eMail to the Front

by Alyssa Day

  Alesia the miserable

  p.s. I never thought I'd live to speak the words: "Don't stab your sister in the eye."

  To: Judd

  From: Alesia

  Subject: Mad at you today

  OK, first, there is a foot of snow on the ground. The car wouldn't start, because the key would not turn in the ignition. It took me eight tries to get your truck out of the driveway, and I almost wrecked it fishtailing around Everett, because evidently they haven't heard of snowplows here. It took 10 tries to get out of the daycare parking lot.

  Lauren is still coughing a little bit, but finally OK to go back to school. P.J. was freaked out by the snow, after three years in Florida, and didn't want to go outside to do his doggy thing. I had to call roadside assistance to come tow the car to the dealer.

  I am sick of being a single mother and having to deal with this sort of thing. That's why I got married in the first place, so I wouldn't have to shovel snow, or worry about cars breaking down or whether the freaking lawn mower starts or not.

  I hope you are enjoying Japan.

  Here's a secret: You can't always be cheerful. I tried, but sometimes you just get angry. Angry for being alone for so long, angry for having to manage everything by yourself, angry for having no help when everyone is sick at once.

  When Mommy gets sick, everything falls apart. And it's really hard not to resent your spouse, the military, and even God, when you've got a 103-degree fever, and you're hanging over the toilet dry-heaving with the flu, while alone in the house with two kids, missing work yet again, afraid you'll get fired.

  I read an article once about a military spouse who claimed to be cheerful and happy in any conversations or correspondence with her husband, because she "doesn't want to distract him from his important mission with trivial things at home."

  Yeah. Right.

  The truth is, it's OK to be angry. The truth is, caring for your children is not a "trivial thing." Sometimes you're so tired, frustrated, and overwhelmed, you almost have to get mad and vent a little. Then you get some rest, call a baby-sitter, call some friends, or get help in whatever way you can, and the day brightens. Finally, you feel sane enough to write back and say, "I love and adore you, and I'm sorry I threatened to: set your collection of baseball caps on fire/run off with the towel guy at the health club/sell the children on eBay. It was a tough day, but now I'm better. Thanks for letting me vent."

  Most of the time, you can be cheerful and supportive. The times you can't, your spouse will understand. If not, take a deep breath and hang in there. The towel guy probably isn't much of a conversationalist, anyway.

  43

  Top Ten Things a Military Spouse Wants to Hear

  February

  To: Judd

  From: Alesia

  Subject: My personal top 10 list

  Here's my fantasy list of what I wish people would say to me to make deployment so much easier:

  Hey, I can take your kids for an afternoon so you can:

  go see a movie that doesn't involve animation or singing farm animals,-

  treat yourself to a manicure, since nobody else is going to hold your hand for the next six months;

  enjoy a little uninterrupted time to yourself for such fun leisure activities as grocery shopping; or

  collapse in a heap and try to catch up on a month's worth of sleep deprivation with a three-hour nap.

  I know life must be a little tough with your spouse gone. If you ever need to vent, let me know. (This must not be followed by unreturned phone calls and unanswered e-mail messages for the next seven weeks.)

  Whatever that exercise plan is you're doing, it's really working!

  Tell your spouse we appreciate what he's doing out there.

  Of course, pizza is one of the four basic food groups.

  Would you like me to meet you at the airport?

  We, your bosses, decided you must be tired, and are giving you a month off with pay.

  Congress just voted a 25 percent pay raise for all military members!

  We're all praying for your family.

  And the Number One, top of the list, absolutely sure-fire thing any military spouse wants to hear: Thank you.

