Jessica Scott

So the last couple weeks I’ve been reading LIVING IN THE END TIMES by Slavoj Zizek. Yesterday, I started reading JUSTICE by Michael Sandel. I freely admit that Zizek’s book was over my head in many cases. There were large sections that I had no earthly idea what he was talking about. But other cases resonated deeply. JUSTICE is much more up my alley and I’m absolutely hooked on the philosophy behind our ability to make decisions, so much so that I’m seriously considering using his lectures at iTunesU as part of a Leader Development Program in my company (obviously have to check into copyright & fair use first).

Here’s why. In our current operational structure, the lowest level of authority in my organization may not be the platoon. It very week could end up being a section or even a team. So I need to have young NCOs, young sergeants and specialists that can step up and make decisions – ethical and moral decisions – that will bear out in support of the mission and the commander’s intent. I think that by making them think and learn about how they make decisions and why, it will challenge them to consider their actions in a more meaningful way. Plus, its not the same old lectures about EO, Sexual Assault, etc that makes everyone’s eyes cross because it doesn’t challenge them to think. I want to challenge my future organization to be better than they think they can be. They already know they’re good. I’m hearing nothing but positives about the organization I’m becoming a part of and that, to me is exciting.

As I move into my new organization, I realize 2 things, both of which I’m learning (at least formally) somewhat late in my military career but young enough in my officer career. The first is that people need to know what you expect. You, as a leader, cannot assume that people understand your expectations, especially if your expectations are out of step (notice I did not say wrong) with the current organizations norms. Every organization has norms and values and yes, I do believe in casting a value judgment on those to say these are good and these are not so good and HERE’S WHY. Clearly articulating your expectations to your subordinates is a critical step that so many of my peers fail in. Why? Because they assume a similar basis of experience, they assume too many things. You must articulate it and then you must ensure that it is understood.

The second thing is that its not about the organization. In three years time, no one is going to remember Captain Dawson was C Co’s commander. A few folks might remember me but overall, I will pass into history with every other company commander this unit has had. The organization will continue but where I believe as a leader, I can truly make a difference is my impact on the individuals. If my soldiers know that I truly give a shit about their well being and truly believe in enabling them to perform and truly believe that I care about their families, then the organizational stuff will follow. It has to, because an organization that takes care of the individual needs is going to get supported by those individuals.

There are so many factors that go into making decisions and that’s one of the things that I’m really taking away from the Harvard Justice lectures. I’m not just listening to them because I’m an uber nerd who enjoys philosophy (true, however). I’m listening to them and reading these books because to me, I have to be able to articulate to my soldiers why I’m making the decisions I’ve made and gaining education is a way to help me to do that. If I understand it, I can then explain it in a way to make them understand it. If I can teach them how and why I make decisions, then maybe they can learn how and why to make their own decisions. Because it is at the E5 level that the Army must teach coach and mentor if we are to truly impact our ability to take care of our soldiers.

When I interviewed for this command position, my new battalion commander asked me why I wanted to be a commander. I told her that I wanted to help teach coach and mentor the next generation of leaders because I believe I can still make a difference. So that’s why I’m looking at my leader development program. That’s why I’m looking so hard at not only what decisions I will make but why. Because there is huge potential for me to screw this up and this responsibility isn’t something that I’m taking lightly. I won’t. But its not about the Army. Its about the soldiers in the army. Who can I make a difference with today. I bet if all of us, civilian and soldier alike, went out into the world with that mentality, we could dramatically improve the world around us.

One person at a time.

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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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I’ve blogged a lot about my experience in Iraq with some of the folks I’ve worked with. I’ve also been honest with you about some of my failures, both as a leader and as an officer. But at the end of the day, my failures in those situations, my decisions to act or not act for whatever my justifications, were my decisions and my failure has weighed heavily on my heart.

The second and third order effects of my failures are that some people in the army have gotten promoted due to my unwillingness or inability to fall on my sword.

A few weeks ago, I had a phenomenal opportunity to sit down with my former brigade commander and pick his brain about my future as a company commander. In the hour and a half that he sat with me, we talked about some of the things that went wrong and some of the things that he saw that I had not. A hard lesson I had to learn as I’ve come through the ranks is that the people above me making decisions have access to information I do not have and he saw things at his level that I simply did not and even if I did, we would not have seen the same things.

