And It Hit Me ..... He's Gone!

The weekend came and I looked forward to sleeping in and relaxing after a long week. But when I woke up ... I was alone. the girls were with their father for the weekend and I was alone in the house with the dogs. Don't get me wrong, the dogs are great company, but they don't wrap an arm around me in the morning and look at me with that sleepy "Hey" smile. Nope, the dogs just come clickity clacking into the room on the bamboo floor, with thier long nails and stick cold wet noses in my face. Note to self: get thier nails cut and close the door at night. My furry alarms have the most unique way of saying "Hey, I've got to pee. let me out , let me out!". I stumble out of bed, down the stairs; holding the rails because I know how fast they'll fly by me on the way down; and open the back door so they can go outside for a grand total of about 3 minutes. I let them in, stumble back up stairs, go to the sink and brush the fur off of my teeth.

Somewhere in the middle of all of that, I wake up. The house is really quiet. I can hear dust settling on furniture. Wow! I decide not to let myself think about it and I do what most women do when we are upset.... okay, so I do both things women do when we get upset... I cleaned liek Macbeth's wife and then went shopping. I didn't try to, it just started and I couldn't stop.

I had promised Bobby that I would move all of the beach gear to the loft of the shed (body boards, coolers, toys, umbrellas, etc), so I did. Since I was already in the garage, I decided to move some of the Christmas decorations to the shed also. Then I found some items that needed to go to the dump and tossed them in the back of the truck. I decided 'If I'm going to the dump, I might as well take everything that needs to go'. So I cleaned the rubbish out of the garage, the shed, the closets and the charity piles and headed off to the dump. I'm all of 5 foot 1 and 1/2 inches tall, with a truckload of stuff, topped with three bicycles, and driving into 'man's world'. I was ready, I'm used to this mentality. I donned my leather gloves, okay Bobby's gloves, put on my lawn sneakers and headed out. I think I impressed the honey-do husbands at the dump when I lifted down all three bicycles from the truck by myself and tossed all the scrap into the bins. I am woman, hear me roar! I drove away from the dump feeling very proud of myself.

I pulled up into the drive way and opened the garage door. There were 10 bags of mulch in front of the big door, preventing me from driving in. Those bags had been there for 3 months. I decided I'd move them off to the side so that I could get past them. Well, the movement of the mulch bags became the mulching of the flower beds. I mean, why move them out of the way when I can just move them into place. Since I'm already mulching I might as well mow the lawn and get that out of the way, so I did. I came in the house to get a drink of water and noticed all of my favorite plastic tumbler glasses were dirty, so I did the dishes. Dishes on the hot cycle, I'm drinking the coldest water I could muster out of a glass full of ice cubes and start to look around the house. hmmm... what next? I could spend six pages describing each thing I picked up and the domino set of events that led to each one, but I will tell you this... I ran out of things to do. Hard to believe, I know.

It was my last task of the day that brought the reality of the morning rushing back to me. I washed, folded, and put away three baskets of laundry. It was when I started to hang Bobby's shirts in the closet that it really hit me. "His suits and shirts haven't moved. There is dust settling on the shoulders of his coats. He's really gone." Ouch. "He is really gone." Big sigh, long pause, and a glance at his picture on my night stand. I carefully wrapped all of his suits and remaining uniforms in plastic bags to keep them from getting ruined. I organized all of his t-shirts and jeans and folded all of his white undershirts and tucked them away in his dresser. I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. I dare say, the house hasn't been this clean since the day I moved in. Every waking moment of Saturday was spent with bleach and vacuum.

I didn't want to go to bed that night. Going to bed alone, ugh. I knew what I'd do! He left the Nordish cologne I loved on his dresser. I sprayed a little on his pillow and crawled into bed. With the lights out I could pretend that pillow was Bobby. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Sunday morning continued where I'd left off until I really couldn't do more. So I went shopping. New York & Co loves me, Sephora adores me and AMC theater, well, no one notices when you are alone in the movies. Unfortunately shopping isn't a cure, it's a band aid. When the movie ended I was back at home and alone again.

Funny, when I'm lonely I find myself watching chick flicks and listening to mellow music. I'd logon to Bobby's webpages and watch his music videos and stare at his pictures. I miss him. I'm a seasoned deployment veteran and I know this is a phase and I know it will pass as I fall into my routine, but I also know that in the beginning it just plain sucks.

My Tender Lark

The lark whose song so gently beckoned me join him beneath the starry sky,

has gone from me to call a child and comfort him, ere danger is nigh.

Protect my lark as he journeys through the dark and treacherous night,

lead him to the timid souls for whom he bears the freedom light.

