My Own Military Kids

Game day in a half empty house

Little C during her first move

Camping in our house

In honor of April being the month of the Military Child, some of my own. We worry sometimes if raising military brats is really what we want to do. My husband signed up for this life. I agreed with him and had some idea of what I was signing up for. C and R, had no say in this life. Like all military kids it was chosen for them.

C asked a few weeks ago where she was originally from. Likely me and her father were mentioning such about ourselves. We would both say we are originally from Oklahoma, as it’s where we both spent much of our childhoods (or all of it in my case). Poor C though, she was born in Japan, has lived in California and now in Washington and there are likely many more places and states she’ll live in before she is no longer a military child. “Where are you from?” is always going to perplex her.

She was born in Misawa, Japan, on a US air base although she doesn’t remember anything about Japan. Her passport, which she got at 2 ½ months old, says she was born in Japan, as a US citizen. Hopefully when she has to explain that on every job application for the rest of her life she’ll think it’s cool, not a hassle. Someday we can hopefully take a trip back to Japan and show her the country she was born in and share with her all that we love about Japan.

 

She remembers the white house on Monterey in California. It was the first home she remembers, and hopefully she doesn’t lose that memory. We now live in a gray house in Washington. Hopefully she remembers it too after we move, her room already painted pink and purple, the sloped driveway she could run down, the yard full of dandelions. She does not remember her first move at 19 months. We do, how we took away all her things for months, took away all the places and people she had ever known, how she clung to her paci and few toys we packed., how it was Christmas in June when we got all her toys back. She remembers our move last fall, her second, when she got a new house, new town, new school and new baby brother. Somehow that move did not break her so much that when I mentioned the other day we are moving again she welcomed the adventure.

R was born in a state he likely will not turn one in, a state he may never live in again. C very likely will end up having lived in 5 places in 6 1/2 years, and gone to 5 preschools and schools by 1^st grade. R may end up having lived in three places before his third birthday. Hopefully someday having seen so much of the states will benefit them more than the stress of all the moves.

There have been times that it’s heartbreaking. Poor C during the last move when we were still living in yet another hotel room and waiting to move into our new house, sadly said she wanted to go home, home to the white house on Monterey. And all I could do was wrap her in a hug and tell her that part of me wanted that too, to go back to what I had learned and knew I liked. I also said we were getting a new house, new friends, a new school, and a new adventure. That we would make all of that what we know and enjoy, for a little while, always for just a little while.

Right now we are dealing with Daddy being gone, again. R is too young to care yet. For C, she’s full of emotions and anxieties about it. We are not a complete family of four without him, and yet for a time our family has to exist and function as three. It’s a lot for a four year old to really understand, why he is gone, how much he really does love us when he’d gone, and how much he terribly terribly misses us.

 

 

My military kids will have to learn to be resilient. Able to not know what the future might bring and deal with their circumstances whether they like them or not. In the end learn to be flexible enough to handle whatever life throws at them.

They will have to be resolute. With an ability to make new friends and embrace new situations and places. They will have to learn that finding joy and embracing positives will help them deal. They will hopefully be determined that in the end they will make their new place home.

They will have to be relentless. With the means to live out of a suitcase if needed for a time. Hardened, sadly, by the moves and the changes and the time away from dad. Hopefully strong enough nothing in life will beat them down.

So many kids like my own, little souls with big emotions, serve in their own ways. They will have a unique childhood and not the easiest one. I hope that this life gains them friends, both ours and their own, around the country and the world. I hope they keep the adventure and joy in seeing new places, that they come away with an appreciation for differences and similarities around the country. I suppose most of all I hope that when they are older and understand more they don’t look back on their childhood’s hardships but instead have pride for their part in making our country safer.

Birth Story: The baby who beat the HHG (household goods)

It was not our intention, but my son R was due in early November and we moved at the end of September from California to Washington. Because of how busy my husband’s job was in September he couldn’t get away to house search before we moved, and I couldn’t because of being 7+ months pregnant.

We arrived in Washington the last Friday in September. Checked into temporary housing and began searching like crazy for a house to live in. Not easy with 2 pets, including a large but older dog, looking for something not too far away from base, not too wrecked, under our allotted BAH (base allowed housing amount) and with hopefully three bedrooms and one and half bathrooms. We did manage that after a busy week, were camping in an empty house and had scheduled our HHGs (household goods) to arrive.

