The cleaning frenzy and his imminent arrival

So why is it that we wives all go insane when our husbands are either coming home for R&R or redeployment? We beat ourselves senseless, cleaning, worrying, fretting, trying to manage every little detail. Why? Our husbands are going to walk in the door, not noticing the fresh paint or the dust-free surfaces or sparkling windows. They are not going to notice that the kids have toys everywhere and are in dirty clothes. And they are not going to care if our eyebrows are waxed or our skin is tanned to perfection. The bastard is just going to drop all his gear at his ass, strip off his stinky uniform, shower, and then want something to eat, a beer (or rum or jack or jim or crown) and sex. So much for that clean house that we spent days scouring and scrubbing. And forget about being caught up on laundry. The cleaning frenzy we allowed ourselves to get into has been a complete waste of time.

So why do we continue to do it? At some point, we just need to step back and take a different look at things. We are women and see things through a woman's eyes. If we were gone a long time and came home to a filthy house, wild children, and a husband who had become a little strange, we would freak the fuck out and probably beat the fucker we married to death. Men are not like this. They don't care about the house or how clean it is. If the kids are happy, men are content. And if their wife is independent and can handle all things on their own, men are happy and proud. Life goes on for them and the laundry pile that makes a wife lose her damn mind isn't going to affect his happiness at being home.

So here's the big thing. From a wife who's been through four deployments. Your husband is coming home? Fine. Clean the house, but don't feel like you need to have everything spotless. He won't notice. Let the kids play. Relax a little. Remember that only two things are important about him coming home.

He is safe and with his family.

And you will finally get sex!!

Bitch, bitch, bitch

So apparently, I haven't been bitchy enough lately. My facebook status blog has met with a resounding "YAWN" from the masses who expect cussing, inuendo, and sarcasm from this blogger. SO it's time to up my game! Here it goes.

So can I tell you how much deployments SUCK ASS?!? I'm a survivor, like any other military spouse. The Army takes the hubby, sends him 10K miles away, lets him get shot at, and leaves me stuck here alone, sexually deprived, terrified and generally freaked the fuck out. No problem. I can do this. And then shit happens.

I can deal with about anything. Crazy wives, Iron alerts, money issues, tracking paperwork, going to meetings, being bored, troubleshooting, pissing people off--the list goes on and on. So why is it that the one thing that will kick my ass everytime is a SICK BABY????? Apparently the lack of sleep thing that comes with a sick chld is the only thing in the world that can really make me want to put a gun to my head and just fucking end it. It's stupid, I know. But Edmund being ill is the singular event that literally brings tears to my eyes and makes me wish my husband were here. This shit SUCKS!

So I'm up all night, every night, for a week straight, holding a baby upright because he can't breathe lying down when the breaking point finally arrives. And then the only thoughts that go through my head are, "Why the FUCK am I doing this alone? T should be here to help with this. Fuck the Army! They can all burn in hell, just so they send my hubby home first and he can sit up all night with this kid."

I want sleep. That's all. More than 60 minutes of consecutive sleep. And until I get it, you all get to deal with the psychotic raging bitch that I have become.

Is it fair?
No.

Is it petty?
Yes.

Do I give a flying fuck at this point in time?

Fuck NO!

Why do I even bother??

Meeting tonight. Fun, fun, fun.

So we go to this Town Hall meeting to learn about the boys upcoming move and the news is just the usual: the boys are getting shit on. They are moving to an area with nothing there, have to build their own living area and defenses, and to top it all off they will have no internet and be lucky to be able to call home. WTF? I know the Rakkasans kick ass and all, but why does it seem like they always get the shit end of the deal? I really don't know why I even bother going to meetings like this when all we get is bad news.

I suppose I should be pleased. After all, this means that the military knows they can depend on them for accomploshing any mission regardless of the conditions, but it still sucks that they will be living without every basic convenience of life, will have to have necessities mailed to them, and won't be able to communicate with their families. It's times like this I just want to tell the chain of command to quit fucking our boys in the ass. But then, I'm just a wife--I have no authority and just have to roll with the punches. Doesn't mean I don't want to light someone up, but I guess we all just have to deal with it. I hate feeling so helpless.