Tender lark return to me, I love you so,

I see the stars up in the sky and you are beneath them, I know.

See that one off to the right?

I'm there, follow me home.

Come to me lark, I wait beneath that starry sky.

I find comfort in writing. I know my blogs go unread and my story not unusual. But I find release in its telling. I find calm amidst this storm. What is one year? It is merely the passing of time. It is insignificant in the myriad of years I've yet to live. Bobby calls from time to time and he writes when he can. My daughters love me and my friends support me. I am a lucky woman who wants for nothing.

393 Day to go, but who's counting.

Giving information without 'giving information'

If I'm going to write a blog about being a military woman, I guess I could tell you a few things about being in the military. When we deploy in the military there is always some anxiety about where we go and what we do. We can't always say where we are going or when we will be there. OPSEC, or Operational Security, is the reason we can't talk. If you remember in Desert Storm when Giraldo Rivera was embedded in a Marine unit outside Baghdad, he drew a map in the sand, that was broadcast live via satelite to CNN, detailing where he and his unit were in relation to Baghdad!? (insert explanative) You might also remember that he was out of that country within 24 hours. Telling anyone where we are is like painting a large bullseye on us. Terrorists are not just poor men with guns in the desert. They hack computers, intercept transmissions and imbed spies in the most mundane locations. In the Navy we say "Loose lips sink ships".

But... there are ways to talk without talking.

I do not ... repeat ... DO NOT advocate the following method for conveying any sensative information. Here is how Bobby and I communicate places and times without naming either. Bobby and I relate all dates in relation to something else. Here is how we 'talk without talking'. Our daughters Birthdays are: Brittney-February, Beccie-July and Noelle-December. Ours are Bobby-November and mine is Rhonda-March. (Remember that) Our birthDAYS, in that order, are Brittney-24,Beccie-9,Noelle-2,Bobby-20, and Rhonda-15. We turn the communication of dates into a simple math problem. This is also a great learning tool for the kids, by the way, and can get them interested in figuring out the problem. I'll give you an old example.

Ex). Three years ago when Bobby was last in Baghdad, he called to tell me the specific day of his return. We knew that conveying dates over the phone is a big no-no. Here is our conversation, let's see if you can figure out the date, time and location:

Bobby: "Rhonda, I think you should make a hotel reservation for Noelle plus zero plus 17."

Rhonda: "That's great. Noelle's party is at 4:00, what time should I have the guests arrive?"

Bobby: "Tell them to get there about four and half hours early to check in because some are coming in from LaGuardia and you know how your aunt Delta is when she has to wait."

Rhonda: "I do know."

Okay, how did you do? If you guessed December 19th, arriving from New York on Delta airline at 11:30, you got it.

We developed a code. By using dates and relative locations we were very familiar with, we were able to tell each other things. Very cool tool, just don't abuse it.

Here is the solution to our scenario : Noelle = December, plus zero = it's in December, plus 17, means it's her birthday, 2nd, plus 17 days = 19th. The time I suggested was 4:00, he would add or subtract to meet the time he arrived. If it is US Airways we have to be creative with that 'airhead cousin of mine". LOL Have fun with it, but BE SAFE and don't relate anything sensitive!

Sometimes the communication we have isn't fun, but necessary.

We always assume that we will come home safe, but deep inside there is always that nagging anxiety that we may not. Our spouses feel that same anxiety. Problems often develop for younger couples because they cannot cope with the fear. With most military couples we deal with that fear by not dealing with the fear. We pretend it doesn't exist, tuck it into the recesses of our brains and change the subject.

My husband Bobby and I have 9 deployments between the two of us. Admittedly, not always while together, but we have a combined total of 9 deployments we've had to deal with the anxiety. Our experiences and maturity have forced reality into our vision. We talk about our fears and discuss them, just in case.

In the summer of 2008 I prepared to deploy overseas. Before leaving we attended to the deployment norms: Wills, Power of Attorney, Financial responsibilities, the coming year's school plan, etc. This time things were a little different. This time, I felt the need to talk about my fear. I sat down with Bobby and we talked. It's an awkward conversation that most people never want to have, but we did. I told him that if I didn't return there were certain things I wanted attended to. I outlined how and where I wanted to be buried, specific items I wanted to be presented to which individuals, etc. I even wrote letters "To be opened in the event of death", that I left in a sealed envelope. (Those letters were destroyed unopened when i returned). It was an emotional conversation for both of us, but when it was all said and done, I was glad that I did it.

