Military Mom Part Seven: Q & A

Note: This is the sixth in a series of sporadic posts about this military thing happening in our family (one son in the Army; one joining the Marines). How many Military Mom posts will there be? No idea. But more than six.

Once again, the Question Box on my desk is overflowing, this time with questions concerning the military thing going on in our family.  I will attempt to answer some of these questions here.

Q:  How are you adjusting to having only one child at home?
A:  Well, it depends.  While there are some pluses (less laundry and fewer mouths to feed), I don't know how to cook for 5 people (Husband and Youngest each count as two) when I previously cooked for 8-10 people.  Definite learning curve there.  Honestly, I would take the mountains of laundry and the constant grocery shopping in a heartbeat.  Plus, we still have 3 dogs. :-)  Seriously, some days are better than others.  Some days are just downright difficult.


Q.  At least you don't have to go months without communication.  I mean, you get phone calls, right?
A.  Let me be clear: I am VERY thankful for technology.  It's generally about every other day or so that we get to at least touch base with our soldier through a social networking site.  We have been able to use Internet phone calling, but I would hesitate to call it a great way to communicate.  A typical Internet phone session is something like this:

 Connection (after numerous tries)

About 15 seconds or so of being able to see him on live video

Reconnection

No video of him, though most times he can see us

10 or so minutes of us talking and him typing (his situation is such that he can't talk and must communicate through his keyboard)

Reconnection

15 or so minutes of us trying to catch up (again, he is typing--we haven't heard his voice since May)

Goodbyes

Several minutes of sadness

Again, I am VERY grateful for the technology we do have.  It's far from glamorous, but we will take what we can get.


Q.  How do you communicate with your Marine?
A.  Well, our FUTURE Marine is still in Boot Camp and has little control over his own life.  We have received letters from him and think we may get another phone call soon.  He seems to be doing well and is certain this is what he is supposed to do.  I know this:  This kid was born to be a Marine.  Watch out, world. 


Q:  What can we do to help?
A:  Pray, pray, pray.  Every single day, every single minute, the brave men and women of our military are placed in harm's way.  They are asked to pay a high price for the freedom and safety of the people of the United States.  Most of them have left families to serve this country.  It is a high price that has been paid in the past and is being paid now.  Please do not take that for granted.  Be thankful there are those willing to serve.


Q.  How are you able to stand it?
 A.  We have our faith.  We have a great support system of family and friends.  We have social networking and Internet phone calls.  :-)

Our family and friends not only pray for and love on our boys, but they pray for and love on us, too.  We have felt the loving support of those who live near us, and of those who live far away.  Even more importantly, however, is that our sons are feeling the prayers and love.  And we know that God loves these boys even more than we do, which seems difficult to fathom, but we know it to be true.

Q.  Are you tired of sending packages?
A.  Absolutely not.  While standing in line at the Post Office, I almost always get into a conversation with someone who sees my military flat rate box and asks if I know someone in the service.  I take that opportunity to tell them about my soldier and my future Marine.  They always, always ask me to thank my boys, and they always thank me for raising them.  I can't take the credit, but it sure makes my mommy heart proud.

Q. What are you going to do when they come home on leave?
A.  Well,  I'm pretty sure I'll cry.  There have been predictions that I will permanently attach myself to them and follow them everywhere they go.  I'll probably cry.  I'm pretty certain I will peek in on them several times a night, just to remind myself they're here, and I'll cry.  I will bake tons of cookies, do lots of laundry, laugh like crazy, and cry as they tell me their stories.  Then, when it comes time to say goodbye again, I will take them to the airport, hug them, cry, and drive back home with an empty feeling again.  I will look around at the remnants of their visit, I will pet their dogs, and along with Husband and Youngest, we will share some difficult days.  Our God, our family, and our friends will once again rally behind us, and we will get through the next phase of one son's training and one son's tour of duty.  We will repeat the process as many times as necessary for our sons to fulfill their obligations.  And we will cry.


Q.  Will you please tell your boys thanks for us?
A.  I will.  And you just did.

Thanks to all of the men and women protecting and defending this great country, and to the families who are supporting them.  God, please bless the United States of America. 

Well, You See, There Was This Blizzard ...