When we talked about NCO/officer relationship, I confessed to him where I failed. I told him explicitly what I did and why I did it. Do you have any idea how hard it is to look into the face of a leader you respect and admire and look up to and tell him how badly you screwed up? And to watch the disappointment flicker there when he told me how many weak words I’d just used?

Yeah, it sucks. And you know what else? He didn’t cut me any slack. He told me point blank that the action I took probably result in that individual being promoted. Maybe even being my first sergeant. He laid it out for me. And then he said get over it. Did you learn from it? I said yes. He then laid out for me that some fights are worth lying on your sword for, some are not but that I made the best decision I could at the time and that other people had a vote. It was not only my decision that sent that NCOER through.

It was truly cathartic for me to admit what I’d done and where I failed. I’ve carried around that failure with me for a year now. That NCOER was mostly the truth but it was better than it should have been. But I also learned a powerful lesson and when he explained to me that no relationship is static, they are constantly in flux and subject to assessment, I had an epiphany as to where I’d failed. I’d failed to constantly adjust and redefine right and left limits in that specific relationship.

So I’ve finally found a way to let go of the guilt I’ve been carrying around inside me for this. It was not an absolution but a way of finally learning what I was supposed to from that whole experience. Because for the life of me, before I’d talked with my former commander, I had no idea what I was supposed to learn from what, in my mind, was one of the biggest mistakes as an officer I’ve made to date.

I understand so many more things now but with that understanding comes new expecations. It’s like one burden has been lifted, replaced by a new responsibility to live up to the things he taught me.

I’m so incredibly lucky to have been part of this brigade and have this brigade commander to step on my neck. That sounds funny but he demanded more from me than I ever thought possible and sometimes more than I thought was fair. But he held me to a high level of performance and he told me I’d lived up to his expectations.

Hearing that? Well I can’t really explain how that made me feel.

It made a lot of the painful lessons of the last two plus years worthwhile. I understood his intent very clearly from the moment he told me what had happened to him in Sadr City. I knew what his intent was for communications in his brigade and I busted my ass to make that happen. I didn’t always succeed but I never quit.

I was meant to go through that pain to learn those lessons. Finally, I understand some of the things that have been driving me absolutely nuts. And I’ve had the opportunity to be influenced by one of the strongest leaders I’ve ever met in my entire career.

I hope the signal world is ready for some venom because that was his charge to me as I leave this brigade and head back to my roots in the signal corps. But I’ll never forget where I come from or the foundation that was laid for me as an officer in my brigade.

Oh and I’m completely borrowing one of his sayings. I will freely admit to it right here: Don’t Mistake My Passion for Anger.

This ought to be interesting.

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Yeah, yeah, I know I said I wasn’t going to be online much as I’m in a self enforced deadline and MUST work if I ever hope to make writing, oh, I don’t know, a career.

But as I was driving to work today, something about my conversation with my old brigade commander a couple of weeks ago struck me. Actually, it hit me in the head. But first, a tangent.

I’m a soldier. That doesn’t mean that being a soldier and being a girlie girl are mutually exclusive, it just means that for me, I’m more comfortable in combat boots than high heels. Yesterday, I registered for the RWA National conference in Orlando. Now, for those that are part of the fantastic Austin RWA group, I usually show up in uniform because I leave straight from work to get down to Austin in a reasonable amount of time (I’ve been terrible about going this year and I’m trying to get better). But I always sit with my back to the door and I’m almost always terrible uncomfortable.

See, I’m surrounded by women. Great women. Awesome women who adopted me while I was deployed last year and sent me packages every single month. They didn’t forget about me when I fell of the planet for a while when I was dealing with some personal issues. They are fantastic.

And yet, I’m awkward and unsure of myself every time I step into the room. I worry that I’ll swear too much or be too impatient or say something that might be perfectly reasonable to me but strike a civilian as completely horrible. And I desperately don’t want to offend any of them because they are an awesome group of ladies.

But to be honest, my entire adult life has been spent surrounded by men. There are a few women scattered throughout the formation but by and large, I’m one of the few girls. So even though I wear makeup in uniform, I don’t wear much. I don’t want guys to look at me and see a girl, I want them to see a soldier. And even though the first thing they DO see is a girl, they don’t see a girlie girl and when I open my mouth, it’s obvious that I am a soldier first.

