Chris and Miss

One of our November traditions is watching A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, which is my favorite of the Peanuts movies- although I do tend to laugh outloud when the kids are “practicing” for the play during the Christmas special.  Wouldn’t it be great if Thanksgiving dinner could be served by a beagle and bird on a fold up ping-pong table in the backyard, and all we had to cook were popcorn and toast?  I suppose many of us are like Peppermint Patty and would be saying, “This is it Chuck, where’s the turkey and the pumpkin pie?”  Growing up, there were a lot of Thanksgiving weekend traditions that could be counted upon: my Dad and brother watched football, my Mom or Grandma always made a huge dinner with all the works, my siblings and I each looked forward to shopping the day-after-Thanksgiving-sales until we actually got to the mall and then realized that we totally hate shopping, my stepdad, John, always had a list of games lined up for us to play after pumpkin pie, and finally, each of us took a moment after sitting down at the dinner table to share what we were thankful for.

This year, I will be spending Thanksgiving with Chris’ extended family, who always make us feel welcome for holiday meals.  I am certain there will be a multitude of foods to choose from- none being toast or popcorn.  Furthermore, my children nor I will set foot in a mall on Black Friday.  So, I guess all that’s left is to share what I am thankful for over the past year- besides food, shelter, clothing, the love and support of family and friends, and days where there is no traffic.

My husband:  Chris and I celebrated our twelfth anniversary in July…shocking, I know.  For those of you who knew us back at Gonzaga, I’m sure you can ascertain that the beginning of our relationship was not pretty and without a speck of the lovey-dovey stuff of Hollywood movies.  Maybe that’s why we’re still here, and why we work.  Neither of us is perfect, and only one of us is ever right- I’ll let you decide which one of us you think that is.  But in all honesty, he is my favorite person- aside from our children, of course.  He is funny, affectionate, and he usually gets my jokes.  Lately, we have been able to communicate through skype, although the webcam rarely works.  Sometimes, I can see him but not hear him, other times I can hear him and the screen is fuzzy.  But I can’t really complain because it is validation that he is safe.  We have also found that instant messaging works wonders, and it is nice to be able to ask him a question and get an immediate response.  Now about this blog- I know that this is “supposed” to be a joint blog, with excerpts from each of us.  Here’s the thing, Chris doesn’t like to write unless he is completely inspired.  Apparently, right now, he is not.  So you are stuck with my blogging for the unforseeable future, with occasional updates on Chris, from me.  Apparently, nagging is much more effective when you are located on the same continent.  But everyday, I give thanks that I met him and that he found me interesting enough to put off studying with at GU.

The creativity of a six year old:  When Peyton was in preschool, he told his teachers that he wants to work at a Spiderman Museum when he grows up.  Yes, they read that aloud at the Mother’s Tea.  From the time Peyton was old enough to latch onto superheroes, he has been pretending to be one.  At two, he would sit in the grocery cart and pretend that he was zapping unsuspecting shoppers with his Buzz Lightyear laser.  At four, he used his two pointer fingers as lightsabers and consequently, each picture he is in from that time, shows him with a serious look and his two God-given lightsabers.  When he was five, he scaled along couches and our laminate floor, shooting webs out at anyone in his path.  Last summer, he wrote a book called “Food Attacks”.  The good guys were the foods he likes to eat and the bad guys were the foods he doesn’t like.  So basically, the good guys were Mr. Chicken Nugget, and a giant corn dog called The Toa.  The bad guys were Mr. Salmon, Mr. Green Beans, Mr. Potato, and Mr. Vegetable Soup.  The fact that the bad guys outweighed the good in number, proves to you that he is by far, our pickiest eater.  His creative spirit never ceases to amaze me, and I wonder everyday, when he is constructing a rocket out of a box and pillows, where it came from.  I also hope that he never loses it, because it is just- very cool.

The reading whiz:  So it has become apparent to me, over the course of the past year, that my eight year old, Madison, is reading books that I read in the fifth grade.  Not only does she read them, but she seems to inhale them as though they are the most decadent dessert you have ever tasted.  I honestly, cannot keep up with her.  I take her to the library to check out books and we don’t see her until dinner time, at which point I practically have to rip it out of her hands, so that she will eat with us.  She just finished reading the Trumpet of the Swan, by E.B. White, and she could summarize to me what each chapter was about.  Not only is she an amazing reader, she loves to write, as well.  She has written an entire set of chapter books about a Bunny and a How-to-Book about caring for a puppy.  Now, if only I had referred to that when we bought Macy…  At the rate she is going, she will be reading Julius Caesar in the sixth grade-”et tu Brute.”

