Ready or Not

“I’m just not ready.” “I don’t know how to do this.”

And these are just two of the thoughts that have run a marathon through my head the past few days. As Robert’s deployment date drew near, I fretted. I worried. I cried. Robert was the picture of patience. He never complained about my endless questions; he didn’t say a word when his favorite t-shirt was smudged with mascara. He held my hand, wiped my tears, hugged me tight and said everything I needed to hear.

We spent the weekend packing too much stuff in too few bags, we said our ‘see you laters’ in a dim parking lot, and I watched him fade into a sea of camouflaged soldiers headed toward a plane. I failed miserably at being strong; I gave up even trying.

I’m sure I’ll keep Kleenex and Hallmark in business for the upcoming weeks but I have come to realize that falling apart here won’t help Robert keep it together over there. Worrying won’t make the time pass any more quickly and being scared won’t keep him safe. He’s counting on me to take care of things here so that he can concentrate over there; I will not let him down.

When you love someone, you don’t want to be without them for a day, much less an extended amount of time, but you know that missing them temporarily is better than not knowing what you’re missing. You know that your heart hurts because the ties that bind are stretching but not breaking. You know that life will be different for a little while but that it will be that much sweeter when you’re together again.

No military family member is ever ready to see their loved one get on that plane. No military spouse ever feels like they’ve got the homeland side of a deployment completely under control. But we know that it’s their calling to do the jobs that keep us safe and keep our liberties in tact. So, we watch them go and we count down the days until they are safely back with us. We take it one day, sometimes one moment, at a time. We take care of the houses and make sure the bills get paid. We cry over random things and send care packages because “when we don’t know what to do, we throw a brownie at it”. We do anything we can so that our soldier has one less thing to worry about. It’s the least we can do. And we wouldn’t have it any other way.

Robert, if you can read this from where you are, know that I love you, I miss you, and I am so very very proud of you. See you soon!

Can You Hear Me Now??? Yes, I sure can.

After sending my complaining, ranting, raving, squeaky wheeling email to the big cell phone company, and truly feeling no better for having voiced all of my disappointment and dismay, a friend called with a suggestion on a last ditch effort to fix the problem. And it was truly a light bulb moment when I was 1. grateful for friends who are not only smart but have extra doses of common sense and 2. irritated all over again that none of the five company representatives I’d worked with over the past few days had thought of this brilliantly simple, problem solving idea.

And so we went to the store (not the store we'd tried before) hopeful but completely prepared for another disappointment.  Enter Matt. We explained the gist of our dilemma and our idea on how to fix it. Matt never missed a beat and said “absolutely, that’s a great idea.” Finally, we're getting somewhere!

An hour or so later, we walked out of the store with not only the phone I wanted (and it’s pink; you knew it would be!), but with a merged plan that actually saves us 10 dollars a month, and a peace of mind that I will never be unreachable when or if Robert needs me while he’s away. I know Matt did all the work but somehow I walked out feeling like my own version of David and Goliath, like my voice was heard through the sea of customers and my pennies mattered in the bank of their 10.2 billion dollar profits. I told Robert I felt like it was a “victory for poor people everywhere” that I didn’t cave to paying their high phone price. He gave me the look and told me I was being a little dramatic. I didn’t care; I was on top of the world. I love a good happy ending.     

As we got back in the truck, I got a follow up email from the rant I’d sent to Customer Service. It thanked me for being a loyal customer and explained to me why there was nothing they could do to help change my situation. I guess they’ve never met Matt.

Can You Hear Me Now? Ummm, nope.

Most of you know I like to keep this blog light and fun. But twice this week, I’ve ventured to that deep dark place where patience and madness collide, where ugly thoughts and evil wishes rise to the surface, where words my mama wouldn’t be proud of fly out of my face… you know the place- Customer Service hell. Yep, been there twice this week… and when saying, “Don’t make me blog about this” didn’t get me anywhere, I am forced to stay true to my word and tell you all about it.

