Jessica Scott

I saw this post on Twitter and decided that it needed to be addressed. So of COURSE I’m going to address it. Below is the link as well as the text to the original article and after that is my response.

Community Advisory Board: Everyone needs to soldier on

By Martha J. Sisk

Call me bitter, jealous or hardened if you like, but this new way of saying that our soldiers and their families are “sacrificing” just because the soldiers are in Afghanistan is a bit over the top. In my mind, the only families who are sacrificing are those who have lost a loved one to death in the wars in which we seem to be perpetually involved, or, soldiers who suffer from maiming injuries, either physical or mental.

My husband, Tom, asks if we, as a nation, have become so weak that we now must support military families with the results of mid-summer toy drives and stories about families’ “sacrifices” on TV so that the soldiers serving in Afghanistan or Iraq (or any of the other nations) won’t have to worry. Worry about what? Have we become a nation of complainers?

I can assure the reader that when my husband’s unit was under attack in Vietnam, the last thing on his mind was the quality of life his family in North Carolina was living. Hopefully today’s soldier is not different.

Vast opportunities

Tom was a soldier for more than 20 years, and those were good years. We never considered it a sacrifice – his being in the Army, even his being in Vietnam. We traveled around the United States and were privileged to live in many different states and to savor the various living styles those diverse states offered.

Let me give some examples. We lived in Texas, where we saw cows grazing in our front yard and ate rattlesnake and authentic Mexican food; Colorado, where we first became involved with Little Theater and viewed Pike’s Peak from our kitchen window; Kentucky, where our oldest attended first grade, (and we still have a blue Kentucky license plate on the garage wall); and Alabama, our very first military station. We always took advantage of travel and saw many places of interest we would not have otherwise seen. Was it sometimes lonely? Yes it was, but it also was inspiring and energizing.

We were stationed in Germany two times. The first time, from 1964 to 1966, we were fortunate to live on the German economy, where I shopped in German meat markets, farmer’s markets and dairies for our food. Where was the sacrifice? While there, I even tried some raw milk simply because my neighbors on Krautgarten Strasse were using it. I learned to speak German with such authenticity that no one I spoke to believed that I was American.

Even when Tom served in Vietnam from 1967 to 1968, neither of us considered his being in Vietnam a sacrifice. It was our life, and while the children and I missed him terribly, and he missed being at home, his fighting for our country was considered his job – he was a military man, and being in Vietnam was his duty. To earn money, I got a job in a hospital as an emergency room admitting clerk, and we never got toys for our children unless we paid for them. But sacrifice? I never even considered it.

On a historically sad note, when Tom came home from Vietnam that August of 1968, he was so concerned that people would view him negatively that he refused to wear his uniform.

Acceptance

Soldiers from World War I, World War II, Korea and Vietnam were sent overseas with little or no help from the military for the families left behind; consequently, families coped the best way they could. Tom’s mother told me that while her husband, Ed (Tom’s father), served in World War II, she lived in a hotel for a while, working as a night clerk so that she could pay for the room she occupied with her two boys because she had little money. It was just what she did to have a place to live while Ed was fighting.

She never considered anything she had to do as a sacrifice – and neither did Ed. He was a soldier for more than 30 years, and World War II was just part of his service. The fact that he was overseas for three consecutive years was not even considered a sacrifice because all soldiers were sent overseas for the duration of the war. They knew that when they signed up or when they were drafted. If they were already members of the military, they accepted it.

My husband’s parents never even mentioned the word “sacrifice” when talking about those years. That was the way it was. My question is this: Were the people in previous wars more rugged than today’s soldiers and families are? Our country was built on self-reliance. We seem to have lost that, becoming a nation of whiners in the process.

I am aware that soldiers today must endure numerous unending deployments and it is something we did not suffer. Remember that today’s military is 100 percent volunteer. Military families experience a different life from civilian families and, although military life is sometimes hard, with constant change and frequent deployments, it is also exciting and joyful.

Had I remained a Concord native, I most likely would never have lived the rich and varied life I have. Therefore, here is a big “thank you” to the military for allowing Tom and me and our three children to have such wonderful and diverse experiences. The military made us what we are; it will define today’s soldier and his or her family, too.

Martha Sisk is a member of the Observer’s Community Advisory Board, which meets regularly with the editorial board to discuss local issues and contributes op-ed columns. She is a retired special-education teacher and a retired English instructor from FTCC. She is involved with the arts community in Fayetteville

Ms Sisk,
Your post misses a couple of critical points. During the previous wars, there was little to concern for military families because military service was largely compulsory. Men had no choice but to register with the Selective Service and many were called to service against their will, especially during Vietnam.

The focus on military families has occurred over the generation since the all volunteer service was implemented simply because now, the norm IS a soldier with a family. During those previous conflicts and previous generations of soldiers, military families were the exception, not the norm that it is today.

The simple fact is that a family’s well being is critical to whether or not quality soldiers remain in the military. THAT is why we care about quality of life. THAT is why we have family readiness groups to help young, inexperienced spouses handle everyday life while their soldier is off to war. We want to retain good, quality soldiers because, as you pointed out, this is an all volunteer force.

Despite your husband’s service, you obviously have no idea what its like to be half a world away and worry about a child with a fever or a child struggling with schoolwork or a spouse so overwhelmed that she can’t leave the house. You have no call to suggest that our soldiers and our soldiers families are not sacrificing as we as a military enter our TENTH year of constant war. No recent war has gone on longer. No group of soldiers has faced a more steady stream of combat. No soldier’s children have ever faced the constant on again off again rotation of their parents heading into COMBAT. A combat tour is not the same as going to Korea for a year long hardship tour. A combat tour damn sure isn’t the same as living in Germany for a couple of years and learning to speak German fluently.

Have a care how you tread on the notion of sacrifice. Congratulations, you’re tougher than many but your years as a military spouse were different than the years faced by this generation of spouses. You state in your article that your husband served in Vietnam from 1967-1968. I applaud your husband for his service but I wonder if you might look at the sacrifice our young soldiers are making if he had been gone every other year for four, five, six or seven years. Would you allow yourself to say, man, this is tough? Just maybe?

