AAAARRRrrrggggghhhhhh!

This is just a quick, anguished cry in the middle of the night to say that I worked for DAYS on a blog post about our trip to New York for Easter and right when I finished it tonight my computer blinked out and rebooted for no apparent reason and the whole post is GONE.  Gone gone gone.  I don't understand why Blogger only has the intro I started a week ago and not anything I hit "save" on since.  None of the photos or the links.  Nothing.

I have so little time as it is, and to have all that work disappear making that writing effort a waste....   I don't know if I have the energy to write it all again.

Ugh.  

That Hopeless Feeling and Knowing Better

I'm in that awful limbo of feeling tired and frustrated and stuck, and still knowing I should appreciate how much I have.  Nothing is terrible.  But nothing feels quite right, either.

I'm stressed about my breast issue, which never completely went away.  It's improved since July, and I'm not in pain, but after three ultrasounds, two aspirations, and a mammogram they want to do another biopsy and I just don't want to.  I get wanting to rule out cancer, but I don't think it is cancer, and I don't want to go through all that discomfort again just to be back at square one.  But it's hard to know what to do and all of it is upsetting.  I don't feel like there are people I can talk to about it without upsetting them, too.

We have been struggling with the high school application process for Aden.  In Milwaukee you apply to go anywhere, and a few schools (like the High School of the Arts) require additional hoops to jump through, and that has been stressful.  The school issues with Aden in general have been frustrating.  Only other parents going through something similar seem to understand how little control over any of that we have.  Everyone else just seems judgy, which never helps.

If it looks like failure and it quacks like failure.... (Babble)

(NOTE:  I started this post in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep and was pretty down.  I’m much better now, but decided to preserve this post as it was because it does capture what the complicated days are like and how depressing they can get.)

This was Tuesday:

Today I hit my limit.  There was just too much.  I feel guilty and ridiculous because there was no tragedy or trauma worthy of anyone’s sympathy.  No one was sick or hurt.  Our house is still standing and business is still good.  No, it was just a collection of moments where I failed to live up to basic expectations.  I feel inadequate on so many levels.  I’m tired.  The worst part is I let people down.

There was too much to do and I couldn’t hold it all in my head anymore.

I had to get up in the middle of the night to change all my sheets because Quinn had an accident, so I started off sleep deprived, as well as behind on laundry and dishes.  My clock radio woke me up to the news that a local soldier had been killed overseas.  That always makes me feel ill and a little dizzy.  I had to drag my poor son out of bed so he could go with me to drive the girls to school (to which we arrived late).  I had to go into work first thing because all the work I had planned to do Monday didn’t happen because since the kids were off school they all came with me, and one of them accidentally overflowed the toilet and I spent all my work time cleaning up the mess.  I had planned to do one quick bow rehair today, then take Quinn home to catch up with things at the house and go grocery shopping, but I got so overwhelmed with unexpected customers we stayed until it was time to pick up the girls at school again.

The one distraction that should have been nice was that Ian was able to catch me on Skype before he went to bed.  He showed me what his tiny living quarters in Iraq look like.  He looks good, he sounds fine.  He just never catches me at a convenient moment, which is frustrating.  I had Quinn in my lap while I was trying to tune a violin and one customer heading out the door while the next one was coming in.  And it hit me while Ian was smiling and chatting away that I have no idea what to say to him.  I say “Hello,” “I miss you,” and “I love you,” and then I’m tapped.  I can’t burden him with any of my problems, and seeing him reminds me of how much I wish he were here.  It hurts to see him.  I want to, and I don’t want to at the same time, and I feel bad that any part of me doesn’t appreciate seeing him whenever I can.

I had to bring the kids back to work with me after school to redo one more bow, then we had to dash to the grocery store because I had nothing set for dinner.  I kept thinking I was missing something, but every time I tried to collect my thoughts something came up.  Aden handed me a notice that her lunch account at school was overdrawn.  Both girls handed me birthday party invitations I had to think about.  Aden forgot her homework and I had to make up something for her to do.  Mona broke a glass jar that I had to sweep up.  I reacted badly to the glass everywhere and then apologized to the kids for being so upset about it.  Quinn was just generally needy which is distracting all by itself.