Just before Bobby left last week, he called me into the bedroom and sat me down. He started our conversation with "I want a day of music if I don't come home". Bobby loves music. He sings, writes music, plays guitar and loves the days he performs with his band. If I had to define Bobby in a symbol, it would be a treble clef. I knew that when he asked for a day of music, it would be a day of Bobby in our hearts. We discussed his wishes, just as we had mine. It is a sobering moment. I know Bobby will be back home in 397 days and I know that we might have that conversation time and time again throughout our military careers, but we also know that we must.

I guess my point today is that communication is always key to staying close to your family. It can be fun, educational, or sobering, but at the end of the day you are closer together.

One year of Goals

Today I decided to set some goals for myself over the next year. You already know that my husband Bobby is in Iraq for the next 398 days, but I haven't told you the other big happenings in the next year. My oldest daughter Brittney is joining the Navy also and will be heading off to boot camp soon. College was my first choice, but she is stubborn like her mother and wants to do things on her own terms. My middle daughter Beccie is a Senior and attends the Governor's School for the Performing Arts and doesn't get home from school until 2100 (9:00 pm) every night. My youngest daughter Noelle will be in First Grade this year, but it does not stop there. My sister Maria is also Navy. She is a reservist, but has been activated and given orders to serve in Guantanamo Bay Cuba for 400 days beginning in October. Maria is a single mother of a 4 year old special needs boy, Aiden. The biological paternal figure is not a player in his life, so needless to say, Aiden will be moving in with me in September. I will have a very busy household. I'm hoping that time will fly by if I stay busy. (This is Aiden and I, New Year's Eve 2008/2009)
So, back to my year's goals.

As embarrassing as it is, I'll put myself out there and write them out. I guess if I write them out, I'm obligating myself to do them.

1. Finish writing the book and submit by years end.

Win, lose or fail, at least I would have tried.

2. I have a list of house hold projects that need to be completed.
Let me see if I can remember them all: Have the electricity fixed, replace the kitchen and laundry room flooring, repaint/decorate kids bathroom, repaint stairwell, touch up paint master bedroom, paint master bathroom and anteroom, replace walnut flooring in family room closet, repaint deck, seal and cover garage floor, repair french door to garage, repaint stairs, re carpet FROG, walls in family room, storage in office and hire a new lawn service. Whew! At least I've got a year to do all that.

3. Here's the embarrassing part: Lose no less than 25 pounds. I'm 5'1", 154 pounds. My max healthy weight is 149, my ideal weight is 105, but my goal weight is 125. Five years ago I got down to 119 and felt great. I can do it! (with Mexican accent).

3.a. Get a personal trainer. On base at military gym or off base at civilian gym is to be determined. Money, time and child care will be the deciding factors on this one. I go in to work at 0530 every morning and the base gym doesn't open until 0600. I generally get off work around 1600 (4:00 civilian time) and must pick the kids up from daycare NLT 1800 (6:00). Not a lot of time with rush hour traffic. I'll research my options. I know the civilian gyms have daycare/play areas for kids, but the cost per month, plus the trainer fees, may not be cost effective for me.

3.b. If all else fails, exlax, Saran wrap and Preparation H spread over the jiggly areas will do. Okay, so that is extreme and unrealistic and not at all healthy; but if I can't laugh at myself, how can I move forward?

4. I want to enroll Aiden in a sport. I'd like to get him into T-ball in the spring, but I think he is too young. He just turned 4. He's the cutest little thing. He is 4 years old, but about the size of a 2 1/2 year old. He's fascinated with trains, planes and tanks. All Boy! I will find something for him to do with other boys.

5. Help Beccie find the right college and do everything to help her gain admission.

6. Keep Noelle in piano and maybe get her into soccer in the spring.

7. Keep my sanity in the middle of all this mess and not be forced to pad my bedroom walls and blend all of my meals into a mushy paste to suck through a straw and not have to remove my arms from the straight jacket.



So there you have it. The list isn't long, but the tasks on it are nothing short of "Oh My God, do I really think I can do half of that?!"



Chin up, chest out (okay, maybe not out, it's already farther out than I'd like at 5'1" 38D), and PMA - positive mental attitude.

Buster's travels

Today my book finished its first draft. It's a benchmark, but not a finish line. I've alluded to what I'm doing, without saying more. I'm writing a children's book for children with military mother's. When deploying I always look for books for my girls to help them understand what I'm doing and why. There are tons of books written for children whose father's are deploying, but absolutely nothing for the children with mothers deploying.

We make up nearly 20% of the military. That's more than a quarter of a million women. 38% of us are mothers and among those mothers there are often more than 2 children. That's a lot of children who are ignored.