Our military families are cared for because the strain of constant deployments – something that no previous generation in the last 100 years has had to deal with – is a sacrifice. And still spouses wash the uniforms and kiss their soldiers goodbye so that people like you, who enjoyed the Pax Americana of the Cold War, can say that we are a nation of complainers.

Bravo. I applaud your willingness to join those who spat on your husband and his peers a generation ago by spitting on the notion that our soldiers and their families are not sacrificing today. I hope you’re proud and you achieved your goals. Your thanks at the end of your piece is paltry and hollow. You should have saved your breath, but I will don my uniform and defend your right to say it.

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Every so often, an article or information comes at you from a unique place. I don’t subscribe to Vogue magazine. There is nothing in its 400 plus pages of advertising that I find even remotely interesting. It doesn’t draw my attention in the check out counter at the grocery store. True, there are often some good articles buried within the bulimic looking mannequins that are supposed to be icons of fashion but I really couldn’t be bothered to hunt for them every month amid mass advertisements for mascara or Prada. Not that I don’t like those things. I do. I just don’t read about them on a regular basis. I suppose that Vogue is for women what Playboy is for men. We really are reading it for the articles. No really.

So when my agent emailed me and told me about an article on soldier mothers, of course I went out and bought it. This thing weighs a ton and true to the few copies I’ve read over the years, mostly on overseas flights, there were a ton of advertisements. But the article that caught my attention was Bye Bye, Baby by Elizabeth Rubin and I’ve got a few comments on it (really did you expect anything less?).

First, the author repeats the media truism that Alexis Hutchinson is a poor, exploited victim of an Army that simply doesn’t care about family life. If you remember, Hutchinson was arrested and charged with missing movement, dereliction of duty, absent without leave and insubordinate conduct. Note that none of these charges was her failure to have a family care plan. She was ultimately separated from the military in lieu of court martial and, according to the Press Release issued by Fort Stewart, admitted to lying about her family care plan. So was she really a victim of the evil Army attacking a poor single mom or was she trying to avoid doing her duty? Only she knows but the Army’s investigation reveals that the case is not as the media presented it to be.

The reason I take issue with the media portrayal of Hutchinson’s case is that it is complete and utterly misleading the public on the realities of mothers in the military. When single mothers enlist, they must voluntarily give up custody of their children to someone else. When a female soldier becomes pregnant, she must have a valid family care plan 90 days prior to the scheduled birth of her child and KNOWS that she is required to fulfill her obligations as a soldier. Every single mother on active duty knows that it is not a question of if she will have to leave her children, but when and still we serve. In fact, there has been no mass exodus of women leaving the military due to pregnancy since the wars began. According to the Defense Manpower Center statistics, since 2001, the numbers for pregnancy separations have remained relatively steady on average around 1500.

There are significantly more men separated for a variety of other reasons every year. And yes, that include percentages as well. The Army doesn’t just randomly court martial people for no reason and not having a family care plan is not a court martialable offense. Dereliction of duty, however, is.

The second issue that I have with Rubin’s article is that she incorrectly states that the Army only gives 4 months of nondeployable time after the birth of a child when in fact, the Army policy is in fact 6 months. Is this still woefully inadequate for the mother of a newborn? Absolutely. But if you’re going to write an article about how terrible the Army is to new mothers, its important to at least practice some Google-fu before hand and make sure the facts are accurate.

The third thing that actually has me the most irate about the Vogue article is the statement, highlighted in a call out box that says “Not even the Soviets, the Israelis, or the Iraqi Baathist have sent mothers of infants and toddlers to the front lines like we do.”

First off, comparing the Israeli army to the Soviets and the Baathists is offensive in too many ways to count. The Israeli army is often held up as a paragon of coed combat when in fact, women are not in the infantry there any more than they are in the infantry in our own army. But stating that our Army is somehow “exploiting the blanket mandatory deployment because we need bodies to feed the global military machine” clearly shows the authors bias against our military and our current wars. Comparing our army to the Soviets and the Baathist is a cheap tactic that not only undermines every single value the Army holds up as a virtue, it also devalues the soldiers that make up this great Army and is willing to guard the gates so that you can go about your business buying shoes or purses and ignoring the capitalist reality that buying said purse has on the world around you.

There are, however, facts in Rubin’s article that I agree with. We don’t know the long term impact on the children of their mothers being gone and the evidence that is starting to be gathered suggests that some children will have long term challenges while others will be fine. And I can also relate to the experiences of one of the mothers in her article, when she says she’s short on patience and has difficulty reintegrating. I do believe that mothers have a harder time coming home than fathers do because our role in our families is different. Not better, not worse. Different. Rubin’s article also does a brilliant job of depicting how mothers deal with combat situations and how they relate those experiences in war to when they come home.

There are entire academic papers, both within the military and without, that argue the role of women and mothers in the military. Arguing that the 6 month non deployable status is too little ignores the operational needs of the war fighting units that have been on back to back to back deployments since 2001. Women in the military are expected to do their jobs, just like our male counter parts. THAT is equality.

Arguing that new moms should get a longer nondeployable period is great for mothers and for retaining some of these young women in the force. We NEED good soldiers on Rear Detachment so leaving some of these leaders back to care for their children and ensure that the soldiers left in the rear have good leadership is one argument for giving new mothers longer non deployable time. But we have the luxury of having this debate now as the war winds down. We did not have this luxury two, three or four years ago at the height of Iraq and as Afghanistan heats back up, we must never forget that our soldiers are STILL at war and THAT must be our focus.

At the end of it all, Rubin uses these women’s stories to paint a failed or failing picture of the conflict in Afghanistan. She starts the article talking about military moms but ends it talking about American resolve. I don’t believe she was being malicious in her article, but I do believe she used the soldiers’ stories to serve her own agenda, just as any reporter or writer does.

I simply abhor the fact that she once more held Hutchinson up as the poster child for military moms when there are thousands and thousands of us who do our duty and still try to be good moms. I abhor the fact that she compares our army to the Soviets and the Baathists, as if somehow implying that our army is forcing mothers to choose this life and is sending them to the front lines with a gun to the back of their head.

Mothers on active duty have a choice to serve or not. No one forces them to raise their right hand and when the Army pays for the birth of your child, gives that child healthcare and pays you to help put a roof over that child’s head, all the Army asks is for you to do your part. It is all we all do. The Army is not a welfare state. We have rules that clearly lay out what we as mothers must do to serve.