My son, however, arrived a day short of us being in Washington a full two weeks, and arrived the day before the HHGs was to arrive. Sigh. We had known he might be early. We had purposely packed in the over-packed cars the infant car seat and base and a bag of baby essentials like the new breast pump. We had made an appointment for the Monday after we got to Washington to get me set up with the OB clinic at the Naval Hospital, and were actually glad it was a military hospital as it meant no referrals would need to be waited on. I know he flipped around to feet in while we made the drive north (he was already head down), and I had felt a few contractions (not the braxton hicks kind either as from my daughter I knew I just couldn’t feel those). We knew he might be early, but…

On Thursday morning, at 36 1/2 weeks pregnant, one day before our HHGs were scheduled, we went to medical for a non-stress test. These were being done because of my age. The nurse found one dip in the baby’s heart rate that followed a contraction. The OB on call took a look and determined it was likely a coincidence. Before the nurse got her paperwork done and had me unhooked from the monitoring machine, it happened again.

So, she sent me to labor and delivery for them to monitor further. We did that for an hour or so, while we ate through all the snacks in my purse instead of eating lunch, and my almost 4 year old daughter got more and more antsy. The dips were still happening and so they admitted me. I was one centimeter dilated and having irregular contractions, the hope was they would induce me and stop the worrying heart rate dips. But, first they had to give me some test pitocin to make sure the baby tolerated it. I sent off my husband and daughter for lunch and to pack and bring back a hospital bag I had not yet packed. Luckily our stuff had not arrived yet as it made it easier for my husband to find things and pack the bag.

The baby was not tolerating the natural contractions I was having well, which were slowly speeding up and increasing in intensity, and he certainly did not tolerate the pitocin at all. That left a c-section as the best option. My husband showed back up after fighting traffic and having to multitask with the preschooler while packing, to hear the OB say just that. Not what he wanted to hear at all.

While waiting for him, without a cell phone as mine had broken that morning, I had been listening to the heart rate and suspected already things were not going well, had even partly acknowledged to myself I may need a c-section for him to get here healthy. My husband had missed all of that and was of course not happy being told about me needing surgery for the baby, and screw me. I asked for the OB to come back and really talk to us about his recommendation. The OB was great in that conversation. He answered our questions, as my daughter had also had dips in her heart rate but differently for a likely different reason. He explained with reason and logic what likely was causing the dips after contractions was the placenta not being healthy enough to maintain the needed blood supply during labor, and then explained that doing a c-section now when they could take their time was better than later in an emergency situation. The OB also explained how as a surgeon he could sew me the healthy adult back together and fix me up in an emergency, so his priority then would be the health of the baby which he could not fix if he was distressed.

We were then left to discuss it. This baby was so wanted and to not do a surgery that would help make sure he got here safe and healthy just because it was surgery and that scared us did not make medical sense now that we knew more about the medicine behind the readings they were getting. So, about 12 hours after going in for a routine check, I was being wheeled in for a c-section to greet my son.

To say this was all traumatic is an understatement. I was shivering from the nerves and stress. The nurse and anesthesiologist later commended me for being calm and following instructions. What else did I have to do but put both our lives in their hands and try to be helpful so they could medically help us? Inside I was freaking, but doing so outside was not going to make anything go well. At 9:00pm on the dot, my son entered the world with a whiny little cry and then peed on the tech while they took his vitals. At 7 lbs 4 oz and with no medical issues he was a healthy technically premature baby.

Of course, that began all the crap after having a baby, which has always made pregnancy look easy to me. He was early, even if he didn’t look it, and sleepy. He had breastfeeding issues and then blood sugar issues, small things considering. And I was sore and barely held together from having a c-section. Hands down recovering from a c-section was much worse than a vaginal birth.

And so my second experience with birth was not what I wanted to plan or thought would happen. My first experience hadn’t been either in different ways. I have a feeling births never really live up to that. But, in the end I got a healthy baby and had no medical issues myself. I am glad that the non-stress test did exactly what it was supposed to do. Likely my contractions would have gotten strong enough that I would have come to labor and delivery, especially as he was technically early. Had I labored at home instead, things might have gone badly. But that’s not what happened, luckily. So, a successful birth story and someday we will laugh at the baby who beat the HHGs to our new house.