As I get ready to go to RWA, I realize that I am going to have to be on guard. I’m going to have to polish the turd, so to speak. To learn to have entire conversations without swearing, even when I’m relaxed.

Do you have any freaking idea how hard that is going to be? Oh and it says on the website business casual. Um, I own jeans. And t-shirts. And flip flops because when I’m chasing my kids around the zoo, heels aren’t exactly what I would call functional (I am, however, in awe of women who do decide to go to the zoo in high heels but I wonder if they’ve taken pain medication before hand?).

That being said, every time I go to ARWA, I’m glad I went because I learn a little more about how to relax and how to be a little more of a girl. I won’t be a soldier forever. At some point I’m going to have to get reacquainted with my feminine side.

And apparently, that was supposed to start the moment I commissioned. When my former brigade commander gave me some of his valuable time for mentorship, he pointed out that I still have some of my NCO tendencies. He asked me how many times he’d sworn during our conversation and I couldn’t honestly think of any. Then he asked how many I had. And I flushed but he said it was fine because we had a relationship. I wouldn’t talk like that if I was talking to the division commander and he was right.

So as I move further into my transition as an officer AND as a writer, I realize that I have to find ways to be a little less crass, a little more polished. I have to swear a lot less and find a ton more patience.

In essence, I have to start polishing the turd.

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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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So today I was having a conversation with someone who shall remain nameless but let’s just say it was someone I’m close to.

I remarked how I’d gotten irritated over the weekend about the commercialization of Memorial Day and how so many folks seemed more concerned with sales than with remembering the fallen.

This person said “what, the whole country sucks because we didn’t all bow down and kiss your feet yesterday?”

This struck me rather forcefully. I understand that forceful opinions incite forceful responses and I’m self aware enough to realize that my opinions about how people were acting was a strong one.

What should I have said? Would it matter if this person was a stranger versus someone I’m close to?

What’s the right way to handle this?

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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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Well, its been a week and I’ve got to say, I’m friggin exhausted. Its easy to forget just how hard it is to do everything yourself and to be honest, he’d wiped out, too. It’s a completely new battle rhythm where we’re both up at 450, him getting dressed and shaving, me making him coffee and packing him a lunch, then going out to the garage to work out myself ( a good book helps with this motivation).

The kids have barely noticed, which is good. He’s still home at a reasonable hour, but that’s 1900 (7 pm for you civilians) and by then, the kids are getting ready for bed. So they’re up later but they’re a little older now, so its not so bad. Keeping the house clean is moderately easy, or it would be if we didn’t have the new jerk dog that piddles everywhere and an 8 year old cat who decides that peeing where I sleep is appropriate revenge for the new kitteh member of the family.

I’ve washed the entire bed (sheets, comforter, and the foam pads beneath) 6 times since Sunday of last week, so needless to say, momma’s not happy. At least my washer can handle the king size comforter.
All in all, my husband loves it. He tells me about the funny stuff his soldiers do. Right now, we’re both in jobs that are arguably the best in the army. Working in a line company, around junior soldiers and making the mission happen. Its more work than being on staff because there’s always personal problems to handle but that’s what we do. When a soldier knows a leader truly cares, they’ll do anything for you and the team.

This week was an off one for me because of the new battle rhythm. I have the best commander on the planet. He’s given me trust to do what’s right and he’s given me the most important thing I need: time. There are some days when I feel like I’m sitting at the bottom of a well, wondering how on earth I’m going to climb out and get after the mission. This whole week felt like that so it’s been a struggle.

But the thing I’ve learned is that right now, my husband has the more important job. He’s a first sergeant. He’s ‘Top” in his unit and his soldiers are counting on him. My job is winding down as I begin my transition to a new job and my replacement is coming on board. So its important that I take on the mother load so that he can focus on getting his boys ready to go again. Because they will go again. Of that, I have no doubt.

It’s hard because he’s tired when he gets home at night. We talk for a few minutes but within an hour of getting in, he’s usually asleep. I’m not far behind him.

All in all, we’re getting there, just like we always do, together. I can honestly say I miss my husband because we don’t talk during the day now very much. He’s too busy. So we try to catch up on the way to work in the morning or on his drive home we talk on the phone. Just another way we try to keep in touch even though we’re on the same base and coming home to each other every night.

