Husband, who shall henceforth be referred to as YodaMan because of his mad "use the force"ness computer skillz, returns home in the morning. I feel confident announcing this to the world since all the news agencies are covering this story. Apparently, OPSEC is a non-issue at this point.
After a week of angsting and kvetching, days of mad tidying, then retidying behind the toddlers, working fundraisers, etc. the madness will finally end.
Glory be and pass the mustard!
So the good news is I'll finally relinquish my title of Single Mom. The bad news is the mere three months (plus or minus a week or two) before they redeploy.
I'm trying not to cry, as my emotions waver between relief and a heartache at the effects of this insane deployment schedule on the sproglets and our family. I'm SO happy he's finally coming back to us. I'm dancing a jig and fighting off a manic urge to refinish the dining room table and steam clean the carpets. But at the same time, it's really hard to let myself get too excited knowing how much it's going to hurt as soon as we flip the calendar to 2008.
I have a theory: The successful Navy spouse is the one who can paste a cheery smile on her face even though she's working out the logistics of selling the kids on eBay, ditching the house, finding a job at a truck stop restaurant in Podunk, Arizona, and changing her name to Loretta Lou. Okay, it's not a theory so much as an intense desire to know I've hit some type of marker of success. /snort
I'm Not the Easter Bunny Either
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