M5 W1 D5: Thoughts on my last night alone

I have been alone with my three children for four full months and five days.

Tonight is the last night I will put them to bed on my own in a very long time. The Hubby returns tomorrow.

My feelings are a stew right now, but the stock is certainly gratitude. I'm so grateful to the friends who watched my kids and cooked me meals and cleaned my house. Grateful to my parents for listening to me moan and complain. Grateful to my in-laws (both sets!) who helped me during a tight financial squeeze. And to the staff at the MFRC, who were an unfailing help and support through this, the longest, hardest and most accomplished winter of my parenting life.

To all of you, thank you a million times over. Please give me a chance to return the favour; call me anytime you need a hand.

And thank you, God, for giving all these beautiful people to me as my family and friends.

As for the other feelings floating in that stock? Excitement, certainly, and elation. But also some nervousness and fear. Will we fit back together as a family easily, or will we squabble and fight? How has he changed? How have we? Can I let go? Will the kids be royally ticked off and show it? I'm expecting the worst, but hoping for better; after all, we have a very long drive ahead of us.

If you're the praying type, drop one for us tomorrow, will ya?

M4 W3 D3: Size eight and other amazing moments

On Monday's weigh-in, I met a new weight-loss goal: 20 pounds lost. Whoopeee! My reward to me is some new clothes, so Baby N. and I went shopping this morning while the boys hung out at the MFRC.

Having lost 20, I expected to go down in size. However, I was realistic: I'd been squeezing myself into size 13/14 pants and XL shirts before Weight Watchers. I expected to be a size 10 and a L shirt, and I was very excited about that.

I arrived at Reitman's (the only decent store in town that caters to women who are not teenagers, whippet thin and/or rich) and picked a bunch of size 10s and L shirts off the racks.

I tried on a large T-shirt and size 10 jeans, very excitedly noticing how easily they zipped. I looked in the mirror. The jeans were TOO BIG. So was the shirt.

I started to cry a little bit. The saleslady asked if I was okay. I turned to her and said, "I have been overweight since I was 19 years old. I started WW 2 months ago and have lost 20 lbs. This is the first time I've bought clothes and a 10 is too big."

She looked at me, smiled and said, "I knew the 10 and the large were too big when I hung them for you. I was wondering why you chose them. You still see the old you, but honey, I see you as you are, and you are a size 8 and a medium shirt."

I cried a bit more, and she gave me a big hug and went looking for clothes in the right sizes.

I bought two pairs of size 8 jeans and five size medium shirts. They all fit perfectly.

I was hoping I'd hit a size 8 at the end of my journey. Looks like I will really be a 6/7. I haven't worn those sizes since high school.

I came home and calculated my body mass index, or BMI. It's 25, which is the highest end of "normal, healthy weight."

I am no longer obese. I am no longer even overweight. I am NORMAL.

I am in shock.

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There is some very exciting stuff happening on the Big Move front, but I can't say anything about it until tomorrow night. Things will be more final then.

Hubby is in Victoria, busting his butt to get himself settled and our nest ready. More info tomorrow night!

M4 W2 D6: Hubby graduates. I scrub floors.

Acting Sub-Lieutenant Hubby called last night, overflowing with good humour and a few drinks, to fill me in on the plans for today, Graduation Day. We had a few laughs, wondered if he'd ever get his hands on his ticket to Esquimalt and eagerly discussed the soonest date we would all be together again.

I told him I am extremely proud of him and his accomplishments. I am always proud to be my husband's wife, but that pride shone a little more brightly last night and today.

Tonight, though, I had the inevitable come-down. Little I. was being a B-R-A-T at bedtime, making messes and trying to keep his brother awake. When I finally settled him to bed, I started in on housework, as always.

And then it hit me: here I am, scrubbing the kitchen floor, while my husband celebrates one of the most significant accomplishments of his life. I can't be there. I can't even talk to him on the phone unless he finds a moment to call (unlikely since he will be entertaining his mother, sister and future step-father after the graduation.) I don't even know when I will see my husband again.

It's cruel, this uncertainty. The people around me expect me to be happy and excited and say things like, "Almost done!" But who knows if I'm almost done? I don't. Neither does the Hubby. All we know is he flies to Esquimalt tomorrow to start his new career, without wife or children.

About other people's expectations: I honestly wish they'd think them through before sharing them with me. The people who expect me to be miserable all the time tick me off just as much as the people who expect me to be happy. They foist their own fears and beliefs and foibles on me. I wish some of these people would just ask me, "How are you doing? How do you feel about that?"

My good friends and family do, thank goodness.

There is a woman I frequently bump into who always says or does the wrong thing with me. She has a background with military life. I try to be nice, since I am trying to follow Jesus, and that means looking for Him in every person I ever meet. But I wanted to rip her face off the day she asked me when Hubby was done, then smugly announced it would be harder when he came home than it is now.

Why did she say that? I understand reintegration is difficult for families. Heck, the MFRC offers reintegration sessions for spouses, it's that stressful. I expect bumps. But HARDER THAN NOW? We may argue when he returns, but when the Hubby is back I will be able to shower with the door shut, eat my food before it is stone cold and sleep in until 7:30 on weekends. I will go grocery shopping alone from time to time. I will have someone else to step in at bedtime when I'm about to lose it.

I can think of a lot of things that would be harder than now: flood, fire, tsunami, cancer, another HG pregnancy, a death in the family. Having my husband come home does not tip high on my freak-o-meter.