It’s going to be a long two years but we’ll get through it. Its what we do. Its what we’ll give to the Army because it’s what we are. We’re both soldiers.

It’s as simple and as complicated as that.

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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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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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While I was still in Iraq, I had an interesting conversation with one of
the leaders in my chain of command. I asked why some females were
allowed to get away with murder and why others, like myself, were held
to the same standard at the males.

The response was nothing short of shocking. I was told that they were
easier on me as a female. This completely turned my world upside down,
because I’d been wire brushed in front of the entire brigade leadership
and pushed to make the mission happen. I truly believed I was being held
to the same standard.

This caused me to do a significant amount of soul searching. Was I truly
performing on par with my peers or was it simply because I was a girl
that my performance stood out among mediocre females. I asked trusted
confidants if they thought this was the case: was I being let off the
hook b/c I was a female.

My mentors said no. They said I busted my ass and it was visible to
everyone. There was a reason the brigade commander came to me when there
were coms issues at NTC. There were reasons why people on the staff
sought me out when they needed something done. No, I was not simply a
girl who got things done: I got things done and that, at the end of it
all was what mattered.

Despite these reassurances, the remark still stings to this day. I’m
conscious of the fact that my gender does make me stand out among a room
full of males and I am always worried that when I perform, even a little
above the low expectations that I’m given a huge pat on the back when
I’m simply doing my job.

Here’s the ultimate problem with mandating that women be allowed to
serve in the combat arms: affirmative action plans such as gender
norming physical requirements would lead to disproportionate reward for
doing the same tasks with lower results. So a female would only have to
ruck 8 miles instead of 10.

Affirmative action plans that were meant to correct historical wrongs
have created a significant problem for people like me: the lowered
expectations means that I stand out against my female peers but I am
still not performing at a level of my male peers. My friends and mentors
tell me this is not the case, but that single comment has left a mark on
me but also the way I see things.

Another problem I have is the perception that certain ranks require
certain levels of award. The argument I heard in Iraq when I had kittens
about some people receiving Bronze Stars (and I still maintain that I
did nothing to warrant the award I received) is the scope of influence.
A warrant officer on the brigade staff is going to have significantly
more influence over the ability of the brigade to accomplish its mission
than a sergeant out pounding the streets. Granted, one is significantly
more dangerous but the other has significantly more impact.

But what about the perception that awards are supposed to be for doing
above and beyond your job? So if that sergeant who travels the roads in
Iraq is responsible for returning 15 COPs to fully operational
communications while that officer advances the next slide, is that truly
fair? The perception of rank equaling greater influence is only accurate
if the person at that rank truly exceeds the expectations for that rank.
Just because someone filled a slot does not mean they earned an
equivalent award.

I find myself being highly disgruntled by the fact that my male
counterparts continually shy away from correcting female soldiers or
worse, expecting the bare minimum from then versus challenging them to
the same standards, we run the risk of creating a cadre of mid level
female NCOs, Warrant officers and officers who lack the skills to enable
our army to succeed at what we do: win wars.

My challenge to my peers: hold me to the same standard that you hold male lieutenants to. Hold these young
female lieutenants and warrant officer ones and specialists to the same
standard. Don’t shy away because you’re afraid of EO complaints.
And
damn it, stop rewarding us for showing up when you expect men to

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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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If you’ve never had to really consider what you’d take on a desert island with you, you’ve never deployed. Last year while I was in Iraq, there was nothing I loved more than getting care packages full of books (except when they had books, coffee and chocolate in them). I had incredible support from the RWA community and so it’s time to pass along a great message.

Author Laura Griffin was one author who spent the time to trudge to the post office, stand in line and send me all of the above with one added benefit: she sent me ARCs of her two books that came out last year: Untraceable and RITA nominated Whisper of Warning. So without delay, here’s Laura, asking for support on books for soldiers!

What’s better than chocolate? According to a friend of mine who just spent a year deployed overseas, a good book.

