Brookfield, Blizzards and Chicken: A Military Spouse in Posting Season

Usually when I’m asked to speak somewhere or write something, it’s to give insight into the lives of Canadian Forces families to a culture that doesn’t know a whole lot about them.  Or what they do know, they see on the news or on Lifetime, a jaded, spun and less than realistic portrayal of a life.

Many many days, the military plays very little role in my day to day activities.  I get up, I go to a gym in my (civilian) community.  I get my kids off to (a civilian run) school.  I go to work.  I happen to work on the base part time, so that part is a little skewed.  But then I come home.  I take my kids to Jiu Jitsu at another off base gym.  I clean up and watch Netflix.  I start over.

So while the undertones of my life have been set by my spouse’s employment (I live where we were told, not where we choose.  I sleep alone though I’ve been married 14 years), for those mundane daily activities we’re not any different.  We’re average.  My spouse, though in a combat trade and on his 4th deployment, has never been wounded, emotionally or physically.  We walk through life like everyone else.

Except we don’t.  Not always.  And there are times of year where the military stops being one of those quiet sideline participants and starts screaming for center stage like a tantrum throwing toddler.  That’s the season of life we are in now.  And I could yell from the rooftops that the military is ‘just a job’ and we’re not different, but every single things I will do for the next while will say otherwise.

So I wrote out one of those days, just to see.  What does one of those days sound like?

This morning I woke up at 5.

That’s half an hour before my alarm, but all of a sudden my brain wanted to remind me that I still hadn’t called the hot water people to clear up a rental contract on our house that’s listed for sale. 

There was an email on my phone from my husband.  Apparently he had 5 minutes and a computer sometime around 2am my time.  While this is the first time we have had the opportunity to use Internet to connect during a deployment and I’m amazingly grateful for that, ‘connecting’ is still mostly missed emails back and forth and the odd attempt at a video call every 10 days or so.  He’s received the information I sent him on the house listing.  Thankfully he’s okay with it, since I had to go ahead without him on it when I didn’t hear back.  I used my Paper Husband (Power of Attorney) to sign the contract yesterday.

My daughter is up shortly after, excited for her first basketball practice now that she’s made the team.  One by one they start to stir and pop into my bed for a cuddle before they go about their morning.  It’s a new stage of life I’m at, with my youngest at 7 and my oldest at 12, where they have most of their morning on their own.
I like it.

I head to the gym for 6.  Spin class tries to burn off the feelings I’ve eaten the past 5 months since Dh left.  It has so far been less than successful.  I get home shortly after 7, put the finishing touches on the kids lunches, make my breakfast and take a shower.

When I get out the kids are leaving for school and I need to head to work.  I go room to room, cleaning up, grabbing garbage and laundry, smoothing beds and wiping off dust with my hand.  There’s a showing today while we are gone, the house isn’t how I think it should be, but it is the best I can make it and I’ve learned to accept that.  I say a quick prayer that this will be the week someone gives us an offer so I can stop forcing the kids to hover over the floors.

I head to see my realtor.  I have to finish something new and grab the papers I need for the relocation agent.  My realtor is also a military spouse looking towards her own relocation.  She graciously has coffee waiting.  It’s my 3rd cup of the day, but I’m still gonna take it.

From there I head to work.  I work on base with military units and families.  On the way my phone beeps and when I arrive and can check it, it’s a news alert that the government has made a military announcement.  I make a mental note to stay off social media.  I will ignore it later.  Some of your posts about it will almost physically hurt. I won’t be responding. 

Today approximately 17 people will ask when Dh is coming home.

I don’t know.

I didn’t know when he left and while I have a slightly better idea 5 months later, I still don’t know.   But yes, it would be nice if he was here before we leave this city.  Truth be told, it would be nice if he was here for all the hard parts before we leave, but I know what you mean. 

A handful of you will then tell me what you think about any and all current and past military actions.  Trust me when I say I’m not really listening because I like you.

