Before My Husband Leaves

In just two short months my husband will move to another state, becoming what the military calls a "geographic bachelor." He will essentially relocate the contents of his man room to a small apartment eight hours away. He'll be at school--not deployed--so I don't have to worry about him being in danger unless you count the occasional paper cut. We'll see each other most weekends, and we're already used to spending a lot of time apart, so I'm also not worried about losing touch or the spark of our honeymoon phase. If anything, more time apart will probably extend our honeymoon phase for an extra year. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, yes? But what I'm really a bit nervous about...what I really want to know is...who is going to open the honey jar?

I admit I've grown soft in my marriage, coming to depend on The Hubs to pick up the slack for all of the million tiny things I forget, am incapable of, or simple don't feel like dealing with. Things like fixing the cars, killing roaches, carrying our beer pong team to victory (because I'm definitely no help there), providing enough body heat for both of us during the winter months, and of course anything involving math. Visitors to my house will hear many requests for "man hands" to open condiments, lift things that are heavy, and reach things that are high. He plants the grass and mows the lawn, or at least is there to troubleshoot when my infrequent attempts at lawn mowing go awry. ("So, your hippie-dippie non-motorized push mower won't roll forward? It might have something to do with that big stick caught in the blades.") Don't think that it's a one-way street with The Hubs doing all the work; I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who has ever cleaned our toilets. But the point is, I rely on him an awful lot.

My standard reply, when man hands opens something on the first try after I've shredded my palms trying to do it, is "thanks," followed by "well, I loosened it up for you." It seems as though no matter how hard I try, it always takes one last touch from my big, strong hubby's hands to make everything turn out right. And I like that. It seems to be an apt metaphor for marriage. But the other day, when I wanted some honey for my tea and the lid just wouldn't budge, I passed it off to The Hubs. And instead of opening it with a mere flick of his wrist, he handed it back to me and told me to give it one last shot. And you know what? I got it. So I guess that's an apt metaphor for a military marriage. We will always rely on each other, and he'll be there when he can. But sometimes he'll have to pass everything back to me and I'll just have to make it work without him.

I don't know if he handed the jar back to me because he was sick of dealing with my feeble requests for help, because he just wanted to give me a confidence boost, or because he is slowly trying to prepare me to deal with life in his absence. But it seems to me that there are two ways of preparing for a separation, whether a deployment or a geo-bachelor TDY (temporary duty assignment). You can try to wean yourself off your spouse, taking on their jobs around the house and trying to figure everything out for yourself before asking them to step in. Or, you can sit back and let them help you out as much as possible now, because you'll be taking care of everything by yourself soon enough. If I'm feeling particularly lazy, I'm inclined towards the latter, i.e. "I'll be the only one cleaning the kitty litter box for nine whole months, so you should do it now even though you did it last time." But I guess a part of me does feel like it's time to slowly take on more and more responsibilities, testing out my self-sufficiency while I still have him here as my safety net.

What do you think is better: pulling away before he's actually gone, or keeping everything the same until the last possible moment?

Sarah

Que Sera, Sarah

It's no coincidence that my name fits in so nicely with this well-known phrase sung by the glorious Doris Day. It happens to be my personal motto. Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be. Or as I like to say, "toast is toast." It's a relaxed but confident, optimistic yet objective, tolerant and open-to-possibilities mindset that I tend towards. This is not to say that I don't make plans, have goals, try my best to reach them, or occasionally get stressed out. I just don't feel the need to know all the answers or hold grudges, and I generally feel like everything will eventually shake out the way it's supposed to. Not everyone can understand or agree with such a laissez faire attitude, but it works for me--in my approach to friendships and day-to-day problems, to religion and my relationship with God, and even when someone cuts me off on the highway. My family likes to tell this story about how, as a child, if someone made me angry I would booby trap my room out of spite so they couldn't come in. I'm all for funny and embarrassing stories from youth, but every time this one is told it really bothers me because the point of telling it is to demonstrate that I hang on to ill feelings with vindictiveness, and this is so contrary to who I actually am.

I've been thinking a lot about this lately, becoming reflective and self-assessing as my birthday came and went. And I can honestly say, with no egotism, that I really like who I am. When I think about how I treat people, how I treat myself, and how I spend my time, I realize that I am the person who I want to be. This was kind of a surprising realization, since that was definitely not always the case. I know that I needed to spend many years floundering and making mistakes in order to get here, and I know that I'm not done evolving. But for now, it's nice to have wonderful friends and family, a fabulous husband, adorable and goofy pets to pour love into, good health, and to know that I've finally found what I really want to do career wise. As I roll into my 27th year on this planet, I am filled an attitude of gratitude, and a sense of infinite possibilities.

Cheers,

Sarah

Miles to Go Before I Sleep

Monday afternoon, I sent off my last assignment of the semester (woot!) and hit the open road with one of my furry children. 450 miles, one outrageous gas tank fill up at a kooky country store, one human/canine potty stop, and about eight hours later, I arrived at my parent's house in Virginia. This semester has been so jam packed that I hadn't seen my family since Christmas, which is just way too long. The next morning, I went with my mom to her bowling league, out to lunch, ran some errands (and did some shopping for honeymoon clothes, in case The Hubs is wondering what that big charge was), and decided to drive back down south another 175 miles to my little sister's house. She had a baby this past October and I sorely needed to catch up on all the growth and development I've missed over the last five months.

After lots of baby snuggling, picture taking, the first margarita of the Cinco de Mayo festivities, and an...interesting night sleeping in a recliner, my mom and I headed the 175 miles back north (after adding quite a few extra miles searching for an IHOP; I was on a pancake mission). After a glorious nap to undo some of the restless recliner hours, we went to see my other nephews' chorus and strings concert. Afterwards, we went out to dinner and I thoroughly enjoyed margarita number two. Who cares if I'm not Mexican? I'm on vacation! And, dammit, I'm celebrating Cinco de Mayo all week. Ole'!

I got to sleep in this morning, and am going to see my two best friends tonight to catch up over some beers and live music (and margarita #3, if I have anything to say about it). Tomorrow is my nephew's baseball game, and hopefully spending some time with another great friend. Then Sunday is Mother's Day and a family barbecue, and Monday Ollie and I make our way 450 miles back to South Carolina, thus ending my whirlwind tour. Whew!

But right now it's time to add a couple more miles to my trip, by foot. My troublesome infected poison ivy is finally healed to the point that I can wear running shoes, and I need some way to justify my margarita habit :)

Cheers,
Sarah