sunny side of life

Since November, I’ve had a webcam for a husband.

I feel bad complaining, because if you think back, even 10-ish years ago, this never would have been a possibility for deployed men and their families.

However, it is now, and so I’m spoiled. No use mincing words around here.

I’ve been able to webcam with my husband once every 1-2 weeks. It’s been nice enough; it certainly isn’t what I actually want or need, but it’ll have to do for now I suppose.

So now, my husband is being sent to another location where he won’t have Internet access. For. Three. Weeks. I’m sure you think I’m just being silly. I have done this before you know. He was gone for almost 7 months during the year before we got married and I was only able to talk to him on the phone a couple of times during that particular training period.

It’s different now, though. He’s not in the country. We’re married this time. (which brings into play a whole new way of becoming closer to one another) I love him more. And on and on the list goes. I’m comfortable with my webcam-husband. It’s the only piece I have left and now they’re taking that away from me!

Oh the humanity!

Today, for the first time since his birth, a month ago, I met my nephew Colin. (I do believe that he is the. cutest. little. baby. boy. EVER. No bias here, of course.) It was a good time spent with my Brother and Sister-in-law and my nieces too. I was able to chat with them about what’s been happening since I saw them last (I think it was February, sheesh! I’m not winning any sister-in-law of the year awards over here!) and I really felt, well, home with them.

I specify my feelings on being with them for this reason; I haven’t felt like that in a while. It was comfortable, warm. And I didn’t understand why I suddenly felt this way until I left:

It reminded me of my husband.

At first glance, you don’t really see much of a resemblance between my husband and his brother. Husband is 6′5″ with fair skin and red hair. And he’s a little bigger-boned than his brother, who is 6′0″ with brownish-blackish hair and olive-y skin. (they came from the same set of parents, can you believe it?) But upon closer inspection, you really start to notice the similarities. Alot of their features are the same. And some of their mannerisms. It’s kind of like an over-all, general resemblance. So it’s hard not to think of my husband when I’m around his brother. Especially when my husband isn’t around and hasn’t been for some 5 1/2 months now. It doesn’t help that I’m not usually over their house without my husband. So that drudges up all kinds of emotion too.

It really hit me hard after I left though. I felt like I was leaving Luke all over again. It was almost like he was there, in that house, and I wasn’t allowed to stay. (As an aside, it wasn’t like they kicked me out, I mean I’m sure they would have loved to, I didn’t leave until 10:30 and they have three children. I chose to leave so they could get some semblance of somthing resembling sleep) I actually cried on the way home. Because I felt like I finally had a piece of my husband back and then I had to give it back.

What my sister-in-law said tonight is so true:

“It’s harder for the person left behind. They’re the one who has to still be around everything that reminds them of their spouse. Like, Oh I remember when we went there….”

It’s just so true. And it’s what makes this hurt so bad.

You’re skeptical, right?

I’ll admit, I was too. Very much so actually. I mean, when you talk to any valid nutritionist, they’ll tell you that you can’t really lose more than TWO pounds in one WEEK, much less 4 in one day.

But I’m here to tell you that it can actually happen.

IT HAPPENED FOR ME!

How you ask? Well, I’ll tell you. This is kind of a long, drawn out process, but it’s worth it for the results I tell you. Heck, I’ll probably keep doing it until I get down to my goal weight!

Ok, so here’s what I did.

For lunch on Wednesday, I had half of a Buffalo Chicken Wrap. It had blue cheese dressing on it, the chicken wasn’t grilled, it was breaded and fried.

Now you’re really skeptical, aren’t you?

So there must have been something bad in that wrap, because from about 9:00 that evening through to 3:30 the next morning, I spent some serious quality time with just about every toilet in my house. (and someone else’s toilet, because it started at a friend’s house, nice right?)

Short of totally grossing you out, I will say that I didn’t know that I had that much…um…..fluids/solids in me at any point throughout the day.

Anyway, I got on the scale the next morning and sure enough, I lost 4 pounds. In. One. Day.

Maybe bulemics have the right idea, no?

I’ve always been a pretty happy-go-lucky person. Very optimistic. A friendly, people person. Loyal friend/companion. I believe that these are traits that others would use to describe me as well.

However, I possess a combination of personality traits that in some people can be detrimental.

I am an over-achieving, people pleaser.

While to you this may not seem to be so bad, and really, it hasn’t to me until now, I’m realizing more and more just how dangerous this combination truly is.

All of my life, up until my husband’s deployment, I’ve had someone reigning me in, telling me what I should and shouldn’t take on (not in a bossy way, just an advice-driven way) in my schedule so as not to overwhelm myself. My parents have always been good about telling me when I need to cut things out and then when I got married, my husband took over this responsibility since I just have no sense of when to quit.

Now that Luke’s gone, I’ve all but run myself into the ground. (actually, I’m pretty much there) I’m in charge of my own schedule and I firmly believe that I’ve lost control. I can’t say no. But worse than that (to me anyway) is that I’m not excelling at all that I’m doing.

Gone is the person I’m used to being. The helpful, sane, logical, person you all know and love.

I have never (by the Grace of God) faced depression, anxiety, or anything of the like. However, I think that in some capacity or another, I have faced all three since Luke left and they’ve gotten progressively worse as the months have.

I work a lot, I volunteer too much of my free-time, and I’m in school. Add to that the stress of the year-long absence of my husband and the recent possibility (albeit unconfirmed) of some infertility issues I’m facing (don’t go searching the archives for this one, I haven’t blogged it yet), and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.