So please, stop acting like we’re exploited victims of the evil male Army. Accept that we are here because we choose to be here, with all that entails for our families. We are responsible for our choices, just as our male counterparts are. THAT is what feminism is about.

The power to choose our paths through this world, just as any man can choose his path.

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Last year, I was sitting in Iraq, crying my eyes out as my little girl came home from her first day of kindergarten. I remember sitting in my CHU, listening as my mom held her on her lap. She wouldn’t talk because she was exhausted from school. I could practically see her curled up on my mom’s lap on the porch, just listening to my voice and my husbands voice from halfway around the world.

When we came home from Iraq, she started a new school, halfway through the school year. Within a day, she hated school, hated going, didn’t want to get up in the morning. All of it. I won’t lie and tell you coming home and getting her back into school down here in Texas was easy. It wasn’t. in fact, it was pretty close to hell. My husband and I thought about pulling her out of Kindergarten and back into pre-K. We thought about getting her tested. We talked about counseling.

All my little girl needed was some time. Through working with her teacher, truly a gift that year, we managed to get through it. She’d send home notes or emails and I’d reinforce what was going on in school. And she did it. I am so freakin proud of my little girl for getting through that. I know thousands of military kids go through stuff like that every year but you know what? Those aren’t my kids. Mine was the one I was worried about.

So this year, getting to be here and walk her into her classroom this morning was a very big deal for us. And for her too. She was all smiles, and very excited to go. There was only one girl in her class from last year (I admit to being disappointed that she didn’t end up in class with her best friend from last year but she’ll be okay) and I love her teacher. But thinking back on last year and remembering how upset I was that I missed it makes the coming year so much more special. Missing her first day of school was by far one of the worst days I had over there. And being here for it this year was so precious. My little one, however, remains grumpy that she’s not starting school this year but she’ll be okay. Of that, I’m certain.

For us military moms and dads, there is so much over the last decade that we’ve missed out on. Some moms have deployed only once and have been fortunate to be there for their kids. Other moms have deployed back to back since 04 or 01 and haven’t caught a break. And neither have the dads. Its tough to maintain a sense of family when one half of the family is gone every other year. But this is what we do. Its part of the sacrifice that we make when we raised our right hand and either commissioned or enlisted or in some cases, both.

So don’t pity us. Don’t act like military moms are victims of some male misogyny when we have to deploy away from our families. Don’t hold up women who deliberately shirked their duties as soldiers as some kind of martyr for military moms. We’re here because we want to b here and we do our jobs, just like everyone else.

Its just that sometimes, we close the door to our CHU and cry our eyes out because we missed a first day of school, or a birthday, or some other milestone that will only be lived through pictures. It hurts and sometimes, you have to let the hurt out. And then you put it away and get back after it because the soldier to your left and right needs you to have your head in the game.

And it makes those milestones that you are home for just that much more special.

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I’m willing to be you thought it would be roses. You’re wrong. I’m not much of a flower person. I tend to kill all things green so the most you’ll see anything growing in my house is the dust bunny collection.

No, what I mean to end the sentence with is your kids. Now, if you have a teenager, you probably don’t want to take that advice but for me, who still has two little ones, I did it this morning. See, we’re at the eight month mark. Eight months since being home from Iraq. Eight months since we got in the car in my mom’s snow covered driveway and headed south, down to Texas with the kids, the cats, the dogs and the kitchen sink.

It’s been a rough eight months but lately, things are settling down. I went to see a therapist to help find some techniques to deal with my inability to manage it all. At the end of the day, I’m still a working mom, writer, housekeeper, et all and everything was falling apart around me. I couldn’t keep up and neither could the kids. I reached my breaking point so I went to the social worker and said please help me not be crazy any more (along with some serious prodding from friends). I wasn’t myself and I wasn’t doing anyone, not my kids, not my commander, not my husband, a damn bit of good.

I got help and you know what? Getting me help has made things a hundred percent better. My kids no longer have to scream and cry because everything is out of control in their lives, too. I’m better able to deal with my frustration, my anxiety, my everyday life and that makes it easier for them because when Mom is freaking out, everyone else does, too.

But this morning, my oldest got up and walked out to me. I’ve talked a lot to her about when Mommy has anxiety issues my chest gets tight and it’s kind of hard for me to breathe. I tell her when that happens, Mommy needs to take a time out to get it back under control. Well, she came out today and said she had the same feeling. So I crouched down and said, you know what would make it better? A mommy hug. And I hugged her and while I did, I breathed in the clean, soft smell of her hair. Her skin. Just the scent that makes my daughter my daughter. And when I dropped them off, I did the same thing with my little one, who still has just enough fuzz at her hair line to remind me of the baby she was when I left.

I took a minute today and just stopped and smelled my kids. It might sound bizarre but it was just one moment where I remembered everything that I’ve tried to do right with them and let the guilt about everything I’ve done wrong slip away. I kissed them on the forehead and sent them to school and was happy that we had a good morning with no crying, no yelling and everyone doing their part to have a good morning.

Sometimes, that’s all you can hope for.

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So last night I tweeted about getting an email about a reality show that’s looking for a female soldier/mom. The show is something about the hardest working moms in America. Which is cool. I think it would be good for folks to see what some mom’s go through.

Just not me.

I politely emailed the casting agent who contacted me and said thanks but no thanks. Oddly enough, there were tons of folks telling me I should go for it. It’s a huge potential platform (for all those books I haven’t managed to sell). It’s a good opportunity. I could be a role model (better than Heidi Montag).

All of that is true, for the most part (I highly doubt I am a role model for anything other than the definition of insanity). It would be a good opportunity for book sales. It would help build a platform. But it would probably destroy not only my family, it would wreck my career and my self esteem. I don’t watch a lot of reality tv, but the snippets I’ve seen from a few shows are always high drama. There is enough stress in my life just getting the kids out the door to make it to formation on time. The last thing I need is a camera in my 3 year old’s face when she’s melting down as we’re walking out the door. The last thing I want to see is me losing my patience and having CPS show up because of something they see on the tv.

