Because this is why I love Christmas...

Picture it: Christmas morning, 2004. Addison is 5 years old, and is up at the butt crack of dawn to open his presents. Within minutes, the phone is ringing. It's Adam, who will listen as Addison tears into what Santa brought him. I listen along with him, watching our son, with tears in my eyes. Adam is deployed. It's our first Christmas that our family isn't together.

Picture it: Christmas 2007. Reference above paragraph. Same Christmas, different year.

I'm a Christmas freak. I have no problem letting anyone know. This is my way of letting everyone know exactly why I love Christmas.

In 2004, my best friend Ely's fiance was also deployed. In an effort to make it fun, we wore pajamas, tiaras, and feather boas all day long. We drank mimosas and had tacos for Christmas dinner. Even though our men were overseas, we did our best to enjoy the holiday. We didn't try to re-create what Christmas would be like if they were there, because they were not there.

I put on a brave face for Ely and Addison. But it wasn't the same. It was glaringly apparent that Adam wasn't there. I made it through the day, but it wasn't easy. It was a bittersweet day. I was able to spend it with my son and my best friend.

We're a military family from Massachusetts. We live in Georgia. We aren't able to just jump in the car and be at grandma's house, or an aunt, uncle, or cousin. At the holidays, and every other day, our military friends are our family.

I admit, I felt sorry for myself on those two Christmas days without Adam. I also know that there are families who will never enjoy a Christmas with their loved one again, whether they died fighting for our country, from an illness, accident, etc. I knew I was lucky that Adam was alive and well.

This Christmas, Ely, her husband, and her son (my godchild) will be spending Christmas here at our home. They will fly from Utah to Georgia, and spend a glorious week with us. I am beyond excited. I haven't seen Ely in three long years. I miss her terribly.

Any year Adam is home is a special Christmas for our family. We do not take it for granted. So, if I gush a little (or a lot) about Christmas, let it be. It's a special day for us all.

Because this gets my panties in a wad...

I'm a mother, a wife, a sister, a daughter, etc. I'm a woman, obviously. And this is what's got me pissy lately:

If I was new to this country, just woke from a coma, or something along those lines, I would garner from commercials that all moms drive mini-vans, wear khakis with cardigans (or, God forbid, Mom jeans), and think that their kids' shit doesn't stink. Wives are often portrayed as nagging shrews - why can't a dude change his daughter's diaper while discussing the football game with his buddy on speakerphone? Why can't a guy sit down and watch a football game on Sunday without his wife/girlfriend giving him a hard time?

I drive a Jeep. I have one child. I watch football, hockey, soccer, baseball, NASCAR, you name the sport, I'm most likely watching it. My adult drink of choice is beer.

I'm in no way saying I'm better than those women. I'm just different from them. There are others like me, some I'm lucky enough to call friends. But you will not catch me posting about Grey's Anatomy on Facebook, because I don't watch it. I'm more likely to be watching any old show I can (Charlie's Angels, The Brady Bunch, Three's Company).

So, advertising companies, listen up - not all moms fall into your stereotypical neat little packages. We're all different, we parent our children differently, we don't all watch the same shows or wear the same clothes. So there.

Because today can be gone ...

Today has been tough. I'm feeling lonely and depressed, the first day I have through all of this deployment. It's been almost two months, so I see that as a good thing, a silver lining.

It's extremely hard for me on holidays. With the 4th of July coming up, I see on Twitter and Facebook all the plans others are making with friends and family. My best girlfriend in town is leaving tomorrow for a month. Well then, just make your own plans, Erin, you might say. Thing is, whatever Addison and I do, it's always glaringly apparent that Adam isn't there. When there's just three of you, and one isn't there, we both feel it. So while I don't want to sit around feeling sorry for myself, it's also kind of sad when we do fun stuff.

But, tomorrow I will wake up and shake this. We'll figure out something to do. Because, I know, in the back of my mind, we're incredibly lucky to have Adam be healthy and alive.

Because I'm holding tight...

In two weeks, I will be the mother of a 12-year-old boy. I'm not one of those moms who declare, "Where did the time go? They grow up so fast!" No shit. I'm well aware of every day that passes, every minute, every hour.

Addison found a dictionary given to him at school a few years ago last week. It said, "To the Class of 2017." Wait, what? That's in seven years. Seven years may seem like a long time to most, but for me, I have exactly seven years left to make the most of every second with him. He's my only child. I have one shot to make him a productive member of society, to teach him manners, to nurse him through his first broken heart, to teach him everything he needs to know before venturing out into the world on his own.