I don't want to give away too much of my story, or I'll ruin the book, but here is a short gyst. My story is written from the perspective of a child who has an Army Pop and a Navy Mom. Go figure. Mom is about to deploy and the girl talks about the things they do to prepare for the deployment. She talks about giving her mom her favorite stuffed animal, Buster. For those of you that know me, you know who Buster is. If you don't know, look at my mySpace page and there is a photo album entitled 'Buster's travels'. www.myspace.com/rhondareagan

When I deploy I take one of my daughter's stuffed animals with me. I attach it to my backpack and take it with me in every port. I take pictures of myself and the animal. My last deployment I took Buster. I sent pictures of Buster back to my daughters and tell them where we were. They track my progress on a map and share the journey with me & Buster. When I come home, I bring Buster back a little worn and worse for wear, but well traveled. The girls have always liked that. My book ends when the mom returns. Don't worry, there is a story line in there, but I am not ready to put myself out there yet.

It's a small child's book, early reader level, about 1800 words. Lots of editing to do and tons of illustrating before sending it to publishers. I'm not a professional writer, but I know what it is these kids need to hear. I want books for children like mine.

So what if I wear combat boots or flight deck boots! I'm still a mom and it shouldn't matter that I'm military. I want to give the kids of military moms something to be proud of too. Instead of being teased with "Your mom wears combat boots!", it will be "Wow, your mom wears combat boots? ahhhhhhh.".

Stay tuned to my virtual daily diary of sorts.

Day 2: Starting Slow

Bobby is on his way to Iraq and my counter officially begins tomorow. The reality of separation doesn't hit immediately. In the beginning it feels like a business trip and I expect to wake up and find him sleeping next to me. I've learned that it typically does not sink in for the first few weeks and when it hits, it hits hard.

I am about to tell you something that may well be the oldest argument between military members and their spouses. For as long as I have served I have overheard arguments between husbands and wives. Here is the gyst of it:

Military member: "Babe, I am about to leave for a year. I'll be away from you and the kids, sleeping on cots and in coffin racks. I'll only have email once a day and I'll miss being home for Christmas! It is definately harder to leave you, than it is for you to stay at home!"

Spouse: "It is hard for me to be left at home. Everyday I have to be Dad and Mom, I have to do everything with the house, the kids and the dogs, and I have assure the kids that you haven't forgotten them and you will come back. I have to wake up alone Christmas morning and watch the kids without you! It is definately harder to be left behind!"

So the question remains, "Is it harder to leave or be left behind?"

Ladies ... Gentlemen, as both a military spouse who has been left behind and as the military member who has had to leave, allow me to answer this question for you. It is harder to be left behind! There, I've said it. I'll explain. I didn't say that it is easy to deploy, that is not true at all, simply that it is harder to stay.

When we deploy each day is a challenge. We work 7 days a week, more than 12 hours a day and only a random day to relax. This may sound cruel, but the reality is that by keeping us working we are always prepared to do our job when called to act, we have little time to dwell on our sorrows, and the time flies. As odd as it sounds, we know that things change when we are away, but we feel as though time has stopped at home. Time stands still. Each day is full of work, eat, sleep and repeat. Weekends are those things we used to have back home.

When left behind the dynamic is different. It is true that our days are not spent wondering if we will live to see another day, but it is spent wondering if that government car will pull up today. Every day we wake up and notice "Something is missing". Everything is a reminder that he/she is not there. When our wee-one has a bad day and wants to know "where is Mommy/Daddy and why did they leave? Is it my fault? When will she/he be back? I want him now! Boohoo! Waaaahhhhh!", we have to find the strength to give the hugs and reassure them that Mom or Dad will be home and that they love them more than anything. It's hard. When life at home remains the same with something missing, the loss is more accute. It is harder to be left behind.

I won't leave you on a sad note. I have tricks of the trade. Since I am the left behind today, I'll tell you what I've done for Bobby. Our youngest daughter Noelle is 6 years old and has her Pop wrapped snuggly around her little size 1 pinky. Noelle and I sat down to make Pop a card from her to send with him. This idea comes directly from a little book called "A Paper Hug" by Stephanie Skolmoski. We traced her hands on construction paper and cut them out. We measured her arms from one hand to the other and cut a ribbon that long. We connected the hands with the ribbon, making a paper hug the exact size. On the back of one hand we taped a picture of Noelle and Pop and on the back of the other, she signed her name with a heart. On the palms of both hands we wrote the following rhyme:

When you're feelin' lonely

And you need a little lift-

Wrap these hands around you

And you'll feel my special gift.

I know you're far away

And I know you'll need a hug.

