A Navy Wife Laments

For me, parenting through deployment is a balancing act. We're always either building up or breaking down, and right now we're pretty broken.

I could take you on a visual tour through our house. I could show you the laundry wadded up in the chair, the crayons scattered across the table, the sink full of dirty dishes, the crumbs on the counter, the empty pantry, the toys strewn across the floor, the trashcan that's overflowing in our cabinet, and the overflow-trash-bag that's hanging off the doorknob in our kitchen. (Not to mention the one by the couch, the one full of Kleenex, which is rapidly filling.) I could show you the unmade beds and the smudgy windows, Katherine's dress-up box explosion, the high-heeled shoes in the hallway, and the empty space inside my closet, but it wouldn't be enough.

Showing you the mess still wouldn't give you the full scope of this domestic disaster. The girls are sick; the government hasn't turned on the heat in our building and our apartment's freezing. I need to clean; I need to get groceries; I need to go down to the housing office and ask them for a space heater, but I can't because it's cold outside, and raining.

Am I the only one who has such a tenuous grasp on housework? Am I the only one whose life is so easily thrown off kilter?

I work hard most of the time, but as soon as I stop for breath I feel like everything falls apart. I'll get it back together, of course. For one thing, I've built a few external checks into our system. Our housekeeper comes tomorrow. He'll mop the floors, take out the trash, and clean the bathrooms. This evening I'll pick up the toys and fold the laundry, and when he knocks on our door in the morning I'll bundle the girls into their stroller. I'll go out for a space heater. I'll get the groceries. I'll start rebuilding.

I can handle this, but I'm tired of handling everything. I'm tired of the routine. Despite our housekeeper, I'm tired of being the person in charge of all these responsibilities.

Maybe I'm just tired.

Night before last, Katherine couldn't sleep. Her eyes were itchy and her nose was stuffy. I stroked her hair and fluffed her pillows. I handed her tissues. I held her. Then last night Penelope couldn't sleep. Her throat hurt and her feet were freezing. I pulled her into my lap and gave her sips of water. The house was in chaos all around us, but I wrapped her in a warm quilt and snuggled her close to my body; and, on two different nights, with two different girls, she drifted off to sleep just as the sun was rising. Then, on two different nights, with two different girls, the other girl woke up and padded toward me. I held my finger to my lips and signaled silence. Then we tiptoed down the hall, toward morning.

So on two different nights, with two different girls, and then on two different mornings, I managed; but, I want to stop managing, you guys. I want someone to take care of me for awhile.

I know no one wants to hear all these complaints. I know these are First World Problems. I know I'm blessed, I know I'm lucky, and I know tomorrow I'll pull everything back together, but I've come this far so I might as well just lay it all out on the line. I'm feeling sorry for myself.

It's Veteran's Day, but I'm not feeling thankful. I'm holding back tears.

I just want Chris to come home right this instant.