  44

  Over the Hump: Planning a Visit

  February

  To: Alesia

  From: Judd

  Subject: I did it again

  Just when I think I've got the hang of it, I call and it's 4 a.m. your time. Sorry! I'm finally able to check my e-mail today. We didn't even get up to Misawa, we had some problems with the plane after we took off. Of course, one of the reasons we had to leave was that other people were coming in and needed our rooms. After waiting on the plane for 12 hours to see if it could be fixed so we could fly, they finally ended up canceling and putting some of the crew in peoples' rooms that were flying. They sent me to the enlisted barracks for five hours before the maids kicked me out for the next guest. I then spent 17 hours working on projects for the skipper before I had to go find another room to stay in, so I could go flying again last night. Finally, I got my own room last night, after wearing the same flight suit, etc., I intended for an overnight, for three days.

  It wasn't the best I've ever smelled.

  I tried sending you e-mails to let you know what was going on. You obviously didn't get them. The base we are on is as big as Everett. In order to get to work, I have to wait for a bus (which runs hourly) or pay for a taxi. To call you collect, I have to use a government phone to call to Fort Lewis in Tacoma to get an outside line. Those phones are all in the hangar, and are usually busy with people running the squadron. I'm buying another phone card to call you now.

  I'll talk to you soon. Hopefully, you'll be awake!

  To: Judd

  From: Alesia

  Subject: It's OK—I don't CARE what time it is!

  I've lost sleep for much less important things than talking to you! We had a wonderful day; played at the park, went for a ride on the ferry, and ran around like wild animals at home playing Fire-Breathing Dragon (me) chases the Princess (Lauren) and the paleontologist (yes, he's YOUR son). Now they're finally in bed, and I'll probably be up till midnight doing the work I need to have done for my job tomorrow. I'm telling you, the idea of being a stay-at-home Mom again sounds pretty darn good on Sunday nights! I could sell Tupperware. I could build a whole Tupperware Empire ... I could have legions of salespeople . . . no, wait, that's the kind of thinking that always gets me in trouble in the first place.

  Everyone thinks I'm nuts for bringing the kids to Japan with me. I don't know why; they're my kids, they're bound to be adventurous, right? I love and adore you and miss you—only 24 more paper chain links till we leave to come see you! And then you can talk to me at 4 a.m. all you want—in person!

  After spending the first half of deployment flying missions over and around Afghanistan, Judd's crew moved to Japan. The CO authorized family visits, so Judd and I decided that the kids and I would make the trip. We hadn't been allowed to visit during the first deployment, so we were overjoyed at the chance to spend time with him in the middle of this one. The logistics and expense were daunting, but we thought it would be worth all of the time and trouble to get to be together, even for a few short days. We had no choice on the dates; it had to fall during the week Judd's crew was standing duty in Misawa, in the north of Japan. Coincidentally, it was the week before our sixth wedding anniversary.

  There were times that week I thought we'd never make it to our seventh.

  45

  Seattle to Tokyo: Two Kids, Three Bags, And Four Hundred Tylenol

  March

  To: Judd

  From: Alesia

  Subject: Flight attendants are saints.

  I found out yesterday that I was the only spouse in the squadron brave enough (or crazy enough) to bring the kids along to see you in Japan for this mid-deployment visit. After 11 hours sealed up in a plane with Connor and Lauren, I can tell you that crazy is definitely the right word.
AARGHHHH!!!

  We're in the Holiday Inn Tokyo now, and they're finally sleeping. It's only mid-afternoon here, but the middle of the night for us. I needed to take a minute to depressurize (get it? Airplane humor), before I can relax enough to get to sleep.

  So, the flight. We had to arrive at the airport two hours early, and I hiked the kids up and down the concourse to burn off some of their energy before they had to be strapped into seats for so long. Lauren developed a new fun way to pass the time, called Run Away from Mommy as Fast and as Far as I Can Go, so Mommy had to run after her lugging Connor and three bags.

  This was great fun. For all the people watching us, at least.

  We left her new outfit in the trashcan at SeaTac airport, after she spilled chocolate milk down her shirt and squirted ketchup on her pants. A new land-speed record for clothes staining; purchase to garbage in less than 24 hours. But, there was no way I was carrying food-crusted clothes through two days of travel. They would have walked off the plane in Misawa by themselves. Yuck.

