Wife Swap (?)

I realize that I owe you all an update (yes, I actually AM aware of the passing of time in this crazy life of mine) but instead I am writing this in response to Kristle's recent SpouseBuzz article about Wife Swap (read her post HERE).

Having never actually watched an entire episode of Wife Swap, it is tough for me to say whether or not I would be willing to do this show (I am guessing NOT....and it is a moot point because Jarhead would NEVER agree to this!!!) however, even if I was willing to swap, and even if hubby agreed to it, I know for a fact that the show's producers could NEVER find anyone willing to take on my insane life for any period of time.

The manual I would have to leave for anyone so crazy would probably go something like this:


"Welcome to our insane asylum. If you did not bring your own meds, well sorry - you'll wish you had. If you feel the need to 'borrow' some, borrow mine, they're the BEST.  But they always run out, so good luck with that.  In an emergency, you can borrow my 'backup meds':

As you will notice when you enter our home, dust is a NOUN here, not a verb.  (it is something that is HERE, not something I DO)  If this bothers you, feel free to waste your time constantly shifting the never-ending supply of dust from one surface to another.  I prefer to spend my time tending to the needs of all the men in my life:




This is Jarhead.

He is always right. Don't question it, just know that he IS always right. He has a charming mix of Bi-polar symptoms and O.C.D., with A.D.D. tendencies and some violent anger outbursts thrown in for fun. I am pretty sure this is actually undiagnosed PTSD, unless maybe he is taking asshole pills behind my back.  DON'T POKE THIS BEAR.  He doesn't regularly take any meds, much to my dismay.  Your best bet is to provide timely meals that are at least a little appealing, with plenty of salt and cold Coke Zero.  Desserts help, too.  Serve with a remote control on the side, and stay out of his line of sight.  Do NOT, under any circumstances, make fun of his incessant channel surfing.  He is only home 3 out of every seven days, so just keep the peace while he's home, and you can breathe easier and stop walking on eggshells for four straight days.




This is Bonehead. 

He will be 18 in 149 days, but who's counting? He is ridiculously funny, but even more ridiculously inappropriate.  If you are easily offended, bring ear plugs or an iPod so you can ignore him.  99.9% of everything that comes out of his mouth is a meaningless joke, anyway.  He can be trusted to babysit the toddler for a few hours at a time, but be prepared to come home to this scene if you take advantage of this:

(yes, that is a baby asleep in a laundry hamper)

Bonehead can also be very violent if provoked, and stands a full 6' 4" so don't poke THIS bear, either.  His primary trigger is anyone mentioning his Asperger's Syndrome, or anything that he perceives to be a reference to this.  One recent meltdown started with me saying, "you would be good at X" because he assumed that my reason for thinking he would be good at it was because of his Asperger's.  Just give him something constructive to do each day, and give very clear & concise instructions. If you leave room for interpretation, YOU WILL GET his interpretation (and it won't match anything you could ever come up with on your own).  Ask him to show you his speed-solving skills with his Rubik's Cube - this is phenomenal to see, and he is always happy to show off.




This is Knucklehead.

He is our 'perfect child'.  Or was, until he hit middle school. Now he occasionally brings out a teenage attitude, but generally uses this to go pout in solitude.  He can be trusted to watch the toddler, but is not great about changing diapers - so limit your errands to 2 hours or less, if you leave Knucklehead in charge.  He will spend his free time playing videogames, shooting hoops at the park down the street, or playing with his little brother.  He is low-maintenance, but don't forget to give him some attention or you'll see that attitude I mentioned above.




This is Bobblehead.

He loves eggs and hates being told what to do.  He knows he is cute, so beware! He will use those dimples against you if he can.  He naps pretty well (finally!) and sleeps through the night, but is very dependent on certain routines and comfort items to make this happen.  See the 'sleep manual' provided in a separate volume. He wiggles during diaper changes, as he seems to think his purpose in life is to streak around the house naked.  He throws a mean tantrum, but can usually be distracted from a fit with a ball; any ball will work, but basketballs are his favorite. He also loves splashing in water... ANY kind of water (keep bathrooms off limits or he will play in the toilet)

His language has been a little slow to develop, but is now picking up, so you can expect him to learn hundreds of new words during your stay here.  Please don't teach him any four-letter-words, as I have worked very hard to curb my own swearing to keep him from repeating anything that might embarrass me, say, at church.  Or at the Christian Preschool where I teach (that's another whole manual there).  Bobblehead gives the BEST cuddles, so if there are no 'meds' or 'backup meds' in the house, his snuggly hugs and kisses should get you through the rough days.  They certainly do for me."

What would you put in your manual, if you went on Wife Swap? Post in the comments below, or better yet make a blog post about this and put the link in a comment below :)

As always, THANKS SO MUCH for reading!


   

did i say that out loud???

Just a warning right from the start - this post might piss a lot of people off.  That is NOT my intention, however, human nature being what it is, I know that it is a likely result.

