Military Uniforms: Helping Men Score Wives for Over 200 Years.

To be honest, I don’t even know where to begin my long-winded ramblings as a questionably sane army wife in the form of a blog.   I guess I should start at the true beginning—that is,  when I first laid eyes on my husband at a very classy (think college budget here)  Best Western Motel  just outside West Point, New York.  I fell head over heels for him, embraced my inner slut, and had one naughty hook-up with a guy named Jim.  Yes, he was handsome and built.  Yes, he looked smoking hot in his gray cadet uniform.  Yes, he charmed me with his ability to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ AND to chew with his mouth closed (something that seemed to totally dupe most of the college frat-boys that I was currently used to dating).   I married that hot set of abs a year later at our extravagant full-blown military wedding, and we skipped off into the sunset to live out our own version of happily-ever-after.   Little did I know, amongst my newly found domestic bliss, that the terrorist attack of the century was looming in the future.

                As with so many other Americans, 9-11 changed everything for me.  Every preconceived notion I had ever formed about army life came crashing down with those twin towers.  I was newly pregnant, and I knew instantly as I witnessed the mayhem erupt across Fort Leonard Wood that my life of constant military balls, coffees, play groups, and grad school were over.   The United States was at war, and with a sinking realization it finally dawned on me, that I was currently married to an officer in United States Army.  I kissed goodbye the innocence of youth, and braced myself for the bitter truth: that I, the pampered Yankee that could barely boil water, was suddenly going to be the head of the house.  Childhood was over.  The courtship was over, and  I might as well convert to Mormonism, because there was a new man in our marriage—Uncle Sam—and he was one demanding biatch.

                Fast forward several years to where the true story begins—or at least where the story begins that I will share with you.  Seven month ago, I said goodbye to my husband again-- his third journey in five years and our second consecutive year apart.   I have seen my husband for less than 60 days in the past two years—and the Amy he left is probably a much different Amy then the one he will return home to.  I juggle three kids, a part-time job, a volunteer position, and continual marathon training with all the grace of an elephant on a high-wire.  My life is insane, unpredictable, and messy… but in its own weird way, still amazingly blessed.

  I now know, that I am in the middle of a journey—and in the end, the destination will be inconsequential.  Life has taught me—sometimes via a swift kick in the keester-- the true meaning of sacrifice, courage, true love, and inconceivable pain.  My husband may be the one currently living in a war zone, but don’t think for a minute that his family doesn’t wage their own battles on the homefront.  We do.  Loneliness, depression, insomnia, and anxiety are the names of the army spouses’ battles, and we fight them everyday—most of us, with a baby on one hip and a blackberry in hand.  To the army wife, the greatest fear isn’t that our spouse will never come home— heck, we have already learned how to live without them—but to the army wife, well at least this one, the greatest fear is that we will forget how to live all together.  That somehow life will slip by, months at a time gone, as we try to navigate through the monstrous hurricane of a deployment.   To some, the only way to muddle though a year separation is to pack their hearts on ice, and to isolate themselves in a tiny cryogenic world where they are numb to the pain and frozen in time. But, life doesn’t have to be sink or swim—sometimes it is  simply both—and it is at the lowest moments when you are about to hit rock bottom that you realize that life is so much more than just enduring.  It is at that precise moment in time, when you realize you are stronger then you ever imagined,  and are somehow capable of propelling off those rocky trenches at the bottom of the sea.  Strength isn’t always about how many pounds you can carry in a rucksack across a stupid desert, but rather how you can learn to find courage and happiness—even when half of your soul is thousands of miles across the globe. 

 Seven months ago, my best friend, and fellow army wife, shared an amazing pearl of wisdom with me after her husband returned from his fourth combat tour.  I was broken, overwhelmed by the thought of a second year apart from my husband, and I was sinking fast.  She called me on the phone, listened to my doubts and insecurities, and threw me the life vest I needed to continue the swim.   With the calm voice of experience she schooled me,  “Amy, There is strong.  There is Army strong….. and then there is Army Wife Strong.”