We had a small window of time when we got home to eat and start the laundry before my neighbor, Julie, was set to come over and watch Quinn while I took the girls to choir.  I had arranged for a friend to bring the girls home afterward because I had an orchestra rehearsal that ran until 9:30.  I hadn’t found enough time to practice and wasn’t feeling good about some of the music.

When we walked in the door–the first time I’d been home since heading out at 7:30, I saw the light blinking on our answering machine and had a bad feeling about it.  I finally realized what had been nagging at the back of my brain.  I was supposed to teach a violin lesson at my house today.  The student and the music therapist I team teach with had both come and no one was here.  I was so busy juggling so many things and had so many distractions tossed my way that it completely slipped my mind.  It didn’t help that with school out for MLK day, Tuesday felt like a Monday, but I don’t have a good excuse.  I screwed up.

My heart sank, I called and left an apology on my teaching partner’s voice mail, and started scrambling to get dinner on.  The kids barely had any time to eat before it was time to leave for choir, and as we headed out the door Quinn fell apart.  Poor Julie told me to just go and Quinn would be okay, but it was absolutely gut wrenching to have him wailing and screaming and holding his arms out to me and to have to turn away from him.  He tried to run after me out the back door into the snow with his bare feet and I started to cry too.

I was starting to feel bad about everything I want to do.  I want to teach, but had let that slip through the cracks.  I want to be a good mom, but left my kid screaming.  I want to be a good wife but couldn’t talk to my husband.  I want to be a good musician but don’t have enough time to prepare well and feel as if the rehearsal time is selfish of me.  I want to run my business well but the work is piling up.  I’m gaining weight again because I eat badly when I’m stressed, there are projects that are important to me that I fear I will never get to, and I’m closing on a house in about a week and still haven’t figured out how to contact all the utilities about that.  It’s just all feeling hard today.

Part of the problem is I’m trying to live a life that was set up with a partner in mind.  I don’t feel like dismantling my life because Ian’s gone, because that’s supposed to be temporary.  I’ve scaled back everything I do so that parenting is the primary focus of every day, but maybe I’m fooling myself that I can still be a musician and a teacher and luthier.  I haven’t worked on an instrument of my own since before Ian shipped out.  I don’t feel like myself.  I feel hollow and sad, and ashamed of myself for not appreciating better what I do have.

UPDATE:  Okay, it’s the next day, and sleep makes a difference.  Time to tally things that are going right.

My neighbor Julie is amazing.  She manages to help me out and make it feel like I did her a favor somehow.  While I was at rehearsal she washed my dishes and emptied all the garbage.  Best presents ever.  She listens to me whine and gives me hugs when I need them.  Life without Julie across the street (and soon next door!) would be many times harder.

I got to play music last night.  The last page of the Britten we are doing is depressing because no matter how much I practice my part there is a giant three against four timing thing that loses me a few lines from the end when we do it as a group, but it was just the first rehearsal–I have time to get it.  The fun part was we also ran Handel’s Water Music.  For those of you who think you don’t know it, trust me you do.  I’ve played it a million times at weddings in reduced versions, but I don’t think I’ve ever done it with a full orchestra.  It’s beautiful and fun and much more exciting with trumpets.  We’re also doing Haydn’s Symphony No. 99, and that’s fun, too. 

The group I play with (the Festival City Symphony Orchestra) is such a lovely collection of talented people.  It’s a privilege to make music with them.  It’s not too selfish of me to go to an occasional rehearsal.  It keeps me challenged in a way that’s completely apart from parenting, and that’s good.  Why should I be investing so much in getting musical training for my kids if they would just have to set it aside one day just because they might have kids themselves?  I wouldn’t want them to do that, so why should I?  Not going to happen.