I’m a writer. I’m a soldier and I’m a mom. I’m not a TV star. While every author hopes to be on Oprah someday, that would be about the extent of it. I was offered a chance to work on a phenomenal project earlier this year but I had to decline because it would have taken me away from my family right after I’d gotten home from Iraq. I regret having to turn that project down because it’s going to be awesome but at the end of it all, the project will go on with the other writer and will have just as much impact as it would have without me.

The TV show would have been fun, at least to start. It’s kind of neat when you think that people might want to see what my life is like. But really, I’m just like every other mom out there: stressed out, busy, and trying to keep all the balls in the air while ensure my children are prepared to face the world.

Putting them on TV would not be the best way to do that.

And the impact would not only be on my kids. I’m getting ready to take command of a signal company. My soldiers deserve me coming on board, ready to lead, challenge and mentally prepare them for the next deployment. How on earth would I accomplish that if there were cameras in our company training meetings? How effective would that be, all so I could have my 15 minutes of fame?

No, the TV show might be fun if there wasn’t a war going on. But there is and there is too much upheaval in my life and my soldier’s lives to compound it with a tv camera in their faces.

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My daughter nearly drowned last night. We’ve been going to swimming lessons at the Lions Club Aquatics park in Killeen and last night, my fear became reality. I was sitting about ten feet from the edge, close enough to watch but far enough that they would pay attention to the teachers and not me. Her and her sister were letting go of the edge and bobbing: all good training because they both need to know that when they hit bottom, they need to kick back to the top.

Well, the little one got pushed back to where she couldn’t reach the edge of the pool. My heart counted the beats. One. No head poking up. Two. No head. Three, and her little arms were waving in the top of the water…and mommy moved. All I remember is getting to the edge and seeing she was close enough for me to grab without diving into the water. I had her before the teachers did. I think I dove because my right knee hurts like hell this morning and I scuffed it up pretty good.

And what did I do? I snapped at her. I said this is what you get for not listening. I’d been telling her and her sister not to let go of the edge.

Really? My kid has the scare of a lifetime and I snap at her? Then she cried and I wrapped my arms around her and held on to her. And less than two minutes later, she jumped right back into the pool. It happened again toward the end of her lessons but this time, she laughed and held back onto the edge. Mommy did better this time too, except that I was getting pissed at them for not listening and continuing to let go of the edge.

That night, as they were getting ready for bed, I told her how proud I was of her for getting back in the water when any other kid would have screamed and cried and refused. She says in a small voice “I’m proud of you too, Mommy, for saving me.” And I laughed my ass off because it was cute and she was brave and she got back after it after she had the daylights scared out of her.

But see here’s the thing that I wanted her to take away from it. Never mind that it shaved another year off my life. Never mind that the old taste of panic that I had in Iraq about not being there to protect my children rose to the surface like a bad memory. She got back in the water. Something bad happened and she faced her fear and got back in the pool. She even went off the diving board.

I can’t always be around to protect my kids. Maybe it’s the nature of my life in the military that I know this but on an instinctive level, it rips my soul out to send my kids out into the world without me being there. I have to trust. I have to trust that the school will do the right thing. The swimming instructors were working with other kids and were all within five feet of her. But no one had seen her go under. Except me. I still trust that they’re doing their best, but I’m there. Think of it as risk mitigation on my part.

I have to prepare my children for life without me because when they’re in school, when they’re at their friends houses, when they’re grown, they will make decisions and have to react to things that no one will have prepared them for. And I have to trust that they’ll do something in those situations where they’re scared.

So I am proud of my little girl. She got back in the water and she still thinks she can swim even though she sinks like a stone. But we’ll keep working at it. The best thing I could have done for her last night was get her back in the water and even though my adrenaline stayed high for the rest of the lessons, she got back in.

I don’t think I can ask more than that.

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In the last two days, I’ve had two people say that I expect other people to raise my kids for me because I’m in the military. Those words hurt and they offended me deeply.

But they are also somewhat true, to an extent. In my family, as many families with both parents working, there is no one to pick up the slack. One family member commented on how wrong I was to say that my kids stressed me out and stressed out my husband. But said family member has never had to deploy away from his kids for a year and then come home and actually stick around for the rebuilding process.

Yesterday also marked the 6 month mark since my husband and I came home from Iraq. Maybe it was fitting that these comments were made. Maybe they were the harsh truth that I was supposed to hear.

I’m a military mom and like all military moms, whether single, divorced, married to another service member or married to a civilian, I need help. I have my best friend here who can pick up the kids if there’s an issue and she knows she can count on me. What life would she have if she were not in the military, working to give her kids a better life? What life would I have if I wasn’t here, working to give my kids a better life than I had. I don’t want someone else to raise my kids, but I do need help, just like every working mom needs help.

There are milestones I’ve missed and moments I will never get back. But the thing that I got back today was a sense of enjoyment of my kids when I watched my kindergartener walk across the stage and graduate. Now it was only a kindergarten graduation but regardless of what you making a big deal out of every milestone, this was a big deal for my husband and I. We sat and watched out little girl who we’ve seen grow up via webcam sing on the stage and wave shyly at us from the crowd.

Today was a big deal because we struggled through a rough 6 months, learning to be a family again. And today marked a huge milestone because we were there for her finish kindergarten, even if we weren’t there for her first day of school.

There have been days over the last few months where I wished I didn’t have housework and dishes and crying kids to deal with. There were days when I could honestly admit that my kids caused me more stress than pleasure.

But today, when I hugged my little girl and felt the pride in her that she struggled through to be reading above her grade level, that she struggled through making new friends in a big school with new teachers to actually enjoy going to school every day, today, everything was ok.

Today, we were a family and we were together for a milestone.

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I deliberately did not blog about Memorial Day yesterday. I was going to. I was going to write about how when I was a junior in high school, my band took a trip to DC and I saw the Vietnam War Memorial and broke down into tears even though I knew no one who’d been in the war. But the names and the overwhelming sadness of the place hit me then and it hit me hard.

I couldn’t explain why I cried then nor can I explain the tears of my 17 year old self now.

I was going to write about how I took my daughters to the 1st Cavalry Division Operation Iraqi Freedom memorial. About how I showed them the 3rd Brigade patch that their daddy and I wore now and the patch that Daddy wore the last 2 times he deployed. I was going to write about how as I approached the memorial, my heart clenched and the tears came and I didn’t bother to stop them. I simply kept explaining things to my daughters with a new respect for the veterans who came before me and shed their own tears at memorials for their wars. I showed my daughters on a map where Mommy and Daddy were last year. Where Daddy was before my youngest was born and before my oldest could remember.

