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reccewife
Here in my house, pity parties are not allowed to last the night. Sure, it’s okay sometimes to sit with your glass of wine and your bag ‘o chocolate and moan because you’re doing it on your own again, or because you’re little family won’t be complete at Christmas, or because not one child will have dad home for their birthday this year….. but then you pick your bloated, wine filled ass off that couch and you pull yourself together. Life moves on. And sometimes pulling yourself together just involves enough energy for yoga pants and wiping the grime from the toilet before someone thinks there’s a frat house using your bathroom. But it’s still progress. In my house, we move forward because experience has taught me nothing gets better if you’re waiting for the ideal moment to try. So last fall when Dh left I decided we wouldn’t be sitting on our butt waiting for community to magically appear and make this 4th deployment easier. We were going to make community. Inspired by Sarah Smiley and her book, we started our Invitations Deployment Project. Each Sunday, we invite someone new for dinner. Each Sunday, we have a new chance to expand our community. You can see previous months here: https://www.sheisfierce.net/deployment-project/ Well, as Easter approached we didn’t have a dinner lined up as most people had family plans. That’s when I found the “Meet a Muslim” project and signed our family up. I was contacted by Noor Ul Sabah and Tahir Ahmed Mirza and were invited to have dinner with their family Easter Sunday. He had not realized what day that was since it wouldn’t be part of…
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…
I have always wanted to work in social services. Ever since I was a kid, I can remember wanting to be a ‘helper’. Like Lucy on Charlie Brown with her Psychiatrist booth, I figured I would be good at it from the beginning. And that’s how at 20 I found myself behind a woman almost twice my age, washing the blood off her back and legs that had been left there by a John unwilling to accept the limitations of her services. He had carved words into her and thrown her from his car. I bolted to her when she arrived back at the shelter and she held up her hands. ” no! I’m positive (for HIV and HepC). Not you Kim. You’re too young to touch it.” I had assured her I had my gloves. She of course didn’t want to answer questions at the hospital so I cleaned her up. And behind her while I gently wiped the ragged shallow cuts, tears spilled down my cheek knowing the next day I would see her leave back out there. Real poverty, real addiction, it’s messy and stark and heartbreaking. But I am fairly practical and I’m not much of a cryer. Over the years I became less so. I am still a helper in my heart though, it’s why I took up social work. I’ve worked at shelters and as a child supporter with children’s aid. I’ve worked in harm reduction for pregnant addicts, volunteered at soup kitchens and with exploited women’s groups. I’m no expert by any means but I…
So, your spouse is in the Canadian military? Maybe you are a new couple, or maybe your spouse just enlisted. Either way, I get a LOT of messages from you wondering about practical advice on where to start. I have virtually none. I dont know who gave you the impression I know what I’m doing, but they were sadly mistaken. I’m winging it like everyone else. However, I will give you what I’ve got. It’s been 15 years, 3 kids 3 houses and 4 deployments, and I’ve learned far less than I should have by now, but maybe enough to get you started in the right-ish direction. Here we go. 1. It’s all in the name. And your name needs to be on EVERYTHING. Bank accounts. Cable bill. Cell phone. SunLife. Everything. Look at a monthly bank statement and all those bills that are paid? Make sure your name is on the account. Because if your spouse is away, he or she may be impossible to contact and those companies will NOT talk to you if there’s a problem. Being unable to communicate with his Visa company could mean a damaged credit rating on his return, and if you can’t speak to SunLife regarding her account, you may not be able to seek any reimbursements for the extent of their absence. 2. Power of Attorney If you are in a committed relationship (marriage, common law, etc), that piece of paper is vital. It’s the difference between you being able to relocate, make bank changes, etc or being stuck without a means to change mortgage or sell the house. I have used Power of Attorney to list and sell a house, secure…
This week, the bloggers in the military community are sharing posts on the bullying that happens within ourselves. I’ve written something on the subject that also focuses on my mistake tattoo and postage stamp dress, over here You know the type. Sometimes it’s overt, when someone treats another military spouse badly because of rank, branch, job. How many kids they have, how they wear their hair, how they dress or where they choose to live. They use words like “dependa” and they talk down to people they think are beneath them. They are hurtful, judgemental, calling names, excluding from groups, popping up on social media to tear down another spouse. Sometimes, it’s obvious. And sometimes, it’s less so. Sometimes it’s saying things like “I just don’t *need* that kind of support, but if you do….” or “I’m not the *kind of person* that fits in with the ‘military wives’…“ That subtle tone that lets you know that your choices are fine, but they are better than that. In fact, they are better than the whole community. I admit, when I hear “I know what *those wives* are like, I just don’t want to meet any.” it stings. As though somehow we are all the same and none of us are worth knowing. But as I wrote my article for this event, I found the same thing happening any time I try to write about how I think other people should change. I was instead only made painfully aware of the ways *I* need to. Because sometimes we hurt each other by our actions. By the way we treat people differently, by respect…
Here in my house, pity parties are not allowed to last the night. Sure, it’s okay sometimes to sit with your glass of wine and your bag ‘o chocolate and moan because you’re doing it on your own again, or because you’re little family won’t be complete at Christmas, or because not one child will have dad home for their birthday this year….. but then you pick your bloated, wine filled ass off that couch and you pull yourself together. Life moves on. And sometimes pulling yourself together just involves enough energy for yoga pants and wiping the grime from the toilet before someone thinks there’s a frat house using your bathroom. But it’s still progress. In my house, we move forward because experience has taught me nothing gets better if you’re waiting for the ideal moment to try. So last fall when Dh left I decided we wouldn’t be sitting on our butt waiting for community to magically appear and make this 4th deployment easier. We were going to make community. Inspired by Sarah Smiley and her book, we started our Invitations Deployment Project. Each Sunday, we invite someone new for dinner. Each Sunday, we have a new chance to expand our community. Letting politics in the mix was never on the cards for this dinner, but I wanted to be sure that we tried to include leadership, too. That meant I extended invites to our local representatives, and they accepted! First up was our provincial rep: Sophie Kiwala and her partner. They were a little hard to nail down for a visit but once they did, it was so amazing to have them! They swept in with awesome gifts from local places, each one with a story to tell the…