Fuck deployment.

My month according to FB statuses. . .

I'm feeling lazy, but I haven't blogged in a few days, and as the last one was a bit over the top, here is my month up to now based soley on what my facebook statuses have been. This has required that I actually read the shit that I've posted on there and now I realize that maybe all those people who are afraid of me were right. . . Be afraid. Very afraid. Because I am apparently out of my fucking mind!


So, the husband is gone and I am ATTEMPTING to dig myself out of the laundry he left behind! Reason number 39 why I do not miss him when he's gone. . .

Is wondering, if you saw me in the back of a police car wearing handcuffs, what would you think I'd been arrested for?

says drinking doesn't solve your problems... but it sure as fuck helps ya forget them for a while! Bring out the wine!

Is looking for an evil sidekick..previous experience in sabotage, torture and chemistry advantageous..applications and evil names below...

doesn't need alcohol to make an ass of myself in public: I'm perfectly capable to do it all on my own!

I'm going to Hell in a handbasket--it has GOT to be cooler there than it is here. . .

I think it's time to stage a coup of hell--I hear the weather is fine (unlike around here!) Anyone like to join?

Still hotter than hell here. . .

The answer to the meaning of life, the universe and everything: sarcasm. Well, that or duct tape.

Thinks you should have a sign on your forehead that says: "WARNING! I am a f*cking moron" That way, I don't have to find out the hard way.

I resign my position as Waste Management and Resolutions Coordinator. Deal with your own $h!t and solve your own damn problems! :) I feel better already! :)

‎"I solemnly swear I'm up to no good. . . "

Thinks about you everyday... Granted, I'm fantasizing about how I'd like to kill you, but I'm thinking about you just the same.

So there's this huge snake in the backyard tonight and it's a cottonmouth! So the dogs are going apeshit, I am holding it down with a broom, and John is using a shovel to attempt to chop off its head. Fun night! All I can say is thank the God no one called the cops when I was out there screaming "Kill the fucker!" a...t John. One final note: The bitch is dead.

has a headache that would leave Einstein brain dead.

The bottles of wine in the fridge are calling my name. If those bastards don't shut up, I will be forced to take drastic measures. . .

To my beautiful baby boy- I love you dearly and I know that your snooty nose makes breathing while you sleep a virtual impossibility, thus requiring your mother to be up all night holding you. However, if this latest phase of not sleeping fails to pass soon, I will regretfully have to reopen the auction. . .

"What the hell were you thinking?" Well, obviously, that I would get away with it. . .

Pie Iesu Domine. Dona eis Requiem.

I don't have skeletons in my closet. I have a tiny black box full of souls that I keep in my underwear drawer.

Retraction

I am regretfully retracting my last post. I am saving it because it was fucking beautiful and really cathartic, but it's probably not the best thing to have posted on a public blog. When I get told that a post took some serious balls to write, I think that means I probably went one step too far. The really sad thing is that I actually edited myself. Apparently that post was a trifle over the top.

Here's the short and sweet version. I am not happy with Rear-D. Not at all. But please keep in mind that however unhappy with them I might be, I would never ever disrepect anyone by speaking to them in the manner I might write about them.

Unretracting my retraction. . . With an update

UPDATE: Below you will find my post which I retracted for the reasons I stated in my Retraction post. I changed my mind about the retraction. I have since learned that I was WRONG and that this is in fact NOT part of Rear-D's job. So this bitch is completely wrong and I admit it freely. I don't have to LIKE the fact that it's not happening, but I certainly can't point a finger at anyone and say they dropped the ball. I think this post is funny and it felt damn good to write it. SO here it is again for your enjoyment. Just keep in mind, I was incorrect in my assumptions so most of this is moot.