My intention in sharing this is actually twofold - I need to get some negative crap off my chest, and I want to bring awareness to the struggle that so many other spouses like me are going through RIGHT NOW.  Maybe you know one, and maybe you'll approach her differently after you read this (?)  Or maybe you'll just sit down and write me a nasty email for being honest.

So, you know that scene in Jerry Maguire, where he basically has a nervous breakdown & then a manic episode, during which he writes his mission statement (the title is something like, 'the things we think but do not say') and he makes sure that EVERYONE in his company gets a copy........then he wakes up, realizes that he wants to take back EVERY WORD, and then realizes it is too late?  Yeah, THAT moment.  Have you ever felt like that?  I have a feeling I will feel that way within about 15 seconds after I click "PUBLISH POST" but I am posting this anyway, knowing that it actually NEEDS to be said.  My integrity won't let me delete this post for the sake of being politically correct, or for the sake of looking like the dutiful, obedient mil-spouse I am supposed to be.

FUCK THAT.  Oh yeah, sorry, language advisory. *AHEM*

Anyway, the thought that has sprung into my head at least a couple of times in the past 14 months, the one that will probably make you want to slap me, is one that I really can't SPEAK OUT LOUD.  I'm actually shaking as I type this, because even putting it out in the blogosphere is so very taboo.  The horrible thought is this little tiny voice in the back of my head, that I can barely hear over the wails of despair over a particularly rough day/night/week dealing with my (invisibly)wounded hubby.....the voice is mine, and whispers, "why couldn't he have just DIED over there?"

Before you rush off to write me hate mail for saying this, please read the rest of this post!

I absolutely do NOT wish that my hubby was dead!  Nor do the other thousands of women who are the primary caregiver/support to a wounded warrior - whether his wounds are visible or not, treatable or not. These men return home but are no longer themselves, and we, their wives, girlfriends, or mothers, take on the daunting task of helping them figure out WHO they are now, and how that new man fits into society, into our families, into our LIVES.

In my case, my hubby has refused to get help for what I am now certain is PTSD.  Some days I would swear he is bi-polar, other days schizophrenic, other days BOTH.....and some days, very very rarely, I would say he is HIMSELF, the same man who left here in May 2010, kissing my pregnant belly goodbye.  Those rare 'good days' are such a gift, but at the same time they leave me hurting SO MUCH MORE.  Those days are part of what makes me subconsciously 'jealous' of the brave war widows I know.  Not really jealous, but I can't come up with a better word.  You see, a widow has to endure an entire life without ever seeing her love again.  She KNOWS he is gone, and is never coming back.  She can grieve publicly and privately, and move forward with whatever new life she's able to make for herself.  She gets to cherish the memories of her hero as she last saw him.....maybe he even kissed HER pregnant belly goodbye.

For me, the random glimpses of my husband's old self - his REAL self, are just such a merciless tease.  Those moments make me think that maybe he really IS coming back to me, completely whole.  And when he slips farther away from me, having a terrifying blowup, or meltdown, or just plain shutting down altogether, I GRIEVE all over again.  Hate me for saying this if you must, but emotionally, it is as though he has DIED several times just in the past six months.  Every time, I go through the cycles of grief all alone, in private, and if I get to that lowest of low points and hear that little voice whispering 'why didn't he just DIE over there'....then I go through days, weeks, or even months of GUILT just for having that thought.

Again, it's not that I WANT him dead, but when this burden becomes so heavy, I secretly steal a glance at one of my amazing widow friends (you know who you are!) and wish I could trade my load for hers.

Any wife of a Wounded Warrior will admit to having this very thought at least ONCE.  If she denies it, she is either lying, or hasn't walked this road far enough yet.....she'll get there, I promise.


The important thing, of course, is when we DO get there, when we hit our emotional rock bottom, we have to learn to BOUNCE.  And I think the first step is to talk about what 'rock bottom' actually looks like, feels like, and sounds like.  Even if it is just a little whisper that we don't want to acknowledge, much less say OUT LOUD.

Strong is the new SKINNY

Remember last spring when I posted about being fat?  I actually followed it up with another post about what it actually FEELS like to be fat, and then I entered a local weight loss competition.  I've mentioned it here before, and if you want to read the details about it, you can check out my weight loss blog.

My reason for bringing it up now, is that I really haven't ever updated you all on my actual progress.  YAY FOR PROGRESS!  For starters, I have lost over 50 lbs since September 10.

I've lost more than 20 inches, 8 of those just from my waist.

I have dropped from a size 24 to a size 16, and of course am still shrinking. I even fit into SOME size 14 clothes!

I seriously feel like a new woman. I look (and feel!) so much YOUNGER than I did six months ago, and I have so much more ENERGY! The energy part is probably due more to proper nutrition than to exercise, but everyone knows that working out really gives you more energy, right?