  When we finally got on the plane, the real fun began. The family who has followed me on every plane trip for the past 10 years was seated right in front of us. You remember them—Mr. and Mrs. Tiny Brain. The ones with the baby and the two-year old (oddly these kids haven't aged in the past decade).

  Yes, in so many years of flying, Mr. and Mrs. Tiny Brain have never figured out that it's a good idea to bring snacks, bottles, games, or toys for their children so they (the kids) and we (all the other passengers) don't lose our minds.

  At least this time, they remembered to bring a clean diaper.

  One clean diaper.

  For an 11-hour flight.

  So, the poor kids immediately started doing what any small children who are tired/hungry/bored out of their minds/wet/experiencing earache from takeoff do: They howled.

  And they howled.

  And they howled.

  The Tiny Brains kept repeating "that's enough" in a never-ending drone, until I wanted to strangle them (the parents, not the kids). Finally, after about three years (or 10 minutes of real time) of this, I couldn't take any more. I handed over some crayons and paper to the older child. I didn't have anything to give the poor baby, though.

  At the other end of the neurotic traveler spectrum, I had packed your large leather backpack with enough toys, snacks, and other distractions to last us if we had been traveling to Japan by rowboat.

  These held the kids' attention for almost 30 minutes.

  Then I was doomed.

  I resorted to singing songs (quietly, so my fellow passengers didn't flush me down the airplane toilet; you know how great my singing is), making up stories, and trying any desperate tactic I could to keep the kids occupied. Somewhere in that horrible blur of time there was a lunch break. The kids didn't eat anything, of course, but had fun unwrapping stuff and poking forks at the various food (??) items.

  I have to say, any time my job gets on my nerves, I’m going to remember these poor flight attendants. They have all this special training to keep passengers safe and see to our comfort, yet are treated by so many people as some kind of underpaid servant.

  About halfway through the flight, during food service (and what is it with these people whose bladders are magnetically tuned to the frequency of the food and beverage cart?? Any time the flight attendants tried to get down the aisle with the carts, the same people would jump up and demand to get by to the bathroom. Personally, I would have started running them over and keeping score. Sort of a Flight Attendants 500. "Helen rallied on the Seattle-Tokyo leg by taking out the big guy in the Seahawks sweatshirt with the coffee cart, but Jackie pulled ahead by ramming a family of three with the luncheon service.").

  That's probably why only FAA-trained professionals are allowed to operate those carts.

  Anyway, back to my subject (whatever IT was), during the food service, I asked a flight attendant if she would please bring some milk for Lauren. I said something like, "I know you're very busy, but when you have a free minute after the meal service, would you please bring me some milk for my daughter's bottle?"

  She looked at me as if I'd grown a third eye. I was sure I was in major trouble for bothering her, and any minute alarms would go off, and some big, hairy sky marshal was going to come beat me over the head with my tray table.

  But, do you know what she said? In six hours of that very full flight, I was the first person to have said "please" to her. Can you believe it???

  We chatted a bit during the flight, and you would not believe the horror stories. Just about ordinary passengers and how badly they can act; not even counting the dangers of terrorism flight crews have to deal with now.

  Flight attendants everywhere are on my list of heroes this week.

  Somehow, we made it through the flight. We ran through every single toy, game, snack, and cassette tape in the bag, plus a couple hundred Tylenol for Mommy, but, out of 11 hours, they were only total monsters for two hours in the middle or so. Thank goodness for somebody's wonderful Grandma who was sitting behind us and played peek-a-boo with Lauren, while I read the constellation book to Connor. (Those Greek and Roman gods were pretty bloodthirsty, let me tell you. I had to edit a lot.)

  Anyway, we finally made it. Tomorrow, I have to navigate a bus to the domestic airport and fly to Misawa on Japan Air Lines. I wonder how you say, "Please bring me sake for breakfast" in Japanese? I learned one important thing from this trip: I can do anything. After changing poopy diapers in an airplane bathroom at 30,000 feet, nothing will ever scare me again.