Some people are only happy when they are making others miserable.

Okay, rant over.

Once again, CONGRATULATIONS HUBBY!!!!!!!!! WE LOVE YOU!!!!

M2 W2 D6: Treats and tricks

I have noticed a pattern. A. punishes me every time he gets a special food treat.

I'm sick today. I have a kidney infection and needed to see the doctor and go on antibiotics (I hate antibiotics, and if you breastfeed and have ever had thrush, you know why.) The children spent the doctor's appointment at the MFRC (have I mentioned lately how much I love the MFRC staff? These women are my rock.) Afterwards, I realized I had zero groceries and was too sick to go shopping, and the boys were snackish. We picked up some Timbits.

I ordered pizza for supper tonight; I was just too sore and tired to stand at the stove and cook.

After supper, A. was acting up. I corrected him. He proceeded to tell me he hates me and I never do anything nice!!!!

I sent him to his room because I was this close to hitting him.

After I calmed down, I went to him and calmly informed him that I have noticed a pattern; all of his major tantrums and general treating-mommy-like-garbage moments have happened after he has had a treat (usually a food treat, but sometimes an adventure.)

So I am not buying any food treats for a week. Nor am I baking.

He was extremely upset, but c'mon. In what world are you rewarded for walking all over someone? Not in this world. If he is going to treat me like garbage after a treat, there won't be any treats for awhile.

I'm done. The parenting experts may be shocked, but he's got to learn he is not some prince and I am not the cook, maid, butler and nanny. He treats me like sh*t, he loses a privilege.

I did tell him I loved him and always will, treats or no treats.

Day Eight: Ladies' night out

I hired a teenage babysitter tonight (a hot commodity in Yellowknife, let me tell you), packed up Baby N. and went to supper with a bunch of ladies from the MFRC.

The MFRC organizes this once a month, always at a different restaurant. It was a blast. Someone else eagerly held my baby as I cut my meat and ate my dinner!

The women I met were all so friendly and welcoming. And they blew apart the old army wife stereotype. These were ladies with interests and careers of their own. I met a teacher, an office professional, an at-home mom expecting her second child, a military member and the woman who runs the MFRC.

I stayed out till 9:30 (pure bliss) and came home to a sleeping I. and a very tired A., who was eating a second bedtime snack. He said he couldn't sleep because he was worried about me -- guess that would happen if your Dad was gone and your mom headed out for a few hours. He fell asleep ten minutes after the sitter left.

G. was a fabulous sitter, even though she is just 12. I will definitely have her back if she is willing. The boys had a great time, and she got them to bed on time. I'm impressed.

Day five: I love good friends, my CrockPot and the MFRC

I took the boys to the casual child care at the MFRC this morning. I dropped them off to a playroom full of wonderful toys and a smiling, trained professional child care worker. I couldn't get out the door fast enough.

Baby N. and I hit my favourite coffee shop, then ran some errands. I bought a CrockPot, with which I cooked this evening's dinner (delicious!). I bought flashlights (see post below) and a crank-charge lantern that has a port for plugging in my cell phone in case of a long power outage.

In the afternoon, my friend A.L. dropped by to help with chores, just as she said she would (see Day Two). We folded laundry together and sorted them into each family member's laundry basket. A.L. is an engineer with three kids of her own -- she folded my socks in between office work and visiting a construction site!

As I was driving the Bratmobile over to playschool to pick up my son A., I was thinking about why A.L. did this for me. First off, because she is a kind and generous person. But second, because she is a Catholic Christian who lives her faith. Jesus teaches us that "whatever you do for the least of these, you do for Me." The Church also teaches that we are Christ for others when we help them. I believe these things to be true; I'm flattered anyone would help me to help Christ, and I can easily see the hands of Christ in the hands of the woman who folded my clothes today. Seeing His hands in my life gave me some extra strength today.

"I can do anything in Christ who strengthens me, Christ who delivers me. And in my hour of need, it's Christ who strengthens me, Christ who delivers me, Christ who heals me." -- "Gethsemane," by the band Communion (but first a paraphrase of the words of St. Paul)

Starting out as a military family

Today was my first day in military family basic training. I brought the kids to the military family resource centre.

MFRCs exist to help military families -- whether they're coming to new communities, or the military member is on training away from home, or on deployments. They offer all sorts of services, depending on the place: day cares, pre-schools, casual child care, a list of local babysitting teens, job placement services for spouses, on and on.

So I hauled my small brood to the one in Yellowknife for their first outing as Navy brats. While the boys decimated the play room, and Baby N. chewed on the Exersaucer toys, I overwhelmed the poor program co-ordinator with questions (thanks, Bev!)

I'm feeling a little better about the long time this winter while Hubby is away; I can't wait to take advantage of the casual child care to get a hair cut or run errands.

When I got home, I promptly called the 1-800 number for the MFRC in Esquimalt, B.C. (directly adjacent to the city of Victoria). Esquimalt is the first base we will be posted to after Hubby's basic. He'll be in school there for a few years.

While the woman on the phone did try to convince me to live in the married quarters out in the suburbs rather than the one closer to town (no thanks, I think, not my thing), she had tons of helpful information about when we can apply for married quarters (ie. a military-owned house to rent), how the waiting list for MQs works, and what we'll need once we get one (MQ's do NOT come with appliances, such as fridges and stoves. You have to supply your own.)

She also took my address and is sending me a package of info in the mail -- more stuff to study and devour about this new life we're beginning.