With Isaac recently home from Iraq, it is amazing how often his deployment comes up in conversation with absolute strangers.
I go to get a pedicure and a little grown-up pampering, and the women ask me if I’m getting ready for a special occasion.
We went to California to see family, and the airline agents and flight attendants all ask about our destination.
And the overwhelming response from people has been to thank us. Not just my husband, but also me for making the sacrifice of living without him. One family even paid for our dinner when we were out on a date. At an expensive Japanese Hibachi restaurant. And it turned out that the man had actually recently had to close his business due to the economy.
We’ve been exceedingly blessed and encouraged by strangers.
But when I was in California I went to a friend’s house. I was alone with her husband for a few minutes and the first thing he said after hi? Was criticism. There wasn’t even a “Glad Isaac is safe and home” or a “How does it feel to have your husband back?” before he started in…
“You know, I really don’t like the direction our military is going…” and he went on for a minute without giving me any chance to respond.
My friend came back into the room and we left, so I never said anything to him, which I’m not sure is good or bad. Because honestly, my opinion is this:
Complain to the lawmakers. Thank the men and women who risk their lives to ensure you have the freedom to complain.
But it does make me wonder. Why is it complete strangers who thank us and encourage us, and friends who attack unexpectedly?
One of the most interesting parts of Navy life is the chance to travel and experience life in other states and countries.
One of the most interesting differences between the states?
Roadkill.
See, in California as you’re driving down the road, you mostly see Fluffy and Rover from down the street.
In Maryland it was deer and groundhog.
Here in Mississippi? Armadillo and an alligator.
And while the Navy hasn’t given us any paperwork, it looks like we’re going to be moving to Louisiana soon. We drove there last week, and in the middle of Bayou Nowhere, what did we see on the side of the road?
A bear.
Join the Navy. See the world.
And its roadkill.
Are you ready for this?
Brace yourself because it’s not pretty.
Isaac wants me to wait to watch the rest of this season of Lost until it comes out on dvd.
Just because he missed the first part of the season while he was off in some foreign land defending his country for six months or something.
I’m thinking anyone would consider that grounds for divorce.
Three months.
We are half-way through deployment today, and getting ready to go to the big Over-The-Hump party.
I can’t believe it’s been three months.
A lifetime and a blink of the eye at the same time.
Chloe has learned to read.
Audrey has learned to sit up, crawl, wave and says several words. She doesn’t look anything like the baby you left.
Luke puts his own shoes on, buckles himself into his carseat and says, “No! I not a baby!” when I call him that.
Walls are painted and pictures are hung in the first house we’ve owned.
How in the world have we done it? How have we managed without you for three months?
Three more.
A lifetime.
Hopefully a blink of the eye.
Navy life as a 23-year-old with no children: Flying off to Mazatlan for the weekend because the ship is docking for a few days. Greeting your husband at the dock wearing beautiful, flowing skirt, him in his crisp, white uniform, reminiscent of Top Gun.
Navy life as an almost-30-year-old with three kids: Getting all the kids into the car at night in the rain by yourself to go to the store to buy a plunger because you either don’t have one or you still haven’t unpacked it after four months. Getting home and realizing that you have no idea how to plunge a toilet.
I’m livin’ the dream, people.
Livin’ the dream.
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