But I didn’t write about it.

I didn’t write because it hurts too damn much to watch the Twitter feeds about Dennis Hopper and Gary Coleman and sales and white shoes. It hurts because of the scant crowd at the Memorial Day parade or at the ceremony in Harker Heights where two of Fort Hood’s finest laid a wreath at the memorial.

It hurts because we pay lip service to honor our troops but when soldiers talk about child care issues or veterans issues at the VA, we hear people say we volunteered. We hear talk in Congress about cutting back medical payments for family members, failing to realize that yes, we volunteered but if our families are not taken care of, we won’t do so. It’s too hard being in a combat zone wondering if you’re going to come home for medical bills or worse, wonder if your family will even be able to get the medical attention they need.

The support for soldiers has been phenomenal on the surface. On the surface, people say thank you for your service and shake our hands. But what happens when the wars end and we’ve got thousands and thousands of people needing treatment for anxiety and depression and anger. What happens when employers won’t higher former soldiers with combat experience because they won’t take the risk that someone might snap? Where’s the support for the soldiers then?

We talk a good game about support the troops but that’s now. If we’re really going to support our soldiers, regardless of how we feel about the military, about the nation’s foreign policy, or the justifications for going to war, we need to dig in and understand that the war isn’t over when all the troops come home.

For many, it will just be beginning.

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Well, I received the long anticipated ethics review and the short version is my book is dead if I want to get paid for it.

I can write it for free all day long but so long as I’m active duty, I cannot receive a single dime for it.

Wait for it.

Sigh.

So that kills that small dream. I honestly thought I’d written a proposal that met the requirements. Why else would I have gone out with it? I mean, crap, yeah, lets write a book proposal that has no hope in hell of selling and waste a whole bunch of people’s time.

Um no.

I’m pretty disappointed right now. Yep, I’ve even shed a tear or two. It’s not that I can’t write the book. But how can I justify spending time on a project that is going to take as much time as this? And there will be costs associated with writing it. Remember, I’d have to use all publicly available information, which means if I wanted in to Lexus Nexus, I’d have to pay for it and I couldn’t honestly claim it was an investment b/c I would go into it knowing there was no possibility of getting any money back.

Yes, this is about the money. Yes, I’ve spent the last 4 years working on becoming a writer because someday, I’d like to get out of the Army and write full time. That involves a paycheck but the long term goal is not something for me to just throw aside for the short term gain.

Apparently, my little dream of writing a few books while I was on active duty and building my reader base was nothing more than a fantasy. The lawyer said I can write a memoir, so there’s hope for that but it means essentially scrapping the current project as it stands.

So I’ve got some choices to make but I’m not doing that right now while I’m still reeling from the news. I’m not going to buck up against the Army because this is my career we’re talking about and as much as I’m looking forward at my life beyond the Army, that day is still far down the road.

Right now, all I can say is…shit, this sucks.

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Last year for Mothers Day, I was in Iraq. I remember it being a day of everyone saying “Happy Mother’s Day” when all I wanted to do was ignore the fact that I was even a mom. See, I’m an avoider. I avoid things that choke me up when I talk about them and the card my mom had sent me from my then four year old just about killed me. Being reminded all day that I was away from the one thing I needed to be near was simply brutal.

Last year, all I wanted was to be able to wrap my arms around my kids and hear their little voices say “I wuv oo”. The longing in me to go home was intense, so much so that I had to shut it down or else I would simply cease to function.

This year, becoming mommy again has had its own challenges. There has been much crying and screaming and gnashing of the teeth. There have been lots of ‘you’re not my friend’ any more as well as “I want Grammy’s” and there have been days when I seriously considered walking away from the military because reuniting was too damn difficult on all counts.

This year, I’m taking it one day at a time, just like last year. This year, I’m trying to smile when my kids drive me nuts, to be more patient and to be a better mom because the struggles with coming home have been so intense.

This year, work has been a refuge. It has been the place I go to so that I can still feel like a productive member of society rather than a freaked out version of Freddy Krueger’s mom.

But between last year and this year, one thing has not changed. I still have the best mom. Last year, she went through mother’s day taking care of my kids. Of having to listen to not only her grandkids cry but her daughter as well. This year, she’s gotten to listen to both again, but this time, she’s in Maine and we’re in Texas and just like me last year, all she wants to do is wrap her arms around my girls and make the hurt stop.

Reuniting has not been easy on anyone, but the fact that I’ve got a great mom behind me made last year easier. This year, just knowing that talking to her gives my kids a sense of security helps.

So I’m reposting last year’s Mother’s Day post. Just because it’s still true today.

Happy Mothers Day everyone. Today is one of those days I’m wanting to sleep through, b/ c if I don’t I’m liable to spend an inordinate amount of it crying.
But I have to say there are some great moms out there, but I’ve got one of the best. Not only did she take my two heathen kids for us for a year, but she’s doing a damn fine job raising them ( trust me, my oldest could piss off the pope). I’m able to be here in Iraq and do my job b/c my mom is taking care of business back home.
Thanks, Mom for being a great mom and an even better Grammy!
I love you.

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My kids both know that I’m a writer as well as a soldier. While I was gone to Iraq, my oldest always talked about how she wanted to be a writer like mommy (made tears come to my eyes. still does). Anyway, we were sitting at dinner the other night and my oldest gave us her version of the 3 little pigs. Then the youngest chimed in with the remix.

I thought I’d share.

As told by my oldest (5 1/2):

One morning, the three little pigs said we can play tag but the big bad wolf ate the three pigs. Then all the other animals packed their suitcases and moved to a country where there were no wolves.

As told by my youngest (3 1/2):

The wolf ate the three little pigs. Then a squirrel got his gun and shot the big bad wolf and put him on the barbecue grill.

And mommy is now going into therapy.

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Well, its been two weeks since I got an agent based on my nonfiction proposal. What has that last two weeks looked like from the pov of the newly agented?

Nothing.

I’m waiting. I’ve written 2 chapters of the book and revised them and now I’m still. just. waiting.