And Aden was a huge bright spot in my troubled day.   Mona didn’t notice I was crying when I got in the car to take them to choir, but Aden sure did.  She told Mona to quiet down and asked me what was wrong.  I told her nothing was really wrong, that I was just having a hard time handling everything as well as I should.  I could see her nodding in the rearview mirror, and she said, “I know what that’s like.  I had a hard day too.”  And she proceeded to tell me all about how she didn’t get her work done at school because she’d been daydreaming and she got behind and how some days are just like that.  Aden did everything I asked right when I asked yesterday.  She knew I was at my limit and made sure not to add one more problem all day.

Today is going better.  Quinn was well rested and up in time for breakfast.  We’ve started setting the kitchen timer so the girls know when to get on their coats to go and that’s working.  The timer beeping is better than me repeating myself and getting annoyed.  My first customer of the day brought me a blueberry muffin when he picked up his bow.  I told him I was feeling bad that I’d forgotten about a student yesterday, and he admitted to having done that himself.  He said, “It happens, you just find a way to make it up to them.”  That helped.

I’ve still got too much on my plate, but I have things in a healthier perspective today.  Tuesday’s over.  Wednesday’s fine.  I can do this.

What the Army Thinks Is Helpful (Babble)

The Army is trying hard to stay in contact with me during my husband’s deployment.  I appreciate the thought–I really do.  And I try to be polite to the people who call, but they aren’t listening to me when I say I want them to stop.  I have repeatedly told Army people that unless there is information I need to know to leave me alone.  Email is okay, but don’t phone me, and don’t mail me things.  The contact is intrusive and unwelcome.  I don’t need it.

Now, I’m sure there are people out there who have no one to talk to, who need these calls.  I know the Army is making an effort to care for families of soldiers.  I’m glad they are reaching out as a general policy to make sure people aren’t dangerously depressed or desperate or in serious trouble.  That’s fine.  But I am a very fortunate person who has a whole address book of friends and familiy I can call if I’m sad.  I don’t want to talk to a soldier I don’t know.  They always ask what they can do, but there isn’t anything.  I want to hold my husband at night.  I want Mona to eat peas.  I want someone else to take out the garbage once in awhile.  I want Quinn to wear a jacket.  I want the laundry to put itself away.  I want to not feel scared and lonely in the middle of the night when I can’t fall asleep.  The Army can’t help with any of these things. 

I have asked them directly what it is they are hoping to help with, exactly, and they always respond, “Oh, just if you want to talk.”  Well, I don’t.  Not to them, and not on their schedule.  They call when I’m bathing the kids or doing the dishes or making lunch.  They force me to think about the deployment at moments when I wasn’t expecting to.  They bring me down.  Some of the people who call do sound genuinely nice and caring.  Others fall far short.  The worst was a call recently where an Army person was trying to verify certain information about how many people live in our household, and the guy specifically wanted to speak to my husband’s “next of kin.”  It’s hard to think of a poorer choice of words when calling…. well, ANYBODY.  The call left me in a fidgety, unhappy mood the rest of the evening.

The worst part is now they are sending stuff to the kids.  I got a box full of the same old family readiness material I’ve been throwing out for months, and another Sesame Street DVD.  I think I own 3 DVDs now of the Sesame Street crowd talking to kids about deployment.  I don’t need Elmo becoming associated with the war in my kids’ minds, so we haven’t watched it.  There are other DVDs we will never watch in the box, along with sentimental dog tags that kind of offended me, and then these:

I think they are horrible.  I showed one to Aden and she found it really scary.  Mona and Quinn just thought they were ugly.  And they’re right.  We’re supposed to put a picture of Ian’s face on the front of the head, but frankly it looks like a voodoo doll.  Someone thought this was a good idea, and if it brought comfort to someone else’s kid, more power to them.  But I could have told them that my kids wouldn’t like these dolls, and I wish they hadn’t mailed them to me.  I don’t want any more scary soldier dolls showing up on my doorstep.  I need to find a more effective way to get on the Army’s ‘do not call (or send)’ list.