As a civilian, I’d never spent much time thinking about the reading material on most military bases. But I guess it isn’t surprising that it’s geared toward men. When my local Romance Writers of America chapter heard that female soldiers were finding the reading selection a little thin, we started sending care packages containing romance novels, chick lit, mysteries, women’s fiction—basically, whatever we thought women overseas might be missing. The effort continues today with a paperback book drive over on Murder She Writes: www.murdershewrites.com

“These packages mean a tiny space in time where a female soldier can feel like the woman she is rather than the weapon wielding warrior she also is,” says Monica, a soldier who helps get care packages to women in uniform. “These packages let the soldier escape from the sand and stress of a deployment and be somewhere else completely.”

The goal today is 100 books, one for every person who leaves a comment here or on Murder She Writes. Many author friends have generously donated books, and I’ve picked up some paperbacks from the bestseller section of my local book store. They’re all going into the box, along with a few other much-requested goodies, such as blank journals and chocolate!

Please leave a comment and help us reach our goal!

And if you have some books on your hands that you’d like to donate directly, you can contact Monica at: mojo09226@yahoo.com for details.

Laura Griffin started her career in journalism before venturing into the world of writing romantic suspense. Her articles have appeared in numerous newspapers and magazines, and her fiction work has garnered awards from writing competitions throughout the country. Laura currently lives in Austin, where she is working on her next romantic suspense novel.

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This post has been building for a long time. I’ve been trying to keep my mouth shut and act like a grown up, mature professional.

But who the hell am I kidding?

Friday was the rededication of the First Cavalry Division’s Memorial to those who have made the ultimate sacrifice. This was be the third time the Cav has rededicated the memorial since the war began, etching new names of our fallen brothers and sisters into the black granite. The memorial stands in front of the First Cav headquarters for all to see, a silent tribute to a soldier who gave their life. Friday, we added 69 more names to the immortal wall.

Standing in that crowd and paying respect to my fallen brothers and sisters means something to me, as it does to everyone who has ever lost someone next to them who wore the uniform. The American Flag became more than cloth to me the first time I stood on that airfield in Mosul and saluted a flag draped coffin. And my uniform means something to me because my brothers and sisters in arms have bled and died in these colors.

When someone, man or woman, raises their right hand and volunteers to become a soldier, they are signing on to become someone different. We are taught to uphold the Army Values. Those Army values may be just words on a poster to many but to some of us, they are more than words.

So when people who have never worn the uniform dare to call all the men and women who wear it dishonorable, disloyal, liars or criminals, it deeply offends me to the very seat of my soul.
I just ordered Dark Hearts: One Platoon’s Journey into Madness. The book is about the Mahmoudiya murder committed by Stephen Green and his platoon. These men raped and murdered a 14 year old Iraqi girl and then murdered her entire family to conceal the crime. This was not warfare. This was murder. This was dishonor.

Being willing to kill in combat is not the same as murder.

In Fareheitt 9/11, Michael Moore dared to portray soldiers as amoral killers because they listened to Drowning Pool’s Bodies as they rolled outside the gate. What Mr. Moore fails to realize is the loyalty and bonds that will enable you to do anything to bring the men and women next to you home alive. If Bodies got our boys in that tank in the right frame of mind to go out and come home alive, then so be it. They are soldiers and it is not a kind, gentle thing that soldiers are asked to do for our nation. Our nation asks us to kill and while we will do our best to do so with restraint, if you have never worn a uniform, then you have no right to pretend to know what my brothers and sisters in arms go through each time they roll outside the wire.

I’m supposed to say I’ll defend to my death your right to free speech. I’m supposed to say that diverse opinions are what makes America great. But when you take an entire Army of soldiers, noncommissioned officers and officers and call them dishonorable, there is no further dialogue. We have reached mutually exclusive terrain that can not be shared. There is nothing I can say that will convince you that even if your point has ANY semblance of validity, you should not say that ALL soldiers and leaders are dishonorable.

Is there dishonor within the ranks? Yes. I will not sit here and lie to you and pretend that we do not have criminals, thieves and cowards wearing our uniform. But you cannot stand there and call us all by these names because a few actually deserve it.

Honor means something to me. Doing the right thing means something to me and it means something to a majority of the men and women I stood next to last week as we honored our fallen brothers and sisters.

Question the policy. Question actions of individuals. Demand that individuals be held responsible for their actions.

But don’t you dare call me or the men and women I serve with dishonorable.
You don’t know the meaning of the word.

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