Giggles, hugs and kisses:   Allison is our baby, and I am completely infatuated with her.  She has dozens of facial expressions, loves kisses, and can make even the crankiest school-ager laugh.  She likes to fake cry, pull the dog’s fur, give people her “evil eye”, tease her siblings by taking the pencil out of their hand while they are doing schoolwork before running away with it, and climb up onto the table when I am reading the morning paper.  Her newest thing is to say, “Da-da bye bye.”  When I say, ”Where did daddy go?”  She answers, “Work.”  Oh, and she really likes the word, “apple.”  I am extemely grateful that she is healthy, and has started to gain weight again.  After multiple blood tests and that dreaded, failure-to-thrive talk, we finally discovered that she was severly anemic.  Apparently, the light skin was not an indication that I was destined to have a baby with my pale features.  So four months later- after an avoidance of cow’s milk, a kidney ultrasound, and iron supplements- she has finally surpassed twenty pounds.  She has also been granted the right of passage, to be forward facing, in the car seat.  She points to me and says “Mama” all the time, as if she is just realizing that I am in the car with her.

Quality Pediatric Care:   I’m going to come right out and say it.  The first pediatrician we took the kids to see when we moved to our area, was a complete whack.  I won’t go into details other than to say that Chris and I decided that having our children see him would be slightly worse than having them forgo vaccinations.  We found a different pediatrician, and he is not only good with the kids- he actually seems to like kids.  And let’s face it, a pediatrician who likes children, is always a plus.  Not only is he good with the kids, and lets them hold the stethoscope, and talks to them like they are human beings, but he is always there.  No kidding, I take them into the after-hours clinic, and he’s on call.  I take them in on a Saturday, and we see him.  He’s like a member of Grey’s Anatomy- always at Seattle Grace.

Education and all that Jazz:   When I was in elementary school, one of my teachers yelled at our class for what seemed to me an entire afternoon, over a textbook that had been written in.  I still remember the look on her face, and the fact that it was the day before Christmas Break officially began, which I was immensly grateful for.  Now… I went to a Catholic school, where the same textbooks were used for years.  So technically, that book could have been written in five years prior, and it makes sense that no one fessed up.  I mean c’mon, we were no dummies, (although I was one of only two student in the class to pick the Miami Dolphins to win the Superbowl over the San Francisco 49ers.  Yes, the 49ers won, but I still believe that Dan Marino played a great game.)  I am happy to report that my children’s teachers are nothing like my third grade teacher at all.  They are kind, caring and smart.  They work hard everyday to bring out the best in their students, and my kids love them.  When Maddie and Peyton were having a difficult time adjusting to Chris leaving, the school counselor contacted me and met with them a couple of times, just to let them know that she was there for them.  I have been impressed by their school every day since Maddie started Kindergarten.  On a side note, Ally really loves her Toddler Gym instructor- especially when she sings the elephant song…

Lower Gas Prices:  Had you asked me eighteen years ago, as I was scraping the floormats of my Subaru Justy for loose change, if I would be excited to see gas below two dollars a gallon, I would have thought you were drunk.  Yet, here I was doing a jig with Ally when I paid $1.87 a gallon at Fred Meyer last week- score!

Gonzaga Basketball:  Chris and I used to go to the GU games over an hour early, with our friends, to get our favorite seat in the bleachers of the Kennel.  It was behind the press box, so that the Kennel Club and bouncy red-headed cheerleader would not obstruct our view.  Although we have yet to see a basketball game in the McCarthy Center, we are still avid followers of the Zags.  In fact, Chris’ seasonal affective disorder, usually kicks in right about when they lose out of the NCAA’s, each March.  

Medical Revelations:   I am coming up on the one year anniversary of my Celiac Disease diagnosis.  When I was growing up, we never ate a meal without a side of bread.  So you can imagine that when I found out I could no longer eat wheat, barley, or rye- I was pretty shaken up.  There have been many things I have missed over the last year- Pork Chop John’s when I was in Butte, a slice of pizza from Dominos, fresh baked French bread, birthday cupcakes.  But, I have enjoyed not feeling sick all of the time, and suspecting I was a total hypochondriac, for my ailments.  That said, I feel like a recovering member of Gluten-Addicts Anonymous.  I should be standing with a group of people in a circle of metal folding chairs saying, “Hi, I’m Missy.”  (“Hi Missy”).  ”I have been gluten-free for 364 days, twelve hours, and forty eight minutes.”  They would then applaud, and I would get a golden coin or bronzed loaf of bread.  The reality is so much less fun, but really; what other auto-immune disorder is?

Milestones:   Two days ago, the kids and I celebrated Chris’ Grandma’s 90th birthday with her, and the family.  This was the first ninetieth birthday party I have ever been to, and I thought it was pretty amazing.  Chris’ Grandma has always been really sweet to me, and I know that he wishes he could have been here to celebrate also.  So rock on, Grandma…

When we were in Butte last summer, we saw my Grandparents on their 58th Wedding Anniversary.  Fifty-eight years, fifty-six of those in the same house- that rarely happens these days.  I can only hope that Chris and I reach fifty-eight years, of course we’ll probably still be arguing over whether to watch the E channel or Sports Center.