All I wanted was an early upgrade on my cell phone so that I can talk to Robert across the globe without being tied to the computer at the house. Sounds easy enough, right? So off to the cell phone store we go. But they say I’m not eligible for an upgrade and a new phone will cost 649. And that’s not 6 dollars and 49 cents, ya’ll. Six hundred and forty-nine dollars. That I don’t have to spare even though I work three jobs. And so I leave the store, with my lip poked out and a grown-up version of a two-year old’s temper tantrum brewing within me.

Based on recommendations from my co-workers, I called Customer Service to see if somebody’s supervisor’s supervisor could help change my eligibility date so that I could get the phone I need at a price I could live with.

And 47 minutes later... Yep, 47 long, put on hold no less than seven times, minutes later, I was still no closer to getting what I need. Here’s the problem and I’m pretty sure you’ll see the core of my discontent pretty quickly.

I signed a two year contract in March 2010. I got a simple plan because I didn’t text a lot then. Somewhere along the way, I changed my plan because it only takes one month of going over your allowed texts to realize that a few extra LOLs can really break the bank. Strike One: opting for the long range contract (over the shorter 1 year option) forces you to wait 20 months for a new phone (in the life of cell phone advances, 20 months might as well be 20 years, if you ask me). Strike Two: upping your minutes to actually pay them more per month de-activates your eligibility for an early upgrade (now how much sense does it make to punish a customer for giving you more money each month?). And Strike Three: the cell phone company signed some sort of contract with Apple that makes it “impossible” to change anyone’s eligibility or plan status. (Good job, legal department. Way to build in an exception clause.) Three strikes and that’s the ballgame, folks.  

I did write a nasty email to the company and used all the big words I could think of- atrocious, deplorable, inconsiderate, unfathomable, and on and on. I’m pretty sure it didn’t do any good. I’m still sitting here with a phone that can’t do what I need it to do.

What floors me is that the exact same phone that would cost me 649 today would be given to a brand new customer for 199. How’s that for rewarding customer loyalty? I understand that they are in business to make money and if they made an exception for me today, they’d be losing 350 dollars. For a company that made 10.2 Billion, yep Billion with a B, dollars in profits last year, 350 measly dollars doesn’t seem like much of a compromise to keep a loyal, long-time customer. But I suppose that’s how they made their 10.2 billion- 350 at a time. What boggles me as much as that is why a company that is savvy enough to make that kind of profit would sign a contract with Apple that doesn’t have any way to make an exception to eligibility dates. I mean, really, what’s it take for a girl to get a loophole around here?

I haven’t heard back from my email to the company; I’m pretty sure their only course of action at this point will be to put me on the Crazy Customer Watch List. Since their coverage really is the best, I’m pretty much stuck in cell phone jail and I’ll probably just wait out my time like a good little prisoner. But if you have any ideas on how to best execute a prison break from the cell phone, let me know.

Top 10- Anniversary Edition

One month ago, my life changed permanently and perfectly into what it has always meant to be. I put on a beautiful white dress, walked down an aisle in front of family and friends, and joined hands and hearts with the man who is my best friend, my unfailing support, my constant comedian, and the absolute love of my life.

They say, ‘when you know, you know’ and they (whoever they are) are right. I think Robert says he knew within a week of our meeting. Little did he know that a week’s worth of fantastic home-cooked meals and funny stories is about all I’m good for but lucky for me, by then, he was hooked! J

For me, always the one to put up the walls, it took a little longer. I think it was day 2 of a week of him being away on a work trip for me to realize 1. he’d packed my heart in his duffle bag, yep, I'm pretty sure he sandwiched it right there between his socks and his shampoo; and 2. I was perfectly confident that he’d take care of it, protect it, and bring it back in better condition than he found it. And I was right.

And every day since then, I’ve found a new reason to love him… and here’s  the Top 10 (because you know how much I love a good Top 10 list!)

