Mike is home now, but for the past five weeks he has been in Alabama. He was selected to attend Squadron Officer School in Montgomery, AL. We were excited for the opportunity that Mike would have to learn about leadership and Air Force philosophy as one of only 14 civilians in a class of over 400 of the Air Force's top officers.
We were not excited to be seperated for five weeks. But we also knew that many couples who are actually in the military go through much longer and frequent deployments (where they are involved in wars), so we tried to grin and bear it. We also shortened it with me flying out to Alabama last week with the girls to visit and stay with him the last week. (More about that fun time in another post)
I wrote the following while he was gone, and I've slightly edited it, since I feel a lot better about life now that he's home:
We're almost at the 2 week mark and I am pretty sure that by the end my children will hate me. I always imagine them growing up and writing books about how I scarred them for life. I imagine them writing sentences like, "My mother was a yeller. I still jump when I hear loud noises." Or "My drug problems all stem back to my mother's inability to follow through on promises."
When Mike calls, the girls and I are always in some pitched battle for supremacy. He gets to hear all about how if the kids don't go to bed right now and/or pick up their stupid toys, listen to me, do their homework, they'll spend eternity in their rooms. I bet it makes him miss me.
The worst part is that my patience is gone by about 2 p.m. Usually, when I know Mike will be home by 5, I can hold on to my sarcastic tongue and keep myself in patient mommy mode, but now I know he won't be home I just let loose: "Why yes Hannah, you're right. My whole goal in life is to make you miserable. I can see by how you are crying hysterically and yelling that you hate me that I am succeeding."
Today Kenzie called home with a sick stomach from school. Then she wanted to play and run and eat candy. So my patience was gone at noon. Her new favorite tone of voice is Defiant Whine. So when I told her she could not watch a movie or play, or eat anything but toast and applesauce, she said, "I'm never going to checkout again. Because of you. You are so mean. Mean, mean, mean!" I felt triumphant and only managed to not say anything by singing softly to myself, "I am the champion, my friend. And I'll keep on fighting to the end."
Actually my lack of patience is not the worst part. The worst part is knowing that I'm a whiny baby because I don't even have it that bad. People's husbands are deployed for months at a time and I can't even handle five (okay we're only at 2) weeks? Seriously. What is my problem?