Again, I’m glad they are concerned about families, but they can’t know what is right for all of them.  The advice they hand out always sounds as if it’s universal, and you can’t expect anything to work for everyone.  For instance, something I hear suggested all the time is that when a parent gets deployed, let each of your kids pick out a nice frame and put a picture of the soldier with the child in it for them to have. 

Sounds great.  Except when I did that for Aden the last time the reminder of daddy by her bed upset her so badly she went and hid it under a pillow in the family room.  I decided to try it again this time and this is what happened:  Mona loves having a cute picture of her with her dad by her bed, it makes her smile, very nice.  Aden is traumatized and cries everytime she spots her picture, but she won’t let me take it away because she feels she should be sad.  Quinn looked at the photo I picked out of him and his dad together and he protested loudly, “But I want a picture of me and YOU!”  Three kids, three reactions: happiness, sadness, and indifference.  Parenting is not a one size fits all event no matter what the Army pamphlets want me to believe.

The problem in general with the Army’s attempt to help is that everything they do or send reminds us of the war.  Yes, Ian is a soldier, but that’s not how his kids know him.  He doesn’t tote a rifle or wear a uniform at home.  I respect and acknowledge the job he does so well, but even I get a little freaked out seeing him in Army mode.  I like my computer geek of a husband in an old T-shirt and jeans, carrying one of the kids on his shoulders and making me laugh.  When we think of Ian we don’t think of dog tags and camo themed items.  They are not comforting reminders of daddy, they are items associated with our fears and loss, so they aren’t helpful.

I feel (at this moment, anyway) that I have a pretty good handle on how best to get my kids through this experience.  We have a good routine with things the kids look forward to every day and every week.  I fill their days with opportunities to go places or do projects or just play and be kids.  I want them to focus on all the things they have that are wonderful.  They know they are loved and they live with the assumption daddy will come back one day.  They don’t need people or creepy dolls to remind them their dad isn’t here.  They confront that reality every time they see some other kid hug his or her dad at the after school pick up.  They each love their dad in their own way, and they each miss him in their own way too.  I respect that.  And I will distract them and keep them smiling as much as I can until he comes home–no matter how much the Army inadvertently undermines my efforts.

Fear at Ft Hood (Babble)

For the past several weeks when people have asked how I’m doing, I’ve been able to say, “It’s hard, but it’s not scary–Ian’s still just training down in Louisiana.”  But now I’m scared.

Listening to the news about the shootings at Ft Hood on the radio while running errands with the kids yesterday was unsettling to say the least.  My husband spent time at Ft Hood during his last deployment, but this time he’s at Ft Polk.   I never considered he might be in danger while still in the US.  Now I don’t know.

I felt the strange, conflicting pieces of emotion I remember from last time.  There is a low level sense of fear that is always present when my husband is deployed that is impossible to shake.  It’s like a stalker.  I’m supposed to go about my life and not worry my kids, but I have the sense that I should be looking over my shoulder.  What I’m afraid I will see if I do is uniformed soldiers with grim, sympathetic faces telling me they have bad news.  It mkes me want to scream.

Yesterday I had to pick up a package in a place I was unfamiliar with and I got lost.  Quinn was asleep and the girls were playing in the back.  I try very, very hard not to ever yell at them to be quiet when they are simply having fun, but I was on edge.  The sketchy bits of information about Ft Hood on the radio were not really informative, only frightening.  I kept telling them to keep it down, please, but Mona is incredibly squeaky.  When one of them accidentally clocked the other in the eye and there were wails and shouts from the back seat, I yelled at them to look out their respective windows and not talk to each other for awhile.  I told them I was sorry for yelling, but I needed quiet until I figured out where we were going.


There is no reason for them to know what happened at Ft Hood because it doesn’t have anything directly to do with their dad.  I’m not even sure why I’m as nervous about it as I am.

I do know that I have the same guilty feelings as before, whenever I found out that soldiers in Iraq who were hurt or killed were not my husband.  There is relief in knowing someone you love is safe, but grief that someone else is suffering.  I feel like a horrible person for being glad it was someone else, and not Ian.  I don’t know what to do about that.

My heart is breaking for those soldiers’ families today.  What a nightmare.