10- He didn’t even flinch when I accidentally stapled the wedding program to the kitchen table… the table that has safely made it through moves to three states but apparently can only barely survive me on crafty project night… and that lets me know he’s forgiving… and has a sense of humor.

9- He won the firearms competition at work but is quick to tell people I can outshoot him… which is not true… but it lets me know he’s proud of me.

8- There’s not a day that goes by he doesn’t call me Gorgeous or Beautiful or Sweetness… which is also not always true… but it makes me feel like the prettiest girl in the whole wide world.

7- He always tells me dinner is great and always thanks me for packing his lunch even when it’s no trouble at all… and that lets me know I'm appreciated.

6- Instead of complaining when I don’t fold the towels or t-shirts the way he used to do it, he chooses to be grateful that the laundry is done… and that makes me feel like a good homemaker.

5- He always calls to tell me he’s on the way home… and ends every call with “I love you”… and that lets me know he’s thinking of me and that I am loved.

4- He handles the yard work that I detest... and that lets me know I’m not alone in this partnership and that I don't have to do everything by myself.  

3- When I have a ‘special moment’, like when I asked if camouflage spray paint comes out of the can in three colors, he never laughs at me (just with me, later)… and that makes me feel like it’s OK to make mistakes or to not know everything.

2- When I riddle him with questions about anything and everything military, he never tells me it’s a silly question or asks why I’m asking, he just explains it in a way I understand or explains it again until I get it… and that lets me know he cares enough to want me comfortable understanding the work that is such a huge part of our lives.

1-Before he makes a decision, he asks me what I think… and that lets me know that my opinion matters.

We were both independent for so long before we found each other, thinking of someone else first isn’t always second nature but Robert works very hard to make sure I am considered, included, and involved. I appreciate that more than he could ever know. I know life won’t always be perfect, or easy, or simple. I also know that if we keep doing what we’re doing, countless tiny things that let the other know "I'm here for you", we’ll be perfectly, wonderfully, amazingly fantastic until the last chapter says… Happily Ever After.

I love you, Robert. Happy One Month Anniversary.

Looking Back on 9/11

Ten years. A lot can happen. A lot has happened. 10 years ago this weekend, our world got smaller. Words like “terrorist” and “Jihad” went from concepts we’d never heard of to concepts we couldn’t wrap our brains around. Planes crashing into buildings went from a concern we’d never had to a fear we’ll have every time we’re in an airport or in a high-rise building for the rest of our lives. The World Trade Center Twin Towers replaced Princess Diana’s car crash and/or the Challenger Explosion in the “Where were you when…” conversations.

In the midst of the initial news stories on September 11, 2001, there was a palatable mix of anger, shock, and fear. But in the days that followed, those sentiments turned into stories of grace and dignity and heroism, of sacrifice and honor and bravery. Stories of people who sacrificed themselves to save others. Stories of people who wouldn’t surrender to the certainty that their loved one was lost. Stories of people who used their vacation days to help with the bucket brigades. Stories of people who lost someone on Tuesday summoning the courage to get out of bed to face Wednesday. Stories of strength I hope to never have to know; of loss I hope to never have to endure; of courage I hope to never need to possess.

But that’s what makes America, America. That’s what makes the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave still, no matter how battered and scarred, the best place in the world. 9/11 reminded us that America and the freedoms we’re privileged to enjoy are not to be taken lightly; they must be protected because they can vanish in a matter of moments. 9/11 reminds us still today that strangers become neighbors when someone lends a helping hand and that neighbors become friends when someone takes the time to pay attention. 9/11 reminds us that life is fragile and that we should say what we need to, and hug who we want to, and never let a moment pass by because there’s not enough time or you think you don’t have the right words.

As the wife of a soldier, I see things much differently than I did ten years ago, or even one year ago. The stories of the war on terrorism on the news are not just tales of what is happening “somewhere over there”. The President’s speeches and Congressional decisions don’t just affect “someone else”; they affect my husband, my family. And it matters. And what he does matters. And I am so very very proud of him.