Waiting on the brigade JAG to review my proposal to see if its within the ethical limits for me to write this book. I couldn’t go to her before I had an agent because I didn’t have a product and would have been discussing purely hypotheticals. And she’s incredibly busy, so I’m by no means complaining about the wait.

Its the suspense that’s killing me.

I’ve read the slides available for book deals and government employees. I’m reasonably certain that if MG Bolger can write a book about infantrymen, I can write a book about military moms. I mean, its not an official policy, its about women in the military. About working moms in the military.

And yet, I sit here, biting my nails because the answer may come back as no. The JAG might paint it as having to do with ‘official duties’. She might say it has to do with policy. There’s a whole raft of things that might get my proposal deemed not in compliance with ethics rules.
I don’t think it violates it. The limited writing that has occurred has only taken place at home, off duty. I’m using my Google-fu to gather my research. It doesn’t deal specifically with Iraq or Afghanistan but how military moms manage to do it all.

The bottom line is that I’m terrified she’s going to say no. You know that feeling when you’re certain you’ve won the lottery only to discover you had the wrong number? That’s what it feels like. I wouldn’t have put the proposal together and written the two chapters if I didn’t think I could ethically sell this book. And I damn sure wouldn’t have sent it out to agents if I didn’t think I could do this. I mean, talk about wasting people’s time.

I really, really feel like this book is within the ethics constraints. But it’s that tiny whisper of doubt that says maybe, just maybe, it’s not that is going to absolutely destroy me if I can’t write it. Or worse, if she says I can write it but can’t accept any compensation for it. I did the PBS blog foregoing the honorarium because it was good exposure and a great experience and a chance to speak for my sisters in arms rather than continue to allow the media to define the discussion about women in the military.

I don’t think I can write an entire book and all that goes into that without compensation. I mean, I’m not doing this for giggles. I want this to be my second career after I get out of the Army. I’m hoping to be able to build a career so that when I retire in 7 years, I can write full time. This is a long haul for me and its something I LOVE to do.

So to be sitting so close to the edge of victory, dangling over the side and seeing defeat is nerve wracking to say the least. I’m scared whitless right now because I’ve got hope, I’ve got an agent and I’ve got a book I know I CAN write.

All I need now is a yes.

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Somehow this weekend, I was roped into throwing a birthday party for Jerry. You know, as in Tom and Jerry. Tom wasn’t invited.

Anyway, the mystery of how I ended up doing this was soon solved when my dearest husband came home with yellow cake mix and chocolate frosting in a can. I have to admit, while those things are good, I was planning on making everything from scratch. I enjoy baking with my girls and somehow, it seems wrong for me to pour things out of a box, add a few eggs and presto, instant desert. Part of this come from remembering baking with my own mom when I was a kid and it’s a memory I want my kids to share.

Anyway, we made the cake out of the box. Originally, it was going to be cupcakes, except that I realized I had no cupcake liners. So, a double layer yellow cake was poured into two pans. After much negotiation and laying out of the plan, it was agreed that we would frost the cake after room clean up the next morning.

Room clean up was accomplished with only marginally smaller amounts of berating and nagging. We rearranged and actually came out with more space.

Then, I could no longer avoid my fate. It was time to frost the dreaded cake. I thought I’d seen somewhere where you trim the cake so that its all the same size. This was my first mistake. As I sawed through the edges, I revealed a crumbly moist inside that was very much not in the mood to have frosting stick to it. So I figure I’ll layer it on a little thicker and it won’t crumble all around me.

Half the tub went in the middle of the cake. Then I got the brilliant idea to nuke the frosting to make it just a smackerel easier to spread. Except of course, my domestically challenged self made it too thin. So I kind of smear it around the sides, hoping the thin frosting will act like glue for the rest of the new tub of frosting I had to run to Walmart and buy.

Sadly, my little cake was more of a fiasco. My dearest husband, who put me up the whole predicament proceeded to harangue me mercilessly in the cat’s voice and then could not actually believe how much frosting I managed to put on the darn thing. I actually got upset and both girls immediately started saying stuff like, “it’s okay mommy, jerry will still eat it.” – this from the 3 year old.

So we’re standing in the kitchen and both girls have mashed 2 pink candles into the cake. We light the disaster and the four of us sing happy birthday to a cartoon mouse.

It was one of those moments that hurt my heart because it was so achingly normal. I just stood there for a second and watched my kids and couldn’t believe that we’ve been together for 5 months now. At that moment, I loved my kids and all the fighting and the crying and the yelling was gone. For one moment, we were a normal family, with parents who weren’t tired and stressed out and partially crazy.

My family doesn’t have a normal baseline. One of us has been deployed or across the country or both for the last five years. You read about those dual military couples that have only gone through 1 or 2 deployments? We’ve gone through 3 in 5 years and I know there are families out there that have even more under their belts. Granted, I haven’t been gone the whole time but I can’t help but wonder what the cumulative effect of all this upheaval in my kids lives will have.
I can’t dwell on it. I have to just take the moments like the one yesterday and hang onto them but at the end of it all, I think that’s all any of us can do, whether or not you’re in the military.

So happy birthday, Jerry. Thanks for giving me one of those bright, shining moments that has been all too rare since redeployment and for liking the cake even though it looked like crap.

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My latest post is up over at PBS POV Regarding War. I’d love to hear what you think.

http://www.pbs.org/pov/regardingwar/conversations/women-and-war/mothers-in-the-military-punishing-mothers-who-serve.php

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It’s hard to believe but its been four months now since I first stepped off that plane from Iraq. So much has changed and yet, so much still remains.

January and February will go down as the worst months. Lots of crying and screaming and yelling as the kids tried to figure out where they fit and what they could get away with. Lots of tears on my part as guilt ate away at my soul, part for leaving and the other part for coming home and uprooting them once more. There was the panic over my oldest going from loving school to hating it. The daily battles to get her up in the morning and the ever present food battles where my oldest proved just how stubborn she truly was.

But February ushered in March, where things got a little better. There were still bad days. Really bad ones but the distance between them grew a little longer. But we as we moved forward, each night I fell asleep hoping that tomorrow would be better, that the stress and guilt eating away at me would ease back and we could enjoy being a family for a little while, however long that might be.

