Jessica Scott

My post is up over at the NYTimes! It’s under my real name but I’m so dang excited!!

http://atwar.blogs.nytimes.com/

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When you get home from deployment, the army sends you through all this reintegration training. Some of it is worthwhile, a lot of it is a waste of time and even more is a check the block exercise. I understand the intent behind it, but frankly, I didn’t need or want most of it. There was, however, one class that I really got a lot out of and it was taught by the chaplains. They discussed reintegrating with your families and I paid attention because honestly, I’ve been worried about reuniting with my kids.

They talked about expectations and reactions and how you and they are different now than when you left home. I knew all this but still I paid attention. There was a lot of anticipation within me about seeing the kids and getting my family back together.

I thought I was prepared.

So when we’re in the middle of a busy rest stop in New Jersey last night and my youngest starts crying out of the blue, I wasn’t prepared to hear why she was upset. She had real, painful tears, the kind of crying that sounded like her little heart hurt. When I asked her what was wrong, she sobbed “I don’t think you love me.”

It was not a fake cry. It wasn’t a cry for attention. And I had no idea how to react. Instantly, I started crying. In the middle of a rest stop, with people wondering what the heck was going on, I was trying to get my oldest’s coat on her while trying to get my youngest to understand that I did love her and I did miss her.

My husband freaked out when he walked up and saw me and our youngest both in tears. My oldest rested her head on my shoulder and told me she knew I loved her. But none of that helped until I could make my youngest understand.

It was a brutal episode and one I did not expect. They tell you about the babies not knowing you or your grade school kids wanting to talk incessantly but nothing prepared me for my 3 year old’s confusion and true heartache.

It’s better today. She’s back to normal and so am I but the pain from last night lingers. So today, I’m hugging both of them more and telling them I love them. I’d already been doing that but apparently, it wasn’t enough to make up for a year of no hugs and no up close I love yous. The web cam was good but it wasn’t enough.

I don’t know if I can ever make up  for being gone to either of them. I don’t know what else is coming.

And I don’t know that I’m prepared to deal with it.

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A SOLDIER’S CHRISTMAS

‘Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
in a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone.

I had come down the chimney with presents to give,
and to see just who in this little house lived.

As I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.

No Stockings by mantle, just boots filled with sand,
On the wall hung pictures of far distant lands.

With medals and badges, awards of all kinds,
A sobering thought came through my mind.

For this house was different, it was dark and dreary,
The home of a soldier, I could now see clearly.

The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone,
Curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home.

The face was so gentle, the room in such disorder,
Not how I picture a United States Soldier.

Was this the hero of whom I’d just read?
Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?

I realized the families that I saw this night,
owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight.

Soon round the world, the children would play,
and grownups would celebrate a bright Christmas day.

They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year,
because of the soldiers, like the one lying here.

I couldn’t help wondering how many lay alone,
on a cold Christmas Eve in a land far from home.

The very thought brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to one knee and started to cry.

The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice,
“Santa don’t cry, for this life is my choice”.

I fight for freedom, I don’t ask for more,
My life is my God, my country, my corps.”

The soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep,
I couldn’t control it, I continued to weep.

I kept watch for hours, so silent and still,
as we both shivered from the cold night’s chill.

I didn’t want to leave, on that cold, dark night,
this guardian of honor, so willing to fight.

Then the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and pure,
whispered, “Carry on Santa…., It’s Christmas Day…., All is secure.

One look at my watch, and I knew he was right,
Merry Christmas my friend…. and to all a Good Night.

~ Author Unknown *~

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I’ve been treading water for the last two weeks. Two nights ago, I walked into my mother home to cries of mommy, mommy. I held my daughters in my arms and I was finally home. The piece of me that was missing is now filled. I am no longer just Jessie, just a soldier, just a writer. I’m Mommy once more, with all that entails.

And I couldn’t be happier. I’m exhausted, look like hell, (remember that crappy hair cut? Yeah, I’ve had no time to take care of it.) but couldn’t be happier. I’ve had no desire to write but that’s only temporary. For now, my job is mommy. My littlest one likes to tell me “you’re the best parents in the whole wide world” even after we’ve left them for the entire year.