So with Dh coming up on his HLTA in the next month or so, we are reflecting on past leave experiences and I thought I’d share a bit on how to make your very on HLTA a disaster. Because here at She Is Fierce I like to be encouraging… or at least be a shining example of what not to do. This is Dh’s 4th deployment but his first did not have a home leave, so this is our 3rd HLTA. (By the way, that ridiculous acronym is brought to you by Home Leave Travel Allowance, and is just an armyese way of saying his mid – deployment vacation.) I can’t speak for Air Force or Navy but most (not all) Army deployment have a 16 day HLTA anywhere from 6 weeks in to 6 week before the end, depending on which rotation they get. You would think it would be all sunshine and rainbows. I mean, you haven’t seen them in a long time and your being given approximately 2 weeks to spend ‘relaxing’ right? Everything will look like a thousand YouTube videos of cammo hugs and rainbow unicorn kittens…. Ya. You COULD keep assuming that. Or learn from our mistakes: 1. Raise Your Expectations He’s going to get off that plane and you’ll jump in his arms. You’ll instantly love being around him 24/7. Your children will be on their best possible behavior, everyone will get along and he will immediately and completely readjust to life at home. Maybe. Or maybe the first hug will be awkward. The kids will be scared or angry with him for being away. One of you wants to jump into bed and the…
The last several months have been seeped with attempts to win fear. First there was the incident in Quebec where military members were run down in their own country and one lost his life. Scary and heartbreaking, but seemed like a one-off incident. It was a little easier to breath after that one because maybe, maybe that coward behind his car was the only one. Then there was the shooting in Ottawa. Another soldier, this time gunned down by a madman who rushed into our Parliament. The country took notice. It was on everyone’s mind, everyone lips. It was around that time I was sending Dh on his 4th deployment. Everything was standing still. The memories of sending him to Afghanistan after 9/11 started to creep back in, reminding me of the time when the reasons seemed more obvious than they have become. After the years where deployments have started to blend together (“wait, was that during your 2nd tour or your 3rd?“), years where the quiet complacency that can only be found in countries like ours where war and terror are far removed from our normal, clouded the resolve that had once been clear. When I see the news and hear the coffee shop/break room chatter, I want it to feel like it used to. Removed. That while devastating to some, not life altering to me. Selfishly, so selfishly, I want to be one of those people in line at Starbucks who analyze every political talking point of these events with the ease of those who have never watched a bus pull away. I want to be one of those college students on the train who theorize conspiracies and…
Here in my house, pity parties are not allowed to last the night. Sure, it’s okay sometimes to sit with your glass of wine and your bag ‘o chocolate and moan because you’re doing it on your own again, or because you’re little family won’t be complete at Christmas, or because not one child will have dad home for their birthday this year….. but then you pick your bloated, wine filled ass off that couch and you pull yourself together. Life moves on. And sometimes pulling yourself together just involves enough energy for yoga pants and wiping the grime from the toilet before someone thinks there’s a frat house using your bathroom. But it’s still progress. In my house, we move forward because experience has taught me nothing gets better if you’re waiting for the ideal moment to try. So last fall when Dh left I decided we wouldn’t be sitting on our butt waiting for community to magically appear and make this 4th deployment easier. We were going to make community. Inspired by Sarah Smiley and her book, we started our Invitations Deployment Project. Each Sunday, we invite someone new for dinner. Each Sunday, we have a new chance to expand our community. You can see how our first month went here. The first week in December, I already had Christmas decorations up. I love to decorate for Christmas, and without Dh to pull back the reigns a little, I can get going pretty early. So by the time General Dean Milner and his beautiful wife Katrin came to our door I had already strung the lights, hung the garland and decorated the tree. They brought wine. I was going to…
The last several years, I have been a whole lot more aware of these posts and these and, of course this year, even a little bit more. Because I’m always more aware of things that effect ME. I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day Their old familiar carols play, It’s a nice thought, that Christmas is about family and friends and people, and that’s a whole lot less superficial than a Christmas about expensive decorations and greedy gift openings. But in our haste to make Christmas less commercial, we have chosen another tangible reason for the season. Instead of presents, it’s about presence. Could there be anything wrong with that? And wild and sweet the words repeat Of peace on earth, good will to men. Well, to be fair, there could. Because find a widow celebrating her first Christmas alone, and tell her that the day is about being with loved ones. Find someone who has recently lost their parent, and tell them that the season is about celebrating with family. Or, in our case, tell my kids that Christmas is about those who will sit around the tree Christmas morning when they know that their dad will sit a world away. And in despair I bowed my head: “There is no peace on earth,” I said I love the idea that Christmas is not about things. I love the hope that Christmas is about being together. I love the thought of Christmas being about the presence of our loved ones. But the truth is, that’s only a comfort to those who have that opportunity. I want to say that everyone has the chance to be around *someone* who loves them this Christmas, even if it…
