My husband is remarkable and I need to take a few moments to praise
him. (And for the truly observant who notice the captain’s bars on his
uniform in this picture, it was taken the day he came home in 2007.
He’s since been promoted to major.)
Often when people find out he’s in the Army and has served in Iraq
they make a point of telling me to thank him. Usually it’s people who
have never met him, and they use words like hero. I agree, but not for
all the same reasons.
Ian’s is the ultimate stay-at-home-parent struggle in some ways. In
his job as an officer in the U. S. Army Reserves he has earned honors
for his contributions and accomplishments, including a bronze star for
his last deployment. He is one of the smartest, kindest men I’ve ever
met and exactly the kind of soldier we want representing us in a foreign
land. If anyone can find effective solutions for some of the problems
the Army faces, it’s Ian, so he deserves whatever recognition he gets.
But the really hard work he does is staying home with three kids, and there are no medals for that.
No one wants to shake my hand in awe when then they hear he stays on
top of the laundry and manages play dates and gets dinner on the table
night after night. My father took me aside during a visit to our home
once, and said, “Ian is amazing.” My dad admitted he wouldn’t have the
patience for handling Mona or keeping track of Quinn or negotiating
endlessly with Aden. Ian shouts more than he’d like (we’re constantly
explaining to the kids that they are teaching us to shout by not doing
what we ask the first 4 or 5 times when we ask nicely) and tells me
sometimes he wishes he could do better, but that’s just being human. He
has done the endless driving back and forth to school and has no
problem grocery shopping with all the kids in tow. He takes them to
violin lessons and choir and swimming and birthday parties and dentist
appointments and the zoo. He clips nails, gives baths and knows all
their friends’ names. He does all of this knowing at the end of the day
when I come home they will run to me and say they like me best. If the
situation were reversed I couldn’t handle it. I would find a way to
withhold ice cream out of spite, I’m sure. Ian just shrugs and says,
“YOU still love me, right?”
And I do. Ian is my best friend and the person I trust most in this
world. He’s smart and funny and he makes me feel beautiful even when I
haven’t bothered to run a brush through my hair. My day doesn’t feel
complete until I’ve had a chance to tell him about it, even if it’s just
to describe a funny scene I watched on The Office or to remind him we
need eggs. When he was gone for 15 months during his last deployment I
felt ungrounded. My days floated together in a way that was
unsettling. I felt less real. Ian enables me to be more myself when
we’re together. He clears obstacles from my path so that I can
accomplish more. He’s told me I create beauty that the world needs and I
should be given the freedom to do that. He made it possible for me to
go to violin making school, and our violin store would not exist except
for his hard work. Thanks to him I’ve built instruments, written
novels, and performed some wonderful music. Without him I’ve discovered
I turn into a cleaning machine and a nag.
I can’t stand that he’s leaving. He loves me enough that if I put my
foot down and told him to stay I know he would. The problem is I love
him enough not to do that. He has supported me in everything I’ve ever
wanted to do and has dedicated a good portion of his life to making my
dreams a reality. How can I not do the same for him? I don’t fully
understand the part of him that chose to be an Army officer, but I would
never forgive myself for denying him something that he found
important. I don’t want him to resent me or regret his decisions. I
want him to look at me and feel I help him be his best possible self. I
want to clear obstacles from his path, too. I love him and will
support him from home as best I can.
It’s going to be a long year.
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