They’re clingy. We cannot leave them alone and have no desire to. They fight in the car more. We made it exactly five minutes on a road trip to town before my hubby was ready to pull his hair out from the “mommies” arguments and I was cracking up because despite the time lapse, I’m still able to tune them out. Of course, he went and bought dvd players for the coming road trip to Texas.

I’ve done arts and crafts and gone sledding and slept in a chair holding both of them. My youngest is so far out of pull ups, my oldest could pass for a third grader with her more mature short hair cut (I swear to God, if I catch her with scissors again…). I’ve already started counting to three to overcome my 3 year old’s selective hearing.

There’s no better feeling than holding my daughters as they snuggle up. They’ve changed incredibly but then again, so have I. This is what’s really important. The time with my kiddos. I’ll never get this year back but I still have today to make a difference and let them know how much I loved them and missed them. I’ll never let the opportunity pass by.

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The news this week was that female veterans have a hard time feeling like they’re part of the team once they get back. An article ran in the Associated Press commented that no one buys the gals a beer in the bar and how they’re not invited out to the bar with the families because the wives of their buddies downrange might not approve.

I can relate and in a sense, I understand. I was at a car dealership this weekend and the manager was talking to my husband about being in Iraq. I felt sidelined by the fact that the manager never once asked if I’d been there, too. He simply assumed I was a spouse and I felt like I’d be going ‘ooh ooh me, too, I was there, too,” if I’d spoken up. It was awkward for me but at the same time, had I not read the AP article, I might not have been even thinking about it.

As a female soldier, I’ve always been on the outside looking in. The males in every unit I’ve been a part of have seen a female first, a soldier second, much as if they see a black female first or a Hispanic male first. I’ve accepted that is simply part of being a women in the military. I’ve also accepted another dirty little secret: the wives at home ALWAYS suspect the female soldiers in their husbands units of trying to sleep with their husbands. Their fear is not unfounded. I get to see what their husbands do during the deployments and when they’re TDY. Some of their husbands are not faithful and that is a disappointment to me.

They are not cheating on their wives with me but that doesn’t matter because I am simply the other to them, a woman who spends time with their husbands who is not them. So I understand the awkwardness that some of the guys have in introducing their teams. I can’t smile too much when I meet the wives or else, I’m suspected. I can’t be too stand offish because then I’m hiding something. It’s a precarious balance, one that means that when I get home, I’ve lost the buddies I’ve hung out with all year, bs’ing with them in the TOC or in the smoke area.

That means that when we come home, I’m on my own. I can’t seek out the friends that I had downrange without causing suspicion and rumor and the last thing that anyone needs is rumor and innuendo. Coming home is hard enough without adding jealousy into the mix. But the blatant, more often than not, assumption that I have not deployed to combat is almost as irritating as having people look at me and see a lieutenant instead of seeing an officer with over 14 years in the service.

People can’t help what they see. They see a female, the mental association is not with being a soldier in our society, just like when folks see a lieutenant, they don’t expect to see someone with experience. I am what people see, at least until they get to know me. I cannot change their expectations of me in that first glance but I can change it once they get to know me.

I feel like I’m doing a ‘me, too’ thing when I correct people if they leave me out. Invariably, they are surprised that I’m in the army because ‘I don’t look like I’m in the army’. I’m not sure exactly what that means, but it’s irrelevant. I am in the army. I am a combat veteran. And when they shake my husband’s hand and say welcome home, I feel the lack of recognition.

Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe I should just accept it as what it is. But it still hurts.

And it still feels wrong, for me and the thousands of women who’ve served with distinction just like our male soldiers.

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Things are settling back in. I’ve been home for a week now and I’m starting to feel normal. The irritation that I feel over little things is subsiding and I’m getting back into my current WIP. I nailed 20 pages on it this weekend and I’m just started to get back into the groove of it.

I’ve also had an encouraging couple of emails from prospective agents. The agents who currently have my full are ones I’d love to work with, so if I have a choice, it’s going to be a hard one to make. I won’t make an on the spot decision, but having been in one agent/author relationship, I think I have a better idea as to what I’m looking for.