Grace Mary:    While writing this blog, I received the phone call that I have been waiting for.  My sister, Kristin, gave birth to her fourth child, and first girl.  I am so proud to be an aunt again, and I can’t wait to meet our little Grace.  The fact that she came five days before her scheduled C-section, proving that she has a mind of her own and spontaneity, makes me love her already.  Congratulations Kristin, Chris, Jonah, Daniel and Micah!  I should also mention that I am thankful for my sister, Kristin.  She is my daily rock and confidant, and without her this deployment would be much more difficult.  I still remember the day she came home from the hospital, four days after Christmas, wrapped in a Christmas stocking.  I was so jealous- not of her, of course.  I was very happy to have a sister.  I was jealous, rather, of that Christmas stocking.  I wanted that stocking… I can still picture that stocking.  But either way, the person wrapped inside of it is a great sister, a wonderful mom, and a beautiful friend.  For that, I am thankful.

Every year Chris and I try to attend the Military Ball, which in my opinion, is nothing more than an adult Prom.  There are soldiers in uniform, women in formal dresses and uncomfortable shoes, a lot of shouts of “hooah” from the crowd, and overpriced food that always comes with a signature bread basket.  Each year I am given a rose complimenting the color of the Batallion Chris is in, and he is given multiple alcoholic beverages by his comrades, which he gladly accepts, knowing that I will be driving us home.  The formalities are always the same- Presentation of the Colors, the VIP table introductions, a message from the Governor (typically telecast on a powerpoint presentation), and a prayer by the Chaplain.  Despite the date on the calendar, nothing ever changes, except for the dress I am wearing.  And always, I find myself saddened at exactly the same moment- when our attention is directed to the Prisoner of War and Missing in Action table.

Each year, I turn and face this table with reverance, and find myself holding back tears, knowing that somewhere there is a wife who never got to go to one of these with her husband, and that there is a soldier who never got to see his children grow up, and that there is a child who is wondering if her Dad’s remains will ever be found so that they can give him a proper burial.  I always look at the table, set with water glasses that have been filled- as though these missing men and women will arrive at any moment to take a sip, and join in the fun.  Yet, they never do…

I was lying in bed the other morning, wishing that I was a part of my husband’s life right now.  But, you are- you might say.  You are getting emails from him and praying for him and raising your children so that they know he is still a member of your family.  But, what do I really know about his life right now, besides the fact that he is deployed to Iraq?  Absolutely nothing…  I don’t know what his trailer looks like, I don’t know what shift he is working, I have no idea what the last movie he watched was, or what book he is currently reading, I don’t know who he hangs out with, or if he has pictures decorating his workspace.  

What I do know is that- we are married- yet, we are currently living separate lives.  He has no idea that I was sick this past week, or that I stayed up late last night starting a new book, or that Maddie and Peyton’s first trimester of school ends this month.  He has no idea that our baby is cutting her last two-year-molar, or that I lose sleep worrying about him when I don’t hear from him.  I’ve never told him that I fear the doorbell ringing, because I’m afraid it will be bad news, or that I don’t like to travel because I don’t want to miss the Officer’s at the door.  He doesn’t know that my prayers are not only that he will come home to us, but that he will be the same person he was physically, emotionally and mentally, before he left.  I often wonder if my children will someday resent the sacrifices that they have had to make because we are a military family.  I feel jealous when I see Dads taking their kids to the park or helping them ride their bikes down the street.  I resent when women complain about their husbands arriving home late from work, because I wish that mine was just able to come home- no matter what the time. 

I don’t mean to vent.  I know that I am blessed to be married to a soldier in the 21st Century, with the luxury of emails and occasional phone calls.  I have an infinite amount of respect for the families of past wars, who waited weeks or months for a letter, and who didn’t have the luxury of computerized communication.  I reflected on the wives of these soldiers over Veteran’s Day, and the sacrifices and fear it must have taken to get through those deployments.  I almost feel spoiled by technology, and embarrassed by my frustrations. 

I am filled with pride that the man I am married to is now in a class of such esteemed individuals, who would risk everything to stand up for what they believe in and would fight for a country that chooses one day out of the year to recognize him.  For us, Veteran’s Day is not just a day off of work or school, it is a time to celebrate our sacrifices and to remember those that have given up so much so that we can live our lives comfortably and with freedoms that we all, at times, take for granted. 

I think of the soldiers and families who never got to say goodbye- and who wait for their loved ones with a set table, knowing that they may never come home.  Nothing I write will ever take away their grief or heartache, so I guess I can just say, thank you- your sacrifices should never be forgotten.