Until you're home one day

these hands will keep you snug.

Tuck them in your pocket

And keep them 'til you're through,

I love you, Pop, so much,

Here's a hug from me to you.

Love Noelle

It will make a grown man cry and tug at the heart. I can promise you that the paper hug is packed gingerly in the massive camoflauge bag that is loaded on that plane for Iraq. Those personal little notes from home have always meant more. So take the time to draw a special picture or pen a personal note and drop them in the mail. I know we have email and 'snail mail' is 'sooo yesterday', but I promise you that reading a hand written letter lets us feel as though you are near.

I can't close this ramble without making one important observation. I have already told you that it IS harder to be left behind, but it gets better. Ladies, I'm sorry, but it is ten times harder for Dads that get left behind. I hate gender stereotypes, but ladies, we are a little more at ease working, and taking care of the house and kids. Guys... not so much. Guys just aren't as comfortable joining play groups, room parent committees, or, God forbid, shopping for bras and underwear. I have tremendous respect for those men strong enough to remain married to military women like us.

So goodnight Bobby, I'll see you in my dreams.

Day One

My name is Rhonda Reagan and I'm a wife, a mother, and a military member. I have three beautiful daughters, Brittney, Beccie and Noelle; a handsome husband, Captain Robert Reagan III, US Army; and I am Chief Petty Officer Reagan, US Navy, Maintenance Control. One woman and three jobs, all important. I think the question I am asked most often is, "How do you do it?". My answer is always the same, "I just do. I have to."

I don't think any of us really know what our life will be like when we choose our first path. When I enlisted in 1988 I was a student living on campus at Old Dominion University. I didn't come from a well to do family and I worked three jobs just to be there. Not suprising, I struggled with work and school work suffered. The Navy offered me the opportunity to do make good money and obtain educational benefits, so I raised my hand and swore to "support and defend the Constitution of the United States of America against all enemies foreign and domestic". What started as a four year job to earn college benefits, turned into a career.

Twenty years ago I could not have seen myself with three daughters, two ex-husbands (one of which was so brief it shouldn't count), one perfect Army officer husband, one BA degree and a MA in the works and 'STILL' in the military! How did that happen? Well, I'll tell you.... in brief....in very brief ...... how about a cliffnote version of brief?..... no? Okay, how about in micro-minny-super-short. "How did it happen? I don't know, it just did."

What I can tell you is what I do know. I know that as a woman in the military it hasn't always been easy. It is a male dominated environment and I chose a traditionally male field. I am an AM, that is Aviation Structural Mechanic. I was never mechanically inclined in high school. I was the fluffy cheerleader who called the football players to push my car when I needed help. When I chose my job I had just seen the movie "Top Gun" and I wanted to meet and marry Tom Cruise. So I told them to get me near airplanes. Ha! Once I got into the Navy I learned that the pilots were officers and I was enlisted and we were not allowed to date!! Ouch! I did have the opportunity to leave that job in favor of the more traditionally female fields with clerical tasking, but I'm stubborn. If you don't want me to do something, don't tell me 'it's a man's job and there are a lot of men waiting for jobs like this. You could get a secretary job. How's that sound?'. I'll tell you how that sounded. That sounded like "I'll show you!"

I am now a Chief Petty Officer working in Maintenance Control in my squadron. I am one of a team of Chiefs that control the work on our aircraft and its safe release for flight. I am one of four female Chiefs and the only one in Maintenance Control. Not bad for a fluffy cheerleader.

There are still challenges for us, but they are slowly dissapearing, but not all of them. Last year I was called to deploy. Leaving is never easy, but over the years I've developed ways to make it easier for me and my family. My youngest daughter, Noelle, gave me one of her little stuffed dogs, Buster, to take with me as company. I carried Buster everywhere and sent her pictures, but when I went looking for a book to leave Noelle, I had no luck. I found dozens of books written for children whose father's were deploying, but absolutely nothing for children with mother's deploying. What about us?

Women make up 30% of the military. That is approximately 250,000 women. Every day at least 38% of those women are mothers. Based on an average of 2.5 children per household, there are about 245,000 children with mother's serving. In Iraq today 1 out of every 7 servicemen is a woman. I think there are enough of us that our children should matter too. I could continue to complain, but what good would that do? Not much.

If I want a book designed for children of military moms and no one will write it for me, then I will write it myself! Why not? I know the struggles of the children, the struggles of the mom and I know what the left behind dads have to go through.

So ladies, I'm here for us! I proudly serve my country, support my husband deployed in Iraq (the care package is coming babe), and I love my daughters. Join me on this journey and meet me at the end.