Flushing It Out

Well, whew! It's nice to know that yesterday's melancholy vent was a result of undiagnosed PMS.

Now that I'm down with the menses, I feel normal again. I've really got to see a professional about this PMS shit. It is getting ridiculous. Speaking of fears, if my PMS is this bad, can you imagine how bad menopause is going to be for me. And, well, of course for my family. But mostly for me!

You know, I have always thought that it's not really depression if you have something to really be sad about. It's not an anxiety disorder if you have real reason to be anxious.

I don't think much about what my husband is doing in Afghanistan. I didn't think much about what he was doing in Iraq. You can't think much about it and function on a daily basis. You have to put it aside. I'm good at that.

But that doesn't mean that my real knowledge of the situation isn't buried deep.

Before he deploys he tells us how he is going to be doing pretty much the same thing over there that he does here. Office work. And that he'll be just as safe. But when he gets home, little stories come out. Plus, when I stop my self-imposed moratorium on all war related media, I stumble upon other people's stories.

It is both much worse and much better over there than I think I imagine.

The first week he was gone I had a terrible cold. The second week, terrible PMS, apparently. Giving myself a break for not living up to my own high expectations has taken the pressure off. And writing out all of my very worst feelings yesterday helped to clear my mind too. (And so did your very sweet comments. You guys are the best! This is why I can't give up blogging.)

Today, the kids and I had a great morning. My son cruised through violin practice and my daughter actually got her hair clean in the shower (a real and true miracle, I'm telling you).

I blew my daughter's hair dry without tears. Hers or mine. I got my son into a pair of dress pants that fit him. And we got him into a tie without any strangling. It's school picture day.

My daughter is taking origami classes at school this month. As she got out of the car this morning, her box of finished origami projects went flying. And her brother went running all through the car pool lane to catch them and pick them up for her. All while she cried, "No buddy! Be careful! Buddy, come back!"

(She really does call him Buddy.)

The whole incident made me smile. They're good kids who love each other. Enough to risk getting hit by a car for the sake of a few precious bits of folded paper.

I haven't messed them up too bad.

And this afternoon I joined my daughter for lunch at school. It was chicken pot pie. Yum. I have always loved school food.

I talked to other moms and was, like, completely normal.

To top it off, tonight's violin classes are canceled due to flooding. Woo hoo.

As long as we don't float away here I feel like it is the start of a very good change. I'll flush out my bad feelings as I flush out my unused womb.

And then I'll worry about cleaning the house.

Confessions

I'd love to tell you how well we've been doing for the last two weeks. I'd love to be one of those military wives who is all sunshine and strength.

But the truth is that I'm about 45% sunshine and strength. And about 55% frustration, sadness and weariness.

When it comes right down to it, we're fine. The kids are really fine. I'm pretty fine. My husband seems pretty much not fine.

I'm a little afraid though. I'm seeing some scary signs.

In these last two weeks since my husband left on his deployment, I've been seeing some tiny glimpses of just how bad things could get, if I let them.

I'm seeing the very first signs of depression. I've been sleeping during the day and not at night. I've been letting things go, like housework and volunteer work. I've gotten way behind and the scary thing to me is that I don't care. But I've been completing the tasks that really have to be done and taking care of the kids.

I haven't been wanting to leave the house. I'm not lonely. In fact, the scary thing is that I'm not lonely at all. I just don't want to be around people. What I think of as shyness has escalated. I've been turning down invitations. I haven't been returning phone calls, even to the bug guy. All because I don't want to talk to anyone.

My biggest fear has always been that I would turn out to be clinically depressed. Or agoraphobic. The agoraphobia is something that has worried me since I was a kid and my parents took in my cousins while my aunt was treated for agoraphobia.

I'm feeling a little down. I'm feeling like I need some alone time. I'm feeling typically shy. But I'm a little freaked at how easily I could let that slip into depression, agoraphobia and a social anxiety disorder.

So last Friday I decided to take the kids on a little surprise weekend trip and left the messy house and my big, enticing bed behind.

Last night I washed the dishes. I did laundry. This morning I took out the trash.

Those are little things, but they have helped me feel better. It's not hopeless. I can claw my way out of this rut.

Today I am going to go to the post office and mail my husband a package. He's cold there. He needs a warmer blanket and some sweat pants. It will be the first time in two weeks I've done something that wasn't just for the kids.

And then I need to decide. Am I better off wallowing for a bit, pampering myself and saying to hell with it all. Or should I push myself.

Right now, I just want a nap.

Layover

Okay, I take that back about my man being officially in Afghanistan.

Apparently, he got bumped from a flight (Who knew the military bumped service members?) and is stuck in some Russian blah-blah-i-stan country for the week.

He's sharing a bunk bed with a Marine Master Sergeant.

Yes, the "top" and "bottom" jokes are endless. Let's not go there, eh?

Blue Star Flag Hung Again

I've been wanting to write for a while.

You see, I saved this little outdated, naval-gazing thing called a blog for just this purpose. So that when my husband was deployed, and my alone hours stretched far and long, I'd have an outlet.

And he'd have one more way of keeping up with us and what is going on in our lives, from a different perspective. He says I'm much different on my blog. He gets more, or maybe a different part to the story than I tell him in e-mail or on the phone.

But, it's been so long since I've written, I forgot my user name and password. It took me a few days to remember. Hell, there was a time in my life when if you suggested I might forget my blog user name, I would have laughed at you. "Impossible," I would have said.

Now, well, blogs are so 2004.

So my husband is officially in Afghanistan.

It's fine.

Yesterday was totally fine. Today kind of sucked. We're tired. Ridiculously tired.

I've been waiting for this deployment for so long, now that it is finally here, I'm not sure how I feel. Except tired.

And I need to make a to-do list. For months I've been putting off doing anything that wasn't immediately necessary, telling myself, "I'll get to it when he leaves." But now that he's gone, I just want a rest.

So, the Blue Star flag is hung in our window once again. And we take on a day-by-day approach to life. And the days march by in relative peace and happiness.

2 down. 178 to go.