I'm working out at least once a day, six days a week. At least twice a week, and up to five times a week, I do a second workout (2-a-day). My main exercise is cardio, of course, to burn all the fat. In addition I do strength training, zumba, and yoga and am looking into starting some new workout classes to keep my body guessing.

A few weeks ago I did a 'spin' class for my first time ever.  At the end of that hour, I decided it would likely be my LAST time ever, as well.  Seriously, why do they make those stupid seats on spin bikes SO PAINFUL?  I had a bruise in the exact size and shape of that seat marking up my butt (and my hoohoo) for at least 5 full days. Um, NO THANKS!  Especially since I only burned about 600 calories in that one hour spin class, and I can burn 1000+ in workout classes that combine cardio with resistance.  Instead of going back to Spin, I started P90X, and am LOVING the new 'Bodypump' barbell workout at 24 hour fitness.

My time is pretty limited overall, but I am trying really hard to juggle things to allow myself more time for blogging - I MISS my bloggy friends! So many of you have helped me SO MUCH with your love and support as I went through this very difficult reintegration (which still isn't necessarily OVER, but it looks like the roughest part is) as well as through my difficult weight loss journey.  Someone asked me if I was 'bringing sexy back' and I replied that I don't NEED to bring sexy back, as long as I can take my "ME" back.

As far as my goals are concerned, I am still shooting for 145 lbs OR a size 10, but more important than this, I want to be STRONG.  Skinny people look great in their clothes, but FIT PEOPLE LOOK GREAT NAKED.  I sooooo wanna look good naked!  (not posting THOSE before & after pics, sorry LOL)

EdenFantasys

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Whiskey tango foxtrot?!

Warning: this post will fall under the TMI category for some of you.

If you are offended, fuck off! Oh yeah, language advisory, too. FUCK.

Sorry, I am in a bitchy mood, can you tell?

I am pretty sure this mood was caused by deployment/reintegration, but let me break it down for you, so you can tell me what YOU think brought out my inner bitch.

See, I don't think it was the costco-trip-from-hell (though I hope I can someday come up with the words to describe that one - maybe in a future post?)

Nor do I think that my mood has anything to do with my mother in law, though she is doing her best to get on my last nerve.

It's definitely not caused pre-holiday stress, but maybe thats a small contributing factor?

I'm pretty darned sure this is a 'lack-of-sex' kind of cranky.

Yes, you read that right.

LACK.

OF.

SEX.

Hubby has been back from Funghanistan for a full week, and we've had sex three times - counting the two times that I initiated it.

WTF?!

Oh, and hubby was a lot less, well, EXCITED than usual. A lot less.

First night, I attacked him as soon as I knew Bobblehead was asleep for the night. This was after Hubby had been napping for like 6 hours, so the 'too tired' excuse just won't hold water here. It was fun, aside from the fact that I felt like he wasn't really that into it.

Second night I thought for sure he would be back on his game - but when he made no move to start anything with me, I took the initiative again. This time it took a little less, well, 'fluffing' to get him ready, but I still felt like he was not really enjoying himself.

By the third night, I let my hurt feelings take over and keep me from starting anything - and when hubby promptly began snoring, I did that stupid silent-cry thing...for a couple HOURS. Just lying there next to him, sobbing, resenting him for even being ABLE to sleep.

Fourth night he repeated his snore-fest, and I really wanted to wake him up, scream, yell, figure out what the hell was wrong with him. Or with me. But I could not bring myself to wake him (maybe part of me does not want to know?). Instead, I took a long bubble bath and stayed up reading/facebooking until I couldn't keep my eyes open, then crawled into bed beside Mr. Oblivious for a couple hours of fitful sleep.

Thankfully, the next morning he woke up horny, but then Bobblehead woke up and we rushed to the finish line....leaving me wondering if our 'fireworks' would ever come back. But in the post-quickie haze, as I nursed Bobblehead back to sleep, I did find the courage to tell hubby how I had perceived his lack of desire for me as all-out rejection, and he apologized and kissed me - promising me that he DOES still want me.

Really? Got a funny way of showing that. Fifth, sixth, and seventh nights all brought NO action. And now that I've made my feelings known, my poor bruised ego will not let me start anything with him.

So, either my post-baby body looks WAY worse than I thought it did, or....

FUCKING DEPLOYMENT STOLE MY HUBBY'S LIBIDO.

Either way, I'm screwed. And not in a good way.

I knew there was a chance things would not necessarily go smoothly our first time or two post-deployment/post-baby. I figured it could take, oh, I don't know TEN TIMES to get our mojo back? Sadly, at the rate we're going, it could be Valentine's Day by the time we reach ten times.  And there's a pretty good chance I will hate him by then. Or hate myself.

So, what do you think? was this bitchy mood brought on by deployment/reintegration?

You know in the end I'm just a comment whore, so please, show me some love! Drop a line - even if it's to tell me I am way OUT of line with this post.

Just comment.