  That trip to Japan will never show up in a guidebook. We saw more of the McDonald's play area at the base commissary/exchange compound than we did Japanese culture. Our one trip to an authentic local restaurant was livened up by Connor calling everything "yucky" and Lauren trying to set her dress on fire in the Hibachi. Not your typical tourist experience.

  We did shop at stores in Misawa and at a bazaar of beautiful Japanese art and textiles, though. I'm brushing up on my chess skills to use the inlaid board with the jade pieces without humiliating myself in six moves.

  But, unfortunately, I spent most of the week trying to entertain the kids while Judd worked. He had to work 24-hour shifts every other day, so I hung out in the barracks a lot, trying to keep the kids quiet so they wouldn't disturb anybody. Keep in mind that these were jet-lagged kids who didn't understand why they couldn't jump, yell, and dance at 3 a.m.

  It wasn't the most fun I've ever had on a trip.

  When Judd was off duty — and awake — we experienced such uniquely Japanese events as bowling at the base bowling alley, reading books at the base library, and watching kid-friendly videos we rented from the exchange. We didn't fret about the un-Japanese-ness of it all, though. We just had fun with Lauren's first time bowling, Connor's first orange soda, and Lauren's first snowball fight.

  It was exactly what we needed. Time for Connor and Lauren to spend with Daddy, with no pressure of being dragged around on tour buses or on sight-seeing trips that they were too young to understand. Time just to hug and play and remember how much Daddy loved them. Time for Judd and me to talk without a phone line and an ocean between us.

  We needed that trip, and we'd do it again in a heartbeat.

  When we're all older and wiser (and I've recovered from this trip, probably sometime in a decade or so), we'll probably go back to Japan. It's a beautiful country with a fascinating history and culture, and we'd love to see it. But, for just this one trip, the bowling alley was fine.

  46

  Jet Lag and Jelly Beans

  March 31

  To: Judd

  From: Alesia

  Subject: We are finally getting over the jet lag.

  It was tough, though. I read somewhere that you need a day for every hour of time difference. No wonder we were so tired! One day shortly after we got home, we slept till four in the afternoon and went to a movie that started at nine at night. The popcorn guys thought I was a bad parent for having my kid
s out so late; I just know it. But, hey, they're popcorn guys. What do they know?

  Your son is trying to comparison count the jelly beans in his Easter basket with Lauren's. I didn't realize this started so young. The Easter Bunny is not going to count individual jelly beans to make sure they get the same number. Not ever.

  We're watching the Easter video one of the kids got in their baskets, and I'm sneaking out of the room to check e-mail. I hope you got the treats we sent you. Be on the watch for a few dozen hard-boiled colored eggs.

  April

  To: Judd

  From: Alesia

  Subject: Boys lose things and girls find them.

  This is unbelievable. You know your thing where you can stand in front of the open refrigerator and not be able to find the milk? How you expect me to know where your car keys, watch, socks, briefcase, etc. etc. etc., are at all times?

  It has started already with the kids!!!

  Today, Connor was dancing around pestering me, "Where is my other shoe? No, not that shoe, the red shoe? Where is it, Mommy?"

  I gave my traditional response, "Look for it, Connor. It's not my job to keep track of your stuff."

  Just then, Lauren piped up with: "Your shoe is in your closet next to your robot dog, Connor."

  Unbelievable. Boys are from the planet Losing Things and girls are from the planet Finding Them. That extra x chromosome must act as some kind of object-tracking GPS unit.

  To: Judd

  From: Alesia

  Subject: Magnetic mind-control devices

  Also known as TVs. Did you know that our TV has a mind-control device in it that attracts small boys to inch closer and closer and closer until their noses are about an inch from the screen? No matter how many times I say, "Connor, move back," he will be an inch from the screen ten minutes later. I threatened to tie him into his chair to watch our video, but the kids don't take my threats very seriously.