Though I wish Adam didn't have to deploy, I am a realist at certain times. This is my time to spend with Addison, to make memories with just me and him. I want him to look back someday and remember that although Dad was deployed, Mom tried her hardest, we had fun, we laughed, we cried, we bonded. I have no doubt Addison will always be close to Adam and I. He's a good kid. But I also feel him beginning to test his independence. The upcoming teen years will be hard. The day he gets his license and drives off on his own I will be a wreck.

But I won't worry about that now. I have a few years left to cherish this time, to grab every day by the balls and make each and every day special.

Because I believe in signs...

I often have dreams where my relatives who have died visit me. After my aunt died, I had a dream that we were sitting at a table together at some sort of function, and she said to me, "It's okay that you didn't go to my funeral." I had the flu so entirely bad I spent the day before her funeral, at my son's baptism, on the floor in the priests' room. I was too sick to go to her funeral, and felt bad about it. Her coming to me in my dream made me feel a lot better, and I truly believe she came to me specifically, in my dreams, to let me know that.

I've had several including my beloved grandfather. They are always fun, and I appreciate him coming into my dreams.

Last night, however, was different. I was getting ready to go on a boat trip. I met up with a red-haired man. The man I met was Jason Dahlke. Jason died in Afghanistan in August of 2009 while on a mission. He was one of my husband's Soldiers. I never met him. I have heard many great things about him as a person, and hearing and reading about him makes me know I missed out on knowing an extraordinary man.

I knew it was Jason in my dream. I can't recall everything, except I instantly liked him. Not romantically, mind you. He has a beautiful wife. We were instant friends. I offered him some sort of clothing to take on the boat. Then he went and got a jean jacket that was lined with lambswool to take with him. At the last minute, I decided against going on the boat, because of a warning of rough seas and my tendency towards seasickness. I made Jason promise to keep in touch through the boat ride, and that we would meet up again when he got back.

I woke up not knowing how to feel. I feel honored that Jason came to me in my dream. I felt the need to share this, to see if anyone had any other ideas. I like to think that this means that Jason and his fellow comrades are looking down and taking care of Adam and his men, currently deployed.

Thank you, Jason. I feel, in a small way, that we have met. You really are extradordinary.

Because it's been a week ...

So I haven't been blogging every day since Adam left. Oh well. But I know exactly how I have felt since he left nine days ago. You name the emotion, I've felt it.

The first week I allow myself to feel a bit bad for myself. Just a little - no pity parties here. Addison had a tough time the first day and a half. It's tough for an almost 12-year-old boy to know his dad will be gone for the next few months. He'll miss seeing him play baseball for the All-Stars, miss his last day of sixth grade, miss his 12th birthday. Addison is a resilient, tough kid though. I like to think the life of a Special Operations soldier's child will prepare him for most anything life will throw at him.

So the first week is done. I'm still trying to pick myself up by the bootstraps, whatever the hell that means. Putting on my big girl panties. It's not easy, no matter how many times we've done this before. (EIGHT) It's an uneasy feeling giving that last kiss, the last goodbye wave, the last glimpse of his face. I try to be positive. He'll come home. He'll come home safe and sound. I can't bear to think of it any other way. Reality can kiss my ass right now.

This trip seems a bit easier in some ways. I was honest with myself. I went to my doctor. I'm on an antidepressant. It's only been two weeks since I started it, but it is helping. I still can't sleep worth a crap, but that is something I can work on.

So far, so good. I'm laying off the booze for the most part, and getting out and doing things. I can't stop life, and life won't stop me.

Because I've been thinking ...

I've been thinking that I might try to blog this next deployment. It's hard, because of the operational security related to Adam's job, but I think maybe I can do it in generalities, more like what I'm feeling, how it's going, etc.

When Adam calls us from "over there" as we call it, we talk about my day, and Addison's day. It's hard for Adam to share anything, because we both know he would never and never has shared anything even related to being over there over the phone. He takes his job and his security and that of others around him seriously. I appreciate that. I wish everyone would just shut their mouths and do their job, and not put others in danger. I wish wives would stop trolling for sympathy. Some is fine, but not ALL the time. I finally admitted to myself that I owed it to Adam, and Addison, and myself even, to get to the doctor for help. I am now armed with antidepressants, because I recognize the past few deployments have been harder than they should have. I don't need to walk around in a constant fog of depression. That's not healthy for anyone.

So I think most days I will try to post what that day feels like. I'm no dummy, so the first few days will all probably show up at one time. I'm not telling you when he leaves and I'm not letting you know when he'll be back. I want each and every person over there to come home safely.