In other news, I’ve rediscovered how to burn food and that my lack of domestic abilities is still sorely lacking. There was no magical hit this past year that miraculously turned me into a Martha Stewart protégé. No, I still burned the first round of blueberry muffins, however, the second round (that did not come from a box) were a huge hit with my other half (trust me, this is a bigger milestone than you might think).

The biggest news this week is that on Friday, I get full swing back into Mommy mode. No more phone calls with the kiddos, I get full blown hugs, along with peed on pants, dirty faces and attitude. It’s going to be an adjustment, I know this but one thing I am hoping for is a better perspective on things with them now that I’m home. I’m implementing a rule on myself: no email, no phone calls, no distractions while the kids are home from school. The few precious hours I have with them each night are going to be sacred mommy and kiddo time.

I personally think I’m going to go insane inside of a week. It will be a race between my mom and I as to who gets there first: me from inheriting my children back or her from the silence in her house from no children.

Either way it rolls, life is going to be an adjustment over the next few months. They say it takes 90 days for things to fully settle in. Well, in 90 days, my husband might be moving to Ft Bragg without us, for me and the kids to follow this summer. THAT will be an adjustment, but having gone through 2 deployments at home with him gone, I know I’ll be just fine. Busy. But fine.

So that’s the latest from the home front. With any kind of luck, I’ve got a new normal, just in time for that normal to be replaced, once more, by chaos. I’ll live. I always do.

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I’ve been home a few days now. I’ve been busy. Aside from the dead lizard in the bathroom, which I really enjoyed, I’ve been going non stop. Cleaning the house and getting things back to normal in my home is nearly a full time job. But I did take time for me, because as soon as I get the kids back, I no longer have me time. So I went and spent some time at Bobbi Brown and at the Loft and spent some time trying to learn how to be a girl again.

But here’s the problem. I’ve been a soldier all year long. That’s been who I am, aside from the folks I interact with in the online writing community, I’ve been around soldiers and that’s it.
It was easier.

I very nearly lost my temper today at a girl who was doing her best to cut my hair but despite her efforts was pretty much giving me a hatchet job. You’d think I would be a little more easy going about this, seeing how my hair has had a single style for the entire year. But as the length got shorter and shorter and the sides more and more uneven, I felt this tiny knot of anger growing inside me. She was trying but the harder she tried the worse it got and the bigger the knot grew.

Thankfully a more experienced hair stylist stepped in and salvaged it so I’m not bald.

But really? I was getting violently angry over.

A.

HAIR.

CUT.

WTF? This is something so beyond petty and inconsequential, I’m ashamed to even be writing about it. Everyone who knows me knows I’ve got a temper but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve strived to keep it more in check. This year has been more challenging and I’ll admit, I let it fly more often than I checked it.

But if I’m losing my temper (which I did not, thankfully. I paid and left without comment) about something so absolutely stupid as a bad hair cut, how on earth am I going to handle my kids? I mean, they’re babies. They’re not used to me and I’m not used to them.

So how am I going to handle this?

I’ll tell you, this is the most apprehensive I’ve been in a long time.

This isn’t a two week stint of R&R. This is it. I’m mommy, full time, go starting in less than a week and there’s no one to take the load off for me and my DH. We’re both coming back this time, not him with me adjusting to him coming home.

It’s going to be an interesting journey, that’s for sure.

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I’ve developed a low tolerance for a lot of things since I’ve been back from Iraq, but something completely trivial is working my nerves.

People all across the country respect and admire soldiers and thank us for our service. While we’re just doing our jobs like everyone else, it’s still nice for people to recognize that we do something just a little out of the ordinary by just saying thank you. It’s a small thing, but it really means a lot.

Except, if you live in a military town, the rule is not thank you for your service, but familiarity breeds contempt. I’ve got a news flash for all you civilians that work on post and are put out by having to provide a service to us soldiers. Your job is here because of us. You don’t know where we’ve been or what we’ve encountered over in Iraq and Afghanistan. So when you walk by at 0758, refusing to make eye contact with me as I stand outside your office and refusing to open the door to even allow me and the three other soldiers inside where it was warm, remember that without us, you wouldn’t have a job.