Approximately 3 people will ‘congratulate’ me on the posting.  One because it’s a good move for my husband’s career and I agree.  We’ve been given a great thing for him, not everyone gets the same opportunities, it really is something to be thrilled over and we are.
Also about 6 months ago I got a good paying job in my field for the first time since my son was born 12 years ago.  So the posting message wasn’t a surprise.  

The rest will congratulate us because it will be assumed that since we just came from there, it will be like ‘going home’.
We have absolutely amazing friendships to return to, and parents and siblings will be a 4 hour drive instead of a plane trip away.
But I have also loved it here.  There’s been some family within a few hours from here, too, and I’m going to miss them.  I like this city, the size is perfect and my house is open and has a big yard.  I’m not going to be able to afford that in the new place.
I’m  happy to head back but I’m sad to leave here.

‘Going home’ is a funny concept.  I don’t think I know what that would look like.  

The realtor texts while I’m attempting to wrap up for the day to ask about a showing at 4.  My kids get home from school at 3:50.  I need to get home before they explode in the front door.  I rush out.

I grab the 3 of them and my dog and stick them in the van before giving one last look at the house and taking them to Jiu Jitsu.

My son tells me he wants to do a school project about someone important and could he do it on one of daddy’s friends that was killed in Afghanistan?
Of course he can.
I can cry about that later. 

 I drive back to work with my youngest and my dog while the other 2 are at the gym because there’s an email I forgot to send.

When we get home I throw perogees, fries and snap peas in front of them and they treat it like a gourmet meal.  Which is what happens when you set the bar this low.  They do homework and I prepare the papers for my morning meeting with Brookfield.

Brookfield are the relocation agents who are supposed to help us navigate our Government move and make things easier.  I believe with all my heart there are good Brookfield agents out there.  You hear people talk about them, the same way they talk about Canadian cities that have flowers by March, or Dairy Queen Blizzards that are actually served upside down.  I’ve never seen one and last time someone tried to show me it got very messy, but I trust  everyone can’t be lying.  They must be there somewhere.
I need to bring this new agent all my realtor papers, home assessment, car registrations, motorcycle documents and my first born son’s first lock of hair.  I’ve got this.

I give my kids yet another lecture about helping mom keep the house clean before they get to bed.  My parenting this season has sucked.  When Dh gets home we have promised them their first ever trip to Disney.  Depending on the house sale we may have to live in the van when we get there, but guilt is a powerful motivator.  The kids have been troopers and many days I am so busy I forget that the 3 years we have been here have been a lifetime to them.  Starting over is hard.  I worry that they think everything will be the same as we left it when we arrive at the next place.  It’s been 3 years and you can’t go home again.  It won’t be the same.  I pray it will still be the adventure they love.  There’s a beauty in this life.  We’ve been looking forward to the trip to our new home, that’s the fun part of posting.  They always see the good.  They are resilient.

I return about 13 emails and facebook messages I’ve neglected.  I still haven’t got them all and I’m sure I will have destroyed at least a couple friendships before I go.  I tidy up in the garage because it was on my list.  I hide the wine bottles sitting for recycling because apparently I care what other people think.  I do the days laundry and clean up the kitchen. I leave the floors because I’ll have to clean them in the morning anyways.  There was a time I would have done it both times, so no one can say I’ve learned nothing over time.  I make my lunch for tomorrow and throw some chicken in the oven so I don’t do it during the day when we might have a showing and it will smell.  I stare intently at all the little things in the house I haven’t had time to do.

It’s after 11 and in bed I send 2 emails to Dh.  The first email forgets to tell him everything that’s got me excited: the light at the end of this deployment.  our vacation together.  the HLTA we got to spend together in exotic places.  the fun road trip there.  seeing our friends and family.  house shopping.

Instead it lists all the things that have me terrified: home inspections. down payments. new listings in my area. mortgage costs.  the stability of the market in the new city. what the new house will be worth when we leave there in the 5 years they think we will.  what it will be worth when we end up leaving in 3 just because.  making it to Drama’s basketball tournaments. the waitlist there for the Autism services my son is still on the waitlist for here.

The second email just says:

I got this. I love you. Be safe.

Right as I’m falling asleep I remember the chicken is still in the oven.

Okay, I’ve mostly got this.

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