The Self-Care Conundrum

I am not sure if you share the same loathing I do when I hear the term “self-care”.

It is right up there with the word “resilience”. I know the two terms are necessary and I know they are a part of our modern, military vernacular. Yet, I just can’t get past the irritation that I feel when someone asks me,  “Are you taking time for self-care?”

What does self-care look like to a weathered military spouse? (Sorry, not loving the term “seasoned” right now  either).

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Sam Says “See You Later”: Chapter 2

Sam sat anxiously on the gym floor trying to disguise what she was feeling inside. She was nervous, she was tired, and she was slightly resentful. She felt like things were slipping away. Usually, the squeak of shoes on a wood floor, the sharp burst of a whistle, and the heavy, commanding voice of a coach made her feel at home.

But something had changed in Sam this week. 

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Sam Says, “See You Later”  

If Sam heard her mom give one more “Pollyanna” speech about how lucky she was to be a military kid, she was seriously going to vomit. That feeling also rang true for the word resilient. Message received!

Sam, like so many other military kids got it. They understood the drill. They move every two years, they have to make friends quickly, they are flexible and adaptable, yadda, yadda, yadda. 

They were just words.

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Lucky to be a Milspouse

This is us, Milpouse tribe! Forged by fire, friendship, and a wee bit of milspouse luck.

There is a lot of focus in our world on “hunting the goodsStuff” and  “finding our joy” (or if you find yourself in some of my worlds, ”embracing the suck”), and it leads me to the question that Clint Eastwood made famous…

Do you feel lucky . . . punk? 

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Shoulda….Woulda….Coulda

I feel weird saying the words out loud. I know the reality of the situation, and I know I cannot stop the inevitable. But to say them out loud just seems surreal.

“I am about to be Grandma.”

This is not a vanity issue. I am not hung up on the image of gray hair, thick knit cardigans, and rocking chairs. Many younger, fitter, and less wrinkled than I proudly hold this title. I am not lamenting my launch into the next generation.

This is not a parenting issue. My daughter is an adult married to a mature, amazing adult. They will be great parents; they don’t need help in that area.

This really is more of an “Am I qualified to be a grandparent?” issue.

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Gift of the Milgi: Part Two

HOMECOMING: December 22, 2009

Mike couldn’t sleep on the plane. He couldn’t wait to see Darcy. He couldn’t wait to see her face when she opened his gift. He had it delivered to his buddy Nick’s house. Nick’s wife, Kimmy, loved Darcy, and he knew she would keep a secret. She also wrapped the box and made it look extra special, as only women can do.

Six Lismore hand-cut antique glasses from 1957 were in that wrapped box. Six more to complete the set of eight. All of them were from the same year as the ones Honey had gifted Darcy. Mike couldn’t honestly say he understood the connection Darcy had to them. He also didn’t understand why six pieces of glass cost so flippin’ much. He didn’t understand a lot of things in the world.

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Gift of the Milgi: Part One

Killeen, Texas, 2009

Darcy McNeal had been told (as a new spouse) that developing a routine was important during a deployment. Well, she had her routine down to a science.

Work, drink wine, sleep, and repeat.

Seven months in and she felt like she was doing okay. She avoided most news networks, checked her email daily (sometimes twice), and always had her phone by her side, charged and ready. But her favorite part of the routine was the trip to the community mailbox in their apartment complex. Sometimes (on the best of days), nestled amongst the bills, the flyers, and the catalogs of things she could never afford… there would be a letter.

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