What’s worse is that I’m not confiding in anyone except for my husband, which always adds fuel to the fire. I don’t want to argue my schedule with him every time we talk, but as I become more and more stressed, he’s the one to bear the brunt of it. It’s awful.

On paper, I know what I have to do. I know who I have to say no to and when. The problem is that as soon as I think it, I go right back to my people-pleasing tendencies and lose all sense of what responsibility I have to God, my Husband and myself to remain healthy and happy (word used loosely) until my husband’s return.

Plus, with all of this stress, I’m making myself sick. I’m not a cold/flu/sick kind of gal. In most cases, I’ve been able to avoid even the most contagious “strands” going around, and so far this year I’ve caught Every. Single. One. It’s so unlike me. I stayed home sick from work today. I have some sort of nasal/chest congestion thing.

My (first) nephew was just born, and I’m terrified to go visit him lest I plague him with this illness in his first few days of life. While I’m sure his mother (and father) appreciates this, I hate that it’s even and issue.

I just want to feel normal again. To be with my husband, to be the person who friends and family enjoy being around. To not dread the sound of my cell phone or my alarm clock. To be able to answer the question “How are you?” without having to choke back tears and suffer through the answer “Good…” without feeling like a liar. I just want him to come home. I’d rather not have this scorch mark, this struggle in my life. I’d rather not feel like I just threw myself a pity party.

I’d rather not tell the people who I have to, the word “no”.

I really hate it when the time we have to talk (which is few and far between) is filled with disagreements.

Come home soon, I’d rather argue with you here.

Making up is, after all, much more fun that way. ;)

So, I’m trying to lose weight, and be healthy and exercise and all, right?

So last Thursday night, I did my first scheduled workout with my little brother Jake. It was AWESOME. I really felt like I got an incredible workout, one that made me actually WANT to keep working out.

And then…….(because isn’t there always an “and then”?)

I woke up the next morning with an NFL-regulation-football-sized knee, which became harder and more painful to walk on as the day progressed and eventually had me couch-ridden for the next 48 hours. (I will not complain about the couch-ridden part, as my family waited on me hand and foot)

I pushed aside my disdain for Doctors/medicine, and visited the family Doctor today who told me to pretty much keep doing what I’m doing (they get paid for that, see why I have disdain, see?!) which is basically what my husband calls r.i.c.e. - Rest, Ice, Compress, Elevate- and walk on crutches, and even though she thinks that I only have a minor tear of the cartilage, she sent me to have and x-ray (where the x-ray technician was out for the day. Again, disdain!) and said that I should do these funky leg exercises, but if it still bothers me in 4-6 weeks I should come back and visit her.

I want her job.

I have been forbidden from ever doing squats (the cause of the knee injury) again. Which, I pretty much expected. A person with arthritic knees should be doing no such exercise. And I’m not really allowed to do any exercises which require the bending of my knee(s) for the next 4-6 weeks. Which kind of eliminates anything requiring me to stand.

I think God wants me to just stay the weight I am.

Not much has been happening with me over the last few days.

I’ve been stuck at home with 5-ish other sick people.

We’re all about sharing here at my parent’s house.

My sister had it first. Bad headache, queasy stomach, clogged head, fever. So we quarantined her to the den which is on the far side of my parent’s house.

Then, my brother Jacob got it. He and my sister are twins, and this really is the only explanation we can come up with as to how he got it. Surprisingly, out of all of us (kids), they come into contact with each other far less than the rest of us. It’s not that they don’t like each other, they just have different stuff goin’ on.

Then, me and my brother Zach got it at the same time, around Monday into Tuesday. Then, my dad got it. Yesterday, my mom got it.

If you’ve been counting, that’s 6 people total who have the plague.

“Six?” you say “Aren’t there seven people in your family.”

Yes there are. Ben is the only one who hasn’t gotten it yet.

Let’s see how much longer he can hold out……

A special thanks to everyone out there who passed their germs along to me, thus causing this plague which I’m dealing with.

Stomach ache

Dry cough

Clogged head

 I do so appreciate it.

Before Luke left, lots of people told me (to some effect, not these exact words) that I needed to live like he was never here and like he’ll never come back.

It sounds harsh, but let me explain.

Basically, I need to re-do my little quirks; quirks that I’ve developed since we got married.

When I initially heard this advice, I thought to myself, “Self, you will not do that. He is a part of your life, and writing him out of it won’t make you feel better, because it’ll be impossible to live like he’s never left his imprint on you.” He is still around after all, he’s just not around me, so why should I change anything?

2 months into this “deployment” and I get it.

I sleep on “my” side of the bed. I keep his clothes in the closet. Some of his books are still on the bookshelf.

All it has done, all it will continue to do, is make me realize how devistatingly lonely I really am.

Sleeping on my own side only leaves a big spot where he isn’t sleeping. Looking at his clothes every morning when I get dressed only makes me realize that he’s not here to fill them. Leaving his books out only reminds me that it’ll be another 12 months before he tries to read them while I’m distracting him so he can’t.

I need to get rid of all of it if I want to have a shred of sanity left upon his return.

It’s just so hard to let it all go.

His smell is still in the sheets and on his clothes and try as I might, those little pieces of him don’t make him appear whenever I decide I want him around (which is all the time). But they’re still pieces of him.

And they’re all I have.