I know that’s sounds bitchy and it is. My patience, like I’ve pointed out, is really low these days. But these women were completely engrossed in their conversation and were literally trying to pretend that there weren’t four of us outside, freezing our asses off and they couldn’t’ have been bothered to even open the door and let us in. They didn’t even have to serve us before they opened but a little common courtesy would have been nice. Especially considering it was 32 degrees.

Same thing happened at a local restaurant. This place was a chain and my hubby and I thought having a sit down breakfast would be nice. We waited, patiently. The restaurant was half empty but still, no one was coming to seat us. Then, when the hostess finally did start seating folks, she seated another couple first.

We left, neither of us having the patience to deal with basic lack of manners and basic customer service.

I know this sounds like I’m being petty and small and maybe I am. Maybe in a couple weeks, I’ll look back on this post and think, what the hell was I thinking. And please recognize, this is not an indictment of the whole town, but people in it who refuse to recognize that soldiers are people, not just numbers.

But right now, the rudeness and the refusal to recognize that soldiers are not just a uniform but a person by some of the people in the town and on the base I call home is disconcerting.

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Last night I went to the Austin RWA annual xmas party. I had a fantastic time reconnecting with the women who supported me so incredibly last year while I was in Iraq. It was great and I felt like I was around a group of kindred spirits and it was one of the first times I felt normal this year.

It was literally like taking a deep breath and letting go of some of the tension I’ve held onto since I’ve been back. It was an oasis of normalcy that I desperately needed.

It was great, talking about writing and books. I loved it but I got a question thrown at me that I was not prepared for.

What’s your theme?

I pretty much stopped and really had to think about it. My books are all military in nature, but military, by itself, is not a theme. It’s a topic. Themes are the something deeper, beneath the narrative and are much more universal than any story can be.

I honestly couldn’t answer for a moment. I thought about Shane’s story, War’s Darkest Fear. He did nothing wrong, but he felt like he did. I thought about Lucas’s story, Resurrection. Lucas believes in the mission but when he has to make a choice about the mission or his life, the consequences are more than he bargained for. I thought about Tracy and Sean in War’s Darkest Loss. Sean had never forgiven himself for his actions and Tracy has to figure out if she can.

There are other books I’ve written but ultimately, looking across my body of work, the constant theme is redemption. Shane has to forgive himself for being wounded and give himself permission to live again. In Resurrection, Lucas has to atone for making the wrong choice. In Loss, Sean has to prove that he’s a better man than the boy Tracy once knew.

Redemption is a theme that I’ve been dealing with a lot in my work and I didn’t even know it. Balancing redemption is vengeance. What happens when good men and women allow vengeance to dictate their actions?  I’m not certain where these themes have risen from within me, but I do know that they run through my work.

So thank you, Chris, for asking me that question. It was a tough one to answer, but I think I’ve figured it out.

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I suppose it’s supposed to be a good time. I guess that for folks coming home to families and pets and a lived in house, it is. But for me, it’s strangely silent and empty. Intellectually, I know it’s because the house is empty and I spent the weekend and early hours of the morning cleaning. Shopping was fun, but in a I need this to feel normal again not in a I really want to go shopping kind of way.

I guess in a way, my heart is kind of like my house. Empty. There is a strange disconnect inside me that I don’t know how to fill. I’m hoping when Scott gets home later today that I’ll feel normal again but right now, I’m not sure. I know that life in Iraq is not real life but that life back here is strange and different, too.

I’m not sure which way is up or down. I know, intellectually, that I’m tired and I’m jet lagged and I’m going through a bunch of emotional changes but none of that helps fill what’s inside me. Or rather, what’s not.

So we’ll see what happens as the hours turn into days. I know that time is incredibly slow. I’ve never had an hour take so long in my life. I’m sitting and reading a great book and the time is simply inching by. The house is clean. I have new makeup.

But it still feels like normal will only return when my house is full of kids and dogs and cats and dust bunnies the size of Chihuahuas. Maybe that is normal.
Maybe that is real life.

Right now, I’m simply not sure.

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