three-hundred

Today marks three hundred days since my husband deployed. I’m not sure which fact interests me more.

• The fact that he’s been gone for 300 and so, therefore according to our orders, we have approximately 155 days left to go (give or take….and hopefully sooner).
• The fact that tomorrow is our first wedding anniversary and so I will be again reminded that we’ve spent approximately 63 days of our marriage together. That’s just sad to me.
• And then there’s the fact he likes to keep reminding me of…that I will getting ready to turn, dare I say it, 30 about a month after he gets home.
• But mostly, I’m particularly excited about the fact that I will get to spend Christmas with my husband for the first time this year, Army willing.

Other than that, not much else is going on around here. I’m still recovering from the world’s worst sinus infection that included 3 doctors visits, approximately 5 prescriptions, 3 days of sick time from work, and an encounter with Army healthcare that would probably get me in trouble if I elaborated too much. In a nutshell, let’s just say that I had to call for 3 days to get an appointment, and then I arrived for my scheduled appointment only to find that the girl had scheduled my appointment for about 6 minutes after I talked to her on the prior day, so I was refused to be seen even though she apparently just entered the information in their system incorrectly. Not a good experience.

In recent days I have once again vowed to never do yardwork again. I managed to cut our home phone line on Saturday trimming bushes. They got that fixed Monday, thank goodness. If you’ve tried to call us and we’ve not answered, there’s your reason why.

the end will come.

I got the first box a few days ago…. a box of mail. All the cards and letters he’s recieved to date, mostly from me. And there were some from children we will probably never meet that are so adorable they make everything we’ve encountered in the last 9 1/2 months completely worth it.  A card from a Desert Storm vet with honest encouragement and gratitude. With those I’m reminded that we’re in the midst of something greater than ourselves and that there are people who do truly appreciate the sacrifices of military families.

But with this box of mail (and a gift from my husband for me ), comes the overwhelming realization that more boxes will soon follow. Boxes of sandbox stuff means that the end of the deployment IS coming! Of course we don’t have a date yet, and that’s ok, but it is a small reminder that we are on the home stretch and soon I’ll have my husband home to kill spiders and take out the trash.

While I am beyond escatic to get mail from my husband and to realize that his stuff will start coming home, I’ve spent the last 9 + months cleaning our closets and getting rid of stuff we don’t need in a desperate effort to rid our home of clutter. And now I’m overwhelmed with thoughts of where I’m going to put all this stuff that will be coming back with my husband, and that stuff coming back before him, and then all the stuff that will arrive after him.

The box of mail was easy! It was simply (and neatly) put in a better box and stored. But what will I do with the bigger stuff. The Xbox. The old computer that’s headed home because his new one is on its way. The books he’s been sent. Oh, and another TV. Can I just mention we already have 4 working TVs and 1 flooded TV too heavy for me to haul off in our house? I’m running out of rooms for TVs.

My mind is preparing itself for an OCD overload. I can see it coming just as soon as those foot lockers and stinky boxes start appearing on my doorstep.  And, though the re-organization of all this stuff will be a task, I absolutely cannot wait to have the smell of the sandbox here. They do make Febreze for such things.

and suddenly.

I realize that all the things I said I was going to do during deployment have yet to be done. Like make M’s kilt, and organize the bazillions of photos just thrown into a trunk in the guest room, and organize the garage. And, what about all the movies I swore I was going to watch during 15 months? Somehow, 9 months have gotten away from me, and I’ve yet to find all those “lonely” Saturdays I thought I was going to have to bond with the couch and the remote.

I guess I better get on it because it’s starting to feel as if he’s actually coming home soon- even though it’s 150ish days away. And though I’m sure tomorrow may feel like an eternity from homecoming day, today his return seems rather close and I feel as if I should tackle these happier thoughts with productivity.

OR…I could just talk about it and go back to wondering why all my good intentions and well-planned thoughts of productivity haven’t been done tomorrow.

another month done.

Another month has come and gone. Nine down. Six to go. I’m “sustaining” fairly well one may say. Life is fairly monontonous. I get up. I go to work. I come home. I eat, sometimes. I sleep. And on the weekends I spice up the schedule a bit to include Target and Church. Exciting life, right?

It’s beginning to become real to me that in a few months my life will be interrupted and “normal” again. It will be back to cooking dinner and actually having to go to the grocery store regularly. I’ll have to do laundry more than once a week.  I’ll have to share the remote. And, I will have to share the bed. Not that I’m complaining because, mind you, I will no longer be taking out the trash and hauling off the consumables.

I miss him. We were married 11 months as of Tuesday and he’s been gone for 9 of them. Oh well, such is life.

 In other news…Baby Grayson has finally arrived!! My friend, K, and her hubby, J, welcomed this perfect little one in the wee hours of Wednesday morning. And I’m still not caught up on sleep after “assisting” at the hospital. Although, I’m sure the new parents are even more sleep-deprived.

Not that I’m biased or anything, but isn’t he perfect?

not one soul

No one remembered what yesterday should have been. Least of all my husband. And I’m not sure that even the most sincerest of apologies will make it better.