FYI:  This is a blog post I wrote back in February but never actually posted it.  (We were more than just a bit busy back then.)  As I was doing some clean up today, I ran across this and decided to go ahead and throw it on the blog.  Plus, it's just plain fun to look at that much snow right now when it's been so hot here.

Blizzard 2011 is in the books.  Don't get me wrong, there is still plenty of snow around.  Parking lots still have huge piles of the white stuff. In fact, there were numerous high school students who didn't have places to park this week because snow piles have taken up about 100 spaces.  There is still snow in our driveway where the snowplows continued to pile it up behind our teenager's truck.  And our house faces North, so ice and snow are still present on our roof.  But the blizzard itself, the Dale's-car-couldn't-make-it-through-the-snow storm, the we-missed-three-days-of-school storm, the businesses-were-closed-and-streets-were-deserted storm, that storm is over.

I took some pictures, and there is certainly a lot of snow in the pictures.  But as I looked at them today, the snow doesn't seem as deep or dangerous as it did last week.  And you certainly can't tell from the pictures how cold it was.  A quick picture, a snapshot of a moment in time, does not give you all the information you need to really know what is going on in that situation.

I think we too often settle for snapshots of people's lives.  We catch up with a friend at the grocery store, we see a friend smiling at church, we read a status update on a social connection website, and we think we're all caught up on what's going on.  What if those snapshots don't tell the whole story?  Is what your friend shared with you at the grocery store really the most significant thing going on in her life right now?  Can a smile be a cover for a hurting heart?  Are your friends really that real in their status updates?

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not advocating that we share every intimate detail of our lives with everyone we know.  And the grocery store isn't really the place to purge one's soul.  I'm just saying that we cannot believe we know the depth of the pain, joy, loneliness, anxiety, heartache, exhilaration, etc. that someone is going through when we catch up in snapshots.

I made a commitment to be transparent in meaningful ways, and the blizzard reminded me of that.  I sat and talked with my mom for hours (well, we giggled a bunch, too), I spent time with my soon-to-be-gone soldier, I watched TV with my 2 younger boys, I even had a day with Dale home in the middle of the week.  I was reminded, once again, of what really matters to me:

I just cannot believe that any amount of money I ever make or work I ever do will be as important as the relationships I have in my life.

So there it is.  No great revelation, nothing I haven't said a million times.  Just another tool God used to remind me about what is really important ... and what really isn't.

Help Me, Rhonda

If you've never given your car a name, you may not understand this at all.

She was likely never beautiful.  It's not that outward beauty is the most important thing, because it truly is not.  But by the time she came to live at our house, she wasn't even remotely pretty.  Regardless, two of my sons have loved her with a commitment that bodes well for future marriage prospects.  Rhonda, the 1995 Ford Ranger who came to live with us five years ago, has finally waved the proverbial white flag and said, "I'm done."

She was tough, for sure.  Though not equipped with four-wheel drive (let's face it--she was barely equipped with four wheels), she went mudding with the big trucks. And pulled others out of their stuck spots. And squired around loads of all kinds of crud.  And I have a sneaking suspicion her bed was a makeshift cooler on more than one occasion.

After coming to live with us, she survived all kinds of abuse and neglect.  Her headliner was spray painted black.  She sported no less than 4 different gear shift knobs (the most recent wasn't even a knob--it was a leather glove with duct tape around it).  And she was on her last leg for the last 3 years.

But she hung in there.  She started every morning when I just knew that wouldn't happen.  She kept plowing through the snow even though her tires were bald (there was no way we were going to spend a bunch of money on tires when she was going to die any day).  And then, suddenly, when we were ready to go ahead and buy tires, she died.  Her clutch just plum wore out.  She gasped as if to say, "Hey, enough already."

Hopefully, she will have a new home in a few days.  I hope she brings as much joy to her next owner as she did to 2 Duncan men.  Rhonda, these boys loved you.  Thanks for never flipping over and never hurting my boys.  You were good to us, Rhonda Ranger.  Thanks for everything.

By the way, sorry about the mixed messages on your windows and bumpers.  The Army soldier and the future Marine had a decal war, and you lost.  Then again, maybe that's why you held together so long.

So long, old girl.  Thanks for the memories.