Dear Darla Diaries

cele.b.rity face time

Our boys got a little visit in Mars by K.id R.ock ...look Mr D is actually bigger than the b.ad a.ss rapper!

J.ess.e J.ames (chick country singer not motorcycle enthusiast phenom) ... who actually could fit in his pocket!

And the not pictured Carlos Mencia.   

What a cool gift for the boys ... and photos to make me giggle.

just a little thanks

Thank you for hugging me and calling me cute when I wake up with crazy bridezilla hair and garish morning breath.

Thank you for not giving me the whiny "aren't you going to make me dinner before you go?" when I head out for a girls night out.

Thank you for tucking me under your arm and tapping me on the nose when I trip over my own two feet and nearly land flat on my face instead of mocking me like a retarded toddler.

Thank you for appreciating my awkward moments and untangling my dyslexic speech instead of correct my every sentence with a dictionary.

Thank you for not making fun of the fact that I'm part of the 10% of society that can speed talk from the moment I wake up until the moment I lay down and appreciating the fact that I've actually slowed down in speech in the last 9 years of our marriage.

Thank you for loving me as me and not expecting me to be your mother, your maid, your cook, your laundry-mat or your sex slave but as your roommate, your companion, your partner and your equal.

Thank you for always seeing our bank accounts as joint money and never becoming over possessively anal about every penny of yours I spend or every penny of mine.

Thank you for being every obnoxious bit of you because I've always loved you for every unique character quirk that makes you you as much as you love me for me.

the drunken carcass of my reality

There seems to be a misconceived notion that the nearer you get to the end of the deployment the giddier you'll get. Shandi made a very astute quote this evening by telling me: "you'll either get more antsy or completely numb to the whole thing."

My skin is on fire lately. I crave a man's touch like a marathon runner, in the middle of the Sahara crawling on their belling across the endless expanse of sand, craves a single solitary drop of water. I cannot imagine the goose-bumps that will fly across my skin the first time MrD brushes a finger across the nape of my neck, bumps his shoulder into mine or brushes his lips against me with the lightest of touches.

It's taking every ounce of my concentration to see through the white elephant lolly-gagging it's fat ass in the middle of my eyesight. No matter where I turn it's yawning, stretching and fiddling like an impatient feline. I equally want to pet it, stroke it and name it and poke it, whack it and erase it back to invincibility.

I don't think I can afford to admit the fear, the longing, the loneliness of missing him in my presence. It's like labeling the ache and shadow of not bearing a child that has lodged itself so high in my breast bone that it has permanently become another piece of me.

I let life distract me. It's sort of transitioned my jitteriness into other avenues.

I get frustrated for my mom-mate when she's in a funk.

I medicate my puppy who has a some-what slowly evolving fatal tumor in her right rear hip. [I've just not been in the mood to even broach the subject of discovering my baby's death script or the $500+ vet/med bill that keeps climbing.]

I scrub and medicate my kitten's neck wound multiple times a day. [He got his curiosity where it shouldn't be, said the vet, and has to wait until the hair grows back.]

I gorge and binge myself on WoW gaming.

I edit photos here and there but can't focus enough or feel motivated enough to throw them on my blog.

I am here. I hire and fire. I laugh and try to only cry in moderate bits.

I stay awake way too late. Wide eyed ... chattering aimlessly at the mom-mate or blink-blink-blinking through shows. I wake up randomly, sometimes restlessly and today at the exact time my ass should've been at my desk.

I try to capture bits and pieces for my blog and it flits away from me like a delicate drunken butterfly.

75 days and counting

A wise woman once told me that those that haven't experienced deployment or long periods of separated time from spouse/partners can't possibly understand how we feel when someone says something like 'oh he'll be home soon' or 'over half way there!' or 'three months will fly by!' She explained it along the lines of 'why don't you try sticking your head in a doorway and slamming it repeatedly with the door for the next three months or 30 days and see how quickly time flies by.

In truth, the days start to blur together and meld along the edges. It feels like quick snaps in a movie where Monday evolves into Friday and the weekends are a hodgepodge of rapid-fire events and sloth-like moments. I tend to want to feel the adrenaline rush so I can constantly feel alive and imitate the roller-coaster of my love life that normally strums under my fingers. Nothing replaces the heartache, headache, encompassing love and tumultuous thrill ride that has been ingrained in my bones the last nine years.

To add insult to injury the second part of my everyday existence, my MIL-mommate has also been doing an extended road trip to retrieve her stuff. So the two warm talking bodies that complete my kid-less home existence, along with my pets, are leaving me in a quiet world. Any parent of a live-in child could compare it to an extend absence from them all. The noise is what fills in the edges of your day.

His return heralds in another lane that I've been slowing revamping my body to be tuned for: the baby files. With three or so cycles before he comes back I've begun doing the home Ovulation Predictor Kits (OPK) again, and starting to get the Clomid scrips filled. Prior to his departure we had finally achieved the right dosage of Clomid, but it was almost a years worth of dosage in. The emotional meltdown from the trial and error and the chemical warfare on my body only further supported the next 8 month hiatus prior to and through the dep.loym.ent.