I’ve focused on my oldest because, at 5, she is more like a little person. She is more articulate and significantly more vocal than my youngest on so many issues. But lately, my youngest is starting to show signs of stress. She’s always cried when we drop her off at daycare in the morning, but now, she cries as soon as she wakes up.
She’s crying for Grammy, something she has not done in the last four months. I admit to being stunned the day she stood in a crowded rest stop in New Jersey and told me she didn’t think I loved her. I didn’t know what to say or do. As I’ve written before, I was prepared for I don’t love you, not you don’t love me.

But now when she gets upset with us, she says she wants to go back to Grammy’s because ‘hers always nice to me’ and ‘her loves me’. I think my 3 year old is confused. She doesn’t know where she fits and I worry more about her adjustment than my oldest’s simply because she is so little and she was so young (just over six months old) when I first left her.

Her difficulty is also painful because she’s always just gone with the flow. She’s never been a fussy kid, always kind of rolling with whatever. The fact that four months into our transition home and she’s suddenly having issues is extra tough to deal with because she’s been so resilient up to this point.

My little girl has been through a lot. She’s three and a half and she’s been without me for half her life. The guilt I keep thinking I’ve dealt with is like an insurgent, sneaking up when I’m least prepared to deal with it, like the middle of a rest stop. I hope she’ll be okay in the long run, but the simple lack of information about long term impacts means that my husband and I are simply going in blind and doing the best we can.

For now, I try to get my mom on the phone as much as I can so my kids can hear her voice. My youngest seems to need this contact more than my oldest. I’m trying to be as understanding and accommodating as I can, but really, how many times can you overlook a roll of toilet paper thrown in the toilet before someone needs to instill some discipline.

I think she’s doing fine, over all. But its those moments when she says how much she misses her Grammy that I feel my own heart breaking. She has no other words to express her confusion about where she fits in the world.

And I have no way to really pierce through the bubble of my own guilt.

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The Army teaches officers how to deal in expectation management. Don’t tell the brigade commander he’s going to have Time Warner Cable in Iraq. Make sure he knows its going to be like dial up, then he’ll be happy if he gets DSL.

The Army also warns about expectation management when you come home. Don’t come in and take over, it tells Dads coming home to kids they don’t know and a wife who has done it all for the last year. Tell her she’s done a good job and ask where you can help out. Don’t expect the kids to be all over you. They might not want to talk to you or be afraid of you or worse, might not know you.

Except that these expectations deal with the majority of folks in the Army: dads and husbands. There really isn’t a good guide out there on how to deal with the mommy guilt, what to do when your kids says I don’t think you love me or is just plain stubborn because she can be. They don’t tell you what to do when you just want to scream. Actually they do tell you what to do: get pills and get counseling.

But that doesn’t alleviate the mommy guilt that makes me wonder just how good of a parent I am, am I doing the right thing. Do my kids know that I love them, even if I have to take some time for myself? Or do I really need to sacrifice everything that makes me who I am in order for them to be reasonably well adjusted adults.

I made a comment on Twitter this morning about the Virgin Mary screwing me (and all mothers) by raising the bar to impossible heights. I mean, hell, she raised the savior of humanity, I’m just hoping not to raise an ax murderer. (FYI, I am Catholic and I do pray to the Virgin Mary, so I’m hoping She understands, if anyone could, the trials and tribulations of trying to be a good mom). But no one ever pictures the Virgin Mary losing her temper or arguing with Jesus about what to wear to school or would He please eat so He’s not late.

No, instead the ideal of being a good mom, for me, would mean less self doubt. A little more calm. A lot less yelling and a lot more hugs.

And it would have helped if the Army recognized that moms go through a whole lot more when they come home than the dads do. Most Dads have a wife who has held it together for the last year and they get to fit back in. They don’t have to start completely over from scratch with two kids who thought you’ve abandoned them and who feel guilty for loving the grammy who took such awesome care of them.

And the only people who really understand just how challenging this is is another mom. But all of our situations are different. All of the demands we place on ourselves are different. I want my kids to be well fed and well rested and happy. I’d like to start the morning off without screaming and crying and yelling just to make it out the door. I thought those were pretty reasonable expectations.

Guess I need to readjust the bar. Hope the Virgin Mother will help me with that, cause it’s a pretty big struggle right about now.

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Anyone who knows me will tell you I am high strung. I tend to jump before hearing the whole story, which has lead to some tasty dishes of crow over the years. But I’m pretty intense, especially when I’ve got something I believe passionately about is at stake.

Last year in Iraq, I enjoyed the busy times. But there were too often times when I would lie awake with this tight little knot around my heart. It felt like something was squeezing. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t sad. I just felt my heart being squeezed. I’ve since learned to call it my anxiety knot. Sometimes its there, sometimes its not. But when it is there and its unrelenting, I start looking for ways to cope with it.

In Iraq, I could turn to Ambien to help with my insomnia. My kids weren’t there. Plus, everyone I knew had some or if they didn’t, they were on their way to get some. It seemed like we all had problems sleeping at some point or another. And I’ll be honest, the drag of the Ambien, pulling you down into the darkness of uninterrupted sleep is a pretty damn good feeling.

Until I started waking up more tired than I was when I’d gone to sleep. Clue number one that I needed to ease back. When I couldn’t remember what I’d tweeted about. Clue number 2 that I needed to back off.
The whole time I was enjoying the use of my little chemical buddy, I knew that when I came home, there was no more Ambien for me. Remember my anxiety knot? Yeah, well I live in chronic fear that something is going to happen to my kids. I’m paranoid that if I take an Ambien, I won’t hear my kids at night.

That’s probably more than you wanted to know. I’m not sure why I’m sharing, other than to be completely honest with what I’m going through. It’s not all easy. There are a lot of good days but there’s a lot of emotion that I don’t think I’ve properly dealt with. I’m working through it but I’m also determined to work through it without pills. I don’t want my girls to grow up seeing mommy pop a bunch of pills or getting drunk to cope with stress.

Yeah, stopped drinking, too, primarily because I wanted to do so too much. The urges are there but I’m coping with them. And it’s hard because I work so diligently at keeping it all together. My kids are adjusting well. I’m dealing well. I damn sure wouldn’t want to go back to Iraq any time soon.

But I keep driving on, trying to remember that each day is a gift I get to spend with my family.