"I love Rear-D, I love Rear-D. . . " is becoming my mantra. You know how the kids will do something stupid and you keep repeating "I love my children" to prevent yourself from beating them to death? That's how I feel about Rear-D sometimes. No. That's a fucking lie and I'm going to hell for saying that. I feel that way about Rear-D most of the time lately. They have their moments when they are actually helpful, but I am ready to bash some heads into a proverbial wall!!

What is it about this group of soldiers that makes them so callous and unfeeling about the spouses who are left behind? And especially about the families of our WIA? Is a phone call after the cas notification so damn difficult to make? You know, "How are you doing?" "Have you heard from your soldier?" "Is there anything we can do or any questions we can answer?" Five FUCKING minutes!! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this shit really gets me fired up! I wish I had rank and could smoke those fuckers.

I have yet to hear about one single family of a WIA who has been called by Rear-D after the call telling them that their soldier was hurt. NOT ONE!! WTF?!? I just don't understand and it is making me physically ill. What would Rear-D want for their families if they were in that situation?

Maybe my expectations are way too high, but I don't think a follow-up call to check-in is asking too much. Maybe I'm just a bitch. (Actually, those who know me realize that's exactly what I am, especially if it's my wives or boys getting screwed over.) I am irate and can't do a damned thing about it. It is not my place to berate Rear-D, no matter how much I think they deserve it. I just feel like I keep getting handed a shit sandwich and being forced to eat it with a smile. When the families of WIA are calling me to ask questions, things are seriously fucked.

Call me crazy but I think our wounded and their families deserve to have a Rear-D who will move heaven and earth to ensure they are taken care of. And if they are too busy pushing paper to make a fucking phone call, then the whole lot of them should be fired! Again, just do your fucking job.  And if this isn't part of your job description, it damn well should be!

A Public Announcement Regarding Facebook

To all my Facebook Friends:

OK, if you didn't know before, I am making it public now. I make it a point nightly to check all my military friends' Facebook pages to make sure that they are not saying anything they shouldn't. You know, violating OPSEC, bad mouthing people, scaring people, whatever. And if I find something questionable, I'm going to send you an email and ask you to remove the post. If you don't agree with me, just say so and we can refer the matter to Rear-D. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong and I'll apologize. I'd just rather be safe than sorry when we are dealing with potentially endangering our soldiers.

So now you all know. If you don't like it, unfriend me. I couldn't care less. The lives of our boys mean more to me than your acceptance or approval and I am going to err on the side of caution. And feel free to check my page. If I fuck up and say something I shouldn't, tell me to get the shit off my page.

So friend me. Unfriend me. Whatever. But know that I am watching.

It's a love/hate relationship. . .

that you have with the Army. One day, the Army can make me feel like my husband and my family are part of the greatest force on Earth, and the next I feel like the Army threw me into a pool full of razorblades! There are things I love about Army life and things I hate with a passion. Unfortunately, deployments tend to bring that love/hate thing into sharp clarity and the phone calls I've been getting lately from families and Rear-D in general have really tried my love for the Army. I'm not sure how much one person should be expected to handle emotionally, so I suppose I should be grateful that I am a bitch who can stay emotionally detached most of the time.

Generally speaking, I love the Army. It's a steady paycheck, great benefits, provides "vacations" from my husband, and gives me a chance to volunteer where my help is really needed and appreciated. I enjoy the fact that there's always something going on and that you have to be ready for the unexpected. It's a great life and it's been good for us.

Having said that, though, I do have a few little things that irk me about the military life: crappy pay (however steady it may be), useless lazy soldiers, psycho wives who are terrified to be alone for a minute, long ass deployments, and the terror and heart-wrenching I go through everytime one of the boys gets hurt!! This shit, I HATE.

Well, fuck me sideways. It isn't the Army I hate after all--it's the people you encounter in the Army and the situations you can't avoid. Well that makes it easier.

I love the Army.

Useless soldiers, crazy wives, deployments, and the people who hurt my boys can go FUCK themselves!