We have six doses. Dr Bo, my fertility specialist, says with almost certainty that if those six doses doesn't assist in producing a child in my womb than it's invitro (IVF) is the only option left. And at this stage, with very raw wounds from the two hard fervent years of meds and testing and emotional chaos in my marriage, I'm not sure I'm willing to open that door. Only time will tell.

75 days to go. Let the games begin.

that's the way the cookie crumbles

A friend of mine and I were having a recent conversation in regards to MrD’s current deployment. I had been remarking about how it’s hard to discuss the future electronically with him. We were also discussing the deployed mindset. When your schedule consists of waking up, 12-14 hr work shits, 1-2 hrs of working out and eating you have a lot of free time to just think. And thinking often leads to questioning careers, future goals in the military, etc etc etc. That being said this was the last and perhaps funniest part of our conversation.

Me: Until he comes back I'm not holding my breath. Letting cards fall as they may at the moment. You know how it is when you have deployed thinking time versus stateside thinking time

Him: Yea it will be mucho better when you guys can talk face-to-face about it! However, a good poker player doesn't count on luck, rather calculated risk and educated guesses... 52 card pick-up is only fun when you get blow up the cards, lol.

That’s right, the core of all partnerships … calculated risk, educated guesses and TNT.

he completes me

Regardless of the country, city, time zone or moment my boy has always had this innate ability to bring me back to reality and snap me out of the funk.I was emailing him in the midst of an emotional muddle this morning. It was some sort of a fully exhausting ruckus that could've been caused by quite a few things. I'm sure the fact that I'm cresting from all my roommates and family's recent exodus wasn't helping or the reality of hitting the 10 wk mark sans MrD. I am a woman, do I really have to have a reason for a meltdown?

The whole debacle turned gem of our conversation was a prime example of how I can spoil for a fight because I'm feeling nervous or sad and seeking attention in the most backwards of manners. He complimented me on how strong he thought I was. I sidestepped his comment and pulled a passive aggressive stunt by mentioning how I felt I was a failure. (Which I rarely am so self-derogatory about.) His response literally broke a piece of armor I don't think I fully realize was wrapping around my heart

And why the hell are you  a failure, come on. You are better then that. And you dam sure know it.

The failure comment from myself was actually a piece of another series of comments.

… sometimes I feel like a failure because I can’t commit all the time to the workouts weight loss and balance the work and the bills and the self improvement and the friends and the family without feeling a little crazy sometimes. When I’m on top of it … it is sooo smoothly … but if I blink it feels all off kilter. And on top of it all I just want to support you and give you/get you what you need and if that’s short txt msgs and care packages than that’s what I do … and I don’t want to ever give someone else attention I would normally give you …

His reply was yet another reminder as to why I won't ever give this man up without a fight. God help the woman who ever thinks she can sneak in and steal him.

Why do you  constantly think about other people and the attention you might give them that belongs to me?  You cant make every one happy all the time.  If you dont take time for your self then you will fall apart.  Working out and every thing is your time. You need to do it.  Even when you come home and you really don't want too. You have too. Those are the most important days to work out.  Trust me I know.  Even if you dont do it with your friends, those are the times that build you up.  Doing it when you know you need it but dont want to, thats when it becomes part of you.

Such a wise one my yoda. My jedi knight. My hero. My love. It really is as simple as my ink ...

my little buddy

MrD sent me a little buddy.

And he came with a buddy.

Dude had to get acquainted ...

He drove around a bit ...

Answered the phone real well at work ...

And learned about portion control ...

I prefer to squish this little fellow under my head like a pillow and imagine that December/January is just a blink away. Than MrD will be back and the ginormous King size bed won't seem so empty.

bringin country back

So MrD asked me to send him some moral support. Can't blame him. I don't. Funny is no matter how I try to do it, in fancy clothes or hippy chic my favorite photo was all me ... must be why I don't quite seem to feel like I fit into the Human Resources world ...

leave it to Darla

9:30 AMme: want to hear a crazy story from yesterday?

 MrD: sure

9:31 AM me: we went to the gym ... and were doing box steps. on the short aerobic step. when i started to doing box jumps ... ,my legs got tangled with the box and i fell down hard and went boom

  soft head met: hard floor. soft head:0, floor: 1

  workout over

9:32 AM MrD: lol nothing new there. :) you should have more points to the floor and corners of walls and such, should be head 0 hard objects IE floor walls and corners like 576547587

9:33 AM me: funny guy ...

9:34 AM ;) and in answer to your question thee neck is throbbing and head is sore but i'll live ;)

MrD is in the hizz-ouse

My boy sent me the first photo showing that he's alive and well, not that his twice daily IM conversations didn't already tip me off. This photo is actually him enroute to the final destination in the desert.

 

Nice photo no? WTF can't get Typepad to load ANY photos or graphics. Going to be a long week with this attitude problem.

Scratch the last rant ... whoopee the photo loaded!