Long time since I posted…

2016 ended up hitting me harder than I had thought it would. Grief is no fun and 2016 was about the worst year of my life. I found I ended up having little time to do much besides manage, manage to do dishes and laundry and necessary life maintenance, manage to care for my daughter. This blog was not part of that managing. And I did make it through that first hard year.

2017 was just plain busy and tiring. We found out in early March, just before what would have been the 1 year anniversary of our pregnancy loss, that I was pregnant again. Horrible morning sickness and extra tiredness compared to past pregnancies, an opinionated 3 year old to fight with daily, a volunteer activity, a move in the fall, and new baby less than 2 weeks after a move, that’s basically where I was in 2017. Busy with too much to blog even if I had words to share.

2018 I resolve to get back into writing and thus back into blogging as some of the writing rambling about my head is related to parenting, kids, and military spousing. I’m going to do so with an active 4 year old whose as stubborn as she’s always been, a new baby, a new place to explore and finish settling into, a husband who will likely be away more than home this year, and very hopefully without another move this year.

Here’s to hoping this goes, well or not, just that the words happen.

Camping Out in Our House

We’re moving half across the planet back to the states from Japan. Second time we’ve made such a big move, but the first move since having our little one. Not at all the last move, although hopefully our last move THIS big. Most of our stuff got boxed, crated and will soon be on it’s way across the ocean. We’ll see it in 2 to 3 months. In the meantime we’re living our of luggage on temporary furniture with a few extra necessary items that will get air-crated to us.

Suppose the nice thing is being military there are means to make things easier. We have loaner furniture here and should have some back in the states. We have a few loaner items. I got day care for my toddler paid for yesterday during the packing. And we are certainly not alone in making these moves.

Lots of big changes ahead though. Luckily our dog and cat know the routine, not that our cat will enjoy the plane ride. Our toddler is a great traveler, but this will be her first move. Lots of new for her to adjust to and learn about. Empty house, new furniture, hotel rooms, new house, new people, and finally the joy of getting our stuff back.

Moving Again

So, I am a military spouse. This means that I have and will likely continue to move every 2 to 4 years. Actually this will be my 3rd move in the last 4 years, and we’ll do it again in another 2 years (and hopefully not less), and then likely in another 2 years.

There are nice things involved in moving. Seeing new places, I have after all spent the last almost 4 years in Japan because of the military. Meeting new people, which I think used to be more exciting when I was younger. My husband is in a small community, and ultimately the military is fairly small, so there’s always the joy of being near old friends again. We’ll be near a few good friends from tours past in a few months. Getting rid of junk, with each move I trim the old stuff both before and after the move. It’s hard to be hoarder and a military spouse.

And, there are some nice things about moving with the military. They do the packing and moving. There are resources in place for moves. We may be without stuff for several months, but will have loaner furniture in both places until our stuff gets to us. If we have a question, likely we know friends or others on the base we’re leaving or going to who have answers.

On the other hand… I have spent and will spend a lot of time in the coming months messing with the move. There are lots of logistics. Hotel reservations to make, kennels to book, as we’re driving part of the move I need to arrange a rental car, and so on. We need to retrieve the car we own in the states from storage, and see about buying a new one. I have already started the process of going through stuff, giving away, trashing and selling things. I have to figure out what we send in our smaller later shipment. And then there’s how to pack everything we may need for 60+ days into 5-6 suitcases. Making decisions on what we don’t need for that few month, what we do need. My husband does some of these logistics, especially some of the more official ones that are easier for him to do, but he’s got a job and often is too busy for smaller things, so…

Yeah, I will spent a lot of time in the coming months on moving stuff. Like today, we’re buying cheap (possibly used) dishes to use after our stuff leaves, bringing the needed paperwork to reserve the base hotel before we fly out, and I get to continue to hunt down answers to how to best retrieve that car from storage. Although first I should rescue the dog water from the soaked toddler, or perhaps that should be the other way around.

So, if I blog a bit less, know that between that and chasing a toddler and seeing the last of Japan… I’m busy moving on to the next place.