On this 9/11 weekend of remembrance, I hope you’ll thank a police officer, hug a fireman, or send a care package to a soldier.  I hope you’ll give a little more to the people around you and take a little less from those who are generous on your behalf. I hope you’ll pause and thank God you were blessed to be born on this patch of grass we call the United States of America. I hope you’ll hum the National Anthem and really think about the words; that you’ll count your blessings until you run out of numbers. This weekend, friends, make it something special, make it something honorable, make it… Something More.

What's in a Name?

Funny little things, names. Parents fret over picking the right one (and then end up calling their babies some nicknamed version anyway). Kids go through phases where they don’t like them or won’t answer to them. Brides practice writing them (sometimes even accidentally signing their new name before they even have it, but that’s another story for another day). They label us, define us, and sometimes even define for us people we don’t even know. To be just one (or in some cases, two) words, names are a big, huge deal.

And then you get married and it’s time to change your name. And the big, huge deal immediately becomes a big, huge pain in the rear. (No offense, Robert; I’d change my name a million times over if it meant getting to be Mrs. You.)

The dilemma started weeks back… as a Southern girl who squishes her two names together, I started getting questions as to what my new initials would be- would I drop the middle name initial or the maiden? Would I keep both and just add my new last name? Would I hyphenate? I was starting to feel like the Carrie Underwood tune “…and I don’t even know my last name”. Argh.

When you use your two first names, having two last names just seems silly so I decided to drop the maiden. Pretty simple.

And then it came time to change names… in a million places… with a million sets of requirements. And nothing’s ever simple.

I got the stink eye from the sweet little lady at the Register of Deeds office because I didn’t bring Robert with me to pick up the certified copies of the marriage license. (She developed a little crush on him when we applied for the license; I can’t say I blame her.)

I took the documents the internet told me I needed to the DMV where I was told I needed a new Social Security card first. Argh.

I backtracked to the Social Security Office where, when I walked in, the big goofus of a security guard was yelling at an elderly lady with a walker in the lobby for bringing in a bottle of water. Geez, it was water and she was older than Methuselah’s mom; give the lady a break already. When I was finally helped by someone who will never be in the running for Employee of the Month, I was told the card would arrive in the mail in 7 to 10 days but that I could use the receipt at the DMV. And then she walked away from the service window like I wasn’t even still sitting there. Deep breaths.

I waited the 24 hours the hurried Social Security worker told me to and swung by the DMV this morning. I went to an office in a small town, thinking it would be quicker than one in the big city. On my way, I got behind a slow school bus that was behind an even slower tractor. Argh. Nope, Argh won’t do. %$#^. That's better.

I got to the DMV before 8:00 and was somehow still tenth in line in a town with a population of 7. Then, I realized I’d accidentally left my cash on the kitchen table so I paid for my new license in change from the cup holder in the car. Yep, that’s the way to get DMV workers smiling first thing in the morning. You don't get a new license on the spot anymore; you get a temporary license card and your new license with photo (that they don't let you see while at the DMV) comes in the mail in two weeks.

So, I took my new, nifty temporary license card that clearly says “Your old license is your photo identification until your new license arrives” to the bank to change my name there. The customer service assistant in the lobby said I had to wait for my new license. I politely showed her the bridging document between the old license and the new, but she wasn’t convinced I was me. *&%$*. *%$#.

Even when I showed her the certified marriage certificate, the Social Security receipt AND told her I had countless other things in the Grown-up Girl Scout’s Bag of Everything with my old name on it, she was still not convinced. *%#@. !@$%. ^%$#!$.

My patience, I realized, was still at home (probably on the kitchen table keeping my 10 dollar bill company.) Lucky for her, a manager came out into the lobby, rescued her from my impending meltdown, and updated everything for me.

There are still more places to update but I’ll get to them. I’m a woman on a mission to be who I’m supposed to be on every document I have. This may take a while; but it's OK, I have an entire lifetime…