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I’ve been researching. Ever since PBS offered me the opportunity to be part of the POV blog Regarding War, I’ve been researching. Women’s roles in the military. Statistics. Facts and media reports.

What I find is astonishingly upsetting. There’s allegedly an 8% prosecution rate of rapes in the military compared to a 40% rate in civilian cases. 1 in 3 military women are alledgely victims of sexual abuse or harassment but are too embarrassed/ashamed/afraid to speak up. There was an increase in 2008 of 165 rapes reported in Iraq compared to 131 in 2007.

So as I research, I wonder.

What if I’m wrong? What if the military that I serve in really is misogynistic and anti woman and hiding a multitude of sins that I don’t see because of my rank or simply because it hasn’t happened to me? What if commanders are incompetent and leaders are failures all around me and women really are victims in an organization they wanted to serve in and be thought of as equals?

I don’t believe this but the research I’m finding disagrees with my experience. I can’t speak to anyone else’s experience and I know that rapes and assaults occur in the military and I also know that there is significant doubt facing women who come forward, especially if alcohol is involved. But is it ‘rampant’ as one congresswoman says? Is it prevalent so much that nearly every woman interviewed for books on Iraq and Afghanistan say they’ve been harassed, assaulted and marginalized as a result.

I find the media reports stunning and shocking and all the more so because it does not reflect what I’ve seen. And I’ve been in a diverse set of units. I’ve been in a Patrior Battalion. I’ve served at a Division headquarters and a test directorate. I’ve served in signal battalions and in a brigade combat team. Short of being assigned to a combat arms battalion, I’ve run the gauntlet of assignments and I just don’t see it. I’ve served as an equal opportunity representative, where I saw first hand the kind of complaints that come through the EO channels, complaining of bias based on rage, gender, or religion.

And still, I don’t see the military that is reflected in the media. But still, the seed of doubt has been planted. So as I go through this journey of writing for PBS, I’m growing and learning, not only as a woman but as a soldier as well. I can at least see the difference between what the media reports and what happens on the ground but I’m seeing things in a different light.

I have to say, I did not expect blogging for PBS to change my point of view. To an extent it hasn’t but at the same time, it has. Because I wonder now.

What if I’m wrong?

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We’re up and running over at PBS POV Regarding War: Women and War and I’ve got to say, NOW I am a nervous wreck.

I’m in some pretty esteemed company. Anu Bhagwati, Helen Benedict and Erin Solaro have defined the field when it comes to discussions on women in the military. I simply wrote a blog from Iraq. It’s an honor to be included in this discussion and I only hope I bring something new to the conversation.

I’m shaking as I write this because this is real and this is serious and I’m all of a sudden filled with doubt as to what I can really add to the conversation because my experiences are so dramatically different from what the media portrays.

So I’m still shaking. I think I will be for the rest of the day. But this is it.

Holy. Crap.

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I was sitting in mass today and Father Richard started talking about living in a dark fog. Sometimes, things just keep you down and you can’t see your way through them.
Kind of like how life has been for the last two months. Well, almost two months. I don’t count the two weeks I spent in Texas without the kids, so I haven’t been a mom again for sixty complete days.

Here’s the thing. I’ve been trying, really trying, just to keep my head above water. And its not like I’ve got a ton of stress going on in my life but it’s the stupid things that are bothering me. I hate traffic. I loathe it. It is the ultimate time suck and I have to do fight Fort Hood traffic every single day, because unless you’re up at 8 am, even going to the store involves crowds and lines of cars and bodies all jockeying for a place in the checkout line.

I’ll do anything to avoid going to the store, but especially when it’s busy. Thankfully, my hubby is cool with that, because well, if I’m not in the store, I’m not shopping. Gone are the days when I’d run to Target for a gallon of milk. Nope. I’m using a list and at the beginning of the week, I’m buying everything I need for the week, to include 3 gallons of milk.

I get this tight knot around my chest when I get in crowded places. I start getting frustrated and rude and I don’t like feeling like that. I won’t go to lunch on Ft Hood b/c of the lines and lines of cars 2 miles long to get off post. And no, there is no unused gate. All orifices leading to and from Ft Hood suck.

It’s something so trivial and so stupid and yet, its real to me. I simply won’t do it and will do anything to avoid it.

But its not just traffic. I’m also tired. I love having my kids around. I’m incredible glad to be home and be able to take my kid to school and be involved with her education. I love her teacher and she’s adjusted well to being back in Texas, away from the family up in Maine.

My writing is struggling, as is my ability to think clearly. I’m working my ass off to finish my WIP Monster but, as remains the case with this book, inspiration comes in fits and starts with it. So I’m not forcing it, I’m working on it as it comes. I’ve discovered that the book I sent out to agents has a massive pacing problem, but fear and the worry that I’m going to once more paint myself as an amateur has kept me from contacting them and pulling the project back. I still have hope that someone will take me on and work with me, but if this book isn’t the one to do that, I’m okay with that.

I’m frustrated because I had time in Iraq. I had time to write, I had time to read, I had time to work out. Here, there simply isn’t enough time. I have to get up at 5 every day for workout time. And when my kids are awake, its all mommy all the time. By the time they’re in bed, I’m exhausted. I might be awake for an hour after they’re in bed but by 9, 9:30 at the latest, I’m toast. How the hell was I working 18 hours days in Iraq like it was nothing? I don’t know, but I sure as hell have found the cure for insomnia.

So I’m dealing with a lot and trying to keep up a positive outlook on things. I’ve had days where I would have gotten out of the army if another opportunity presented itself, but I’m a realist and I enjoy being able to go to the doctor when my kid breaks her arm. I want to be published so badly I can taste it but it seems to remain just out of reach. If this book isn’t the one to do that, then all I can do is write the next book.

But at the end of it all, if I’m frustrated and tired and remain unpublished, all of these things don’t matter. What matters is that I’m home. For the time being, I get to be a mom and all these other things. I don’t have to go to the store. I don’t have to get angry when I’m in a store. Fr Richard spoke today of perseverance. Stick with it. You’re going through things now that you might not understand the purpose behind.

So I’ll persevere, even when I feel like crawling into bed and pulling the covers over my head. I’ll keep writing and I’ll keep making things normal for my kids and I’ll keep working on achieving that panacea of all working mom’s: balance. Wish me luck!

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