on my plate and that I am still processing through, that is a given. But that is part of fully living.
Today, Carolyn had her 6 month check-up and got her shots. She hadn't grown as much as I expected which worried me some, but I'm going to do the one thing I have practiced the most as a Mom--assume it's normal, and watch to be sure. She weighs 16 lbs. 10 oz. and is 25.5 inches long. I figure she's working so hard doing things like wiggling constantly and crawling that it's slowed down gain a bit. She is surely healthy and happy. She hasn't suffered too much with the shots yet, but last round the day after was the doozy, so we'll see how she does.
The air was cool, and damp, and fall-like today. It made me sad and excited all at once. Sad because we are leaving the last season I had with my Mom and I find myself clinging to any and every thing that makes me feel connected to her. And excited because fall is beautiful, and I get to experience it anew through the eyes of my daughter who has never seen it before.
Yes... life is full. And hard. And Good. And I am grateful.
Pictures, Pictures!
This is Ms. C at a rest stop somewhere in Montana--doesn't my baby just sparkle sometimes?
My adorable little crawler, doing the crawling thing. She's very good at it already.
We have ventured into the world of solids. Very exciting. Also--please note the new high chair. I assembled that all by myself, because I AM A NAVY WIFE!!!
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Good Thing I've Got Good Tennie-Shoes....
Cause I'm the Mama of a crawler as of today!!!!
She started crawling immediately after getting a nasty bump on the head... Maybe if she gets another bump on the noggin she'll start walking??? We're not going to find out.
Anyway... It's off to the races around here!
She started crawling immediately after getting a nasty bump on the head... Maybe if she gets another bump on the noggin she'll start walking??? We're not going to find out.
Anyway... It's off to the races around here!
Monday, September 12, 2005
Stumbling Through the Dark
I have a lot of trouble with what I perceive as 'Christian cliches.' Things like, "God spoke to me and said..." or, "God talks in a still small voice," or "God led me here."
It's not that I don't believe that God talks to us or leads us. I most certainly do. I just think many times when these phrases are uttered we don't really know what we mean or what we are saying. We're just talking in code because we're 'Christians.'
My problem with said alleged cliches is that I don't know exactly how they're fleshed out. And the vague sense that I have about how they may be fleshed out gets all confused when I start asking questions like, "How do I know that was God and not my own wants talking?" or "Does God really have an ultimate step-by-step plan for us that we can walk into or out of?"
My vague understanding of all of this spills into the areas of prayer and worship as well. A few years ago I thought I knew what both looked like. Now I feel clueless in both areas, and just know that whatever I do offer to God, I want to be real.
I mention all of this because it's heavy on my mind right now. Last week on our long journey out here I got a sense of direction of sorts that felt like a God moment--the type of God moment that I haven't had in a very LONG time. The type that I had almost written off as just being part of the Christian Code of Cliche.
I am left struggling to determine if said moment was a random daydream born out of my recent experiences, an emotional wish or sorts, something with hidden motives or...
was it God?
I know all of the normal litmus tests too: Does it line up with scripture? Is it Godly? Would it honor God? But even affirmative answers to all of those questions leaves a good deal of room for interpretation.
Experiences like this make me feel that I am doing nothing more than stumbling in the dark. And maybe that really is what I'm doing. Maybe it's all I can do--stumble in the dark, holding His hand, and trusting that He'll steady me if I stumble.
Maybe he's urging me to face this new direction.
Guess I'll face it and see what I stumble into next.
It's not that I don't believe that God talks to us or leads us. I most certainly do. I just think many times when these phrases are uttered we don't really know what we mean or what we are saying. We're just talking in code because we're 'Christians.'
My problem with said alleged cliches is that I don't know exactly how they're fleshed out. And the vague sense that I have about how they may be fleshed out gets all confused when I start asking questions like, "How do I know that was God and not my own wants talking?" or "Does God really have an ultimate step-by-step plan for us that we can walk into or out of?"
My vague understanding of all of this spills into the areas of prayer and worship as well. A few years ago I thought I knew what both looked like. Now I feel clueless in both areas, and just know that whatever I do offer to God, I want to be real.
I mention all of this because it's heavy on my mind right now. Last week on our long journey out here I got a sense of direction of sorts that felt like a God moment--the type of God moment that I haven't had in a very LONG time. The type that I had almost written off as just being part of the Christian Code of Cliche.
I am left struggling to determine if said moment was a random daydream born out of my recent experiences, an emotional wish or sorts, something with hidden motives or...
was it God?
I know all of the normal litmus tests too: Does it line up with scripture? Is it Godly? Would it honor God? But even affirmative answers to all of those questions leaves a good deal of room for interpretation.
Experiences like this make me feel that I am doing nothing more than stumbling in the dark. And maybe that really is what I'm doing. Maybe it's all I can do--stumble in the dark, holding His hand, and trusting that He'll steady me if I stumble.
Maybe he's urging me to face this new direction.
Guess I'll face it and see what I stumble into next.
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