Oh the Difference a Year Makes

When I awoke this morning, it could have been any other day in any other year. We were in bed and asleep by the time 2012 rolled in and only the excessive news coverage of last night's celebrations reminds me that it's a new year with new plans, new expectations, and new dreams. Otherwise I would still be writing 2011 at the top of my checks.

So, obviously I am returning well in advance of my anticipated February 1 date. And if I had come back when Neal's deployment was done, I would have been moved back over here around the middle of November. But I waffled about leaving behind new readers and returning to a blog full of good times and the saddest of sad memories. Ultimately, Magnolias & Mimosas best describes my affinity for the full white petals of the deep south trees and justified drinking before noon. And, of course, my enduring love affair with the ampersand.

I would do a year in review, but a) I am not much inclined to spend vast amounts of time and energy reciting the past and b) I think you would be less inclined to read it. Suffice it to say, Neal and the 352 were integral in closing down Iraq (and, consequently, in the quietly televised ceremony of troops crossing the Kuwait border and American flags being lowered for the last time) and I spent my time and our money trying to distract myself from his absence and my loneliness. But I also grew the business to a point where I am now able to pay myself a salary and I very nearly finished our wedding scrapbook...5 years in the making. We learned how to endure involuntary separation with more patience, understanding, love, and humor than ever before. We remembered how to depend on one another again.

And we are leaving 2011, the Iraq War (although, technically, it is termed Operation New Dawn since Congress never sanctioned the thing to begin with), and Skype as our only means of communication behind. We are looking forward to finishing our tour in Georgia and expanding our family when the time comes. But I don't think of today as The Beginning, filled with hope and promise and all that is fresh and new. I closed the door on 2011 the day the 352 arrived home. I welcomed the new year and all that it offered on a sun-toasted day in the middle of November. The Beginning doesn't have to always land squarely on 1 January. It's convenient for calendar sales and comparing resolutions around a break room plate of fiber squares, but it is not wholly necessary.

Therefore, for us, it's just another day. Except for these Paleo eggs that Neal urged me to try...just as I was reaching for the waffle maker.

Hiatus

Y'know how when bloggers get all ambitious and motivated and try to start a second blog, they suddenly realize that they can't keep up with the first one? And you, as readers, think I can barely stay on top of this one and now she's adding another blog? How will I ever keep up? It's sort of like that around here.

I would like to think that I am not defined by the events in my life. But the truth is, I absolutely am. I am defined by the loss of a son, the life I live in the south now, the deployments we have endured. And to say that M&M will not become an "Army Wife" blog is just wishful thinking. I am defined by how we will get through this third deployment and that will color every post I write from now until the end. Therefore, the result is an Army Wife blog. I didn't start M&M with that intention. Being married to a Soldier was just part of a bigger life, so I feel like it's dishonest to continue posting under this blog. I get aggravated when I begin following a blogger who describes their blog as a smattering of life's little moments and then it turns into a blog about one aspect of their life. Every post is about their new husband, new baby, new job, new deployment. I will read the first 4 or 5 posts, but after that, I'm out because that's not what I signed up for. So, I'm giving you all an out...a chance to duck out of something that you did not sign up for.

Magnolias & Mimosas is going on hiatus until February 2012. My blogging will continue over at 400 Wake-ups until Neal returns home next year. My smattering of life's little moments are defined by the distance, both physical and emotional, from my husband and my blogging can't help but reflect that. You have all been such faithful and dedicated readers of Magnolias & Mimosas that in the interest of complete disclosure, you should have a chance to bow out of this Army Wife's blog. When he returns, life as I once knew it will return. Being married to a Soldier will once again just be a part of who we are as a couple and the life that we lead in the deep south. So, until then, au revoir or come find me at 400 Wake-ups.


And thank you to everyone who has been so devoted to this blog. My passion for writing has not changed, only the location where I share it.

xoxo and Cheers!

Allyson

The 4th is the New 1st

Happy New Year!!

Personally, I am a little ready for 2011 to choke on a Hot Tamale and die...but I wish you all the best in the next 12 months. That's not true...I don't want 2011 to die. That's like saying I hate 2011. And all I can hear is my childhood babysitter's voice in my head saying It's not nice to "hate" something. You don't hate it. Hate is a strong word. So, I don't hate or wish death on the new year. I'm just not particularly looking forward to it.

The packing began on Sunday.

Now my "workout room" is littered with piles of varying shades of brown and green. I am not complaining, though, because as soon as those piles are gone, so is he.

As I was lying in bed last night, alternating between staring at the ceiling and staring at the clock, I began to think about these next 3 weeks. The 3 weeks leading up to the last deployment were spent feverishly working to get the interior of the house painted. Not because it was going on the market or even because it needed it. I just thought it would be lovely to have the house painted. I have never regretted a decision more than that one.

These 3 weeks are simply going to fly. He will work everyday until we head to Kentucky. Then it will be a whirlwind of visits, trying to see everyone one last time. We have 2 tiny projects to complete on the townhouse between all of the visiting. Then it's a race back to Georgia so that he can finish packing and I can stick him on a jet plane...don't know when he'll be back again.

I would say of the entire deployment, the month leading up to and the month before coming home are quite possibly the hardest. In the middle...even after the second month, really...you have established a routine. Oh, right...the trash goes out on Wednesday night....I can work out in the evenings now...Remember to start the cars and motorcycle once a week...Why is that electric bill so high in Kentucky? I need to send Mama Virgo over to check it out...That sort of thing. Even the phone calls from Iraq become routine.

Sort of.

What many civilians don't understand is that if I'm at the movies and I get a phone call from the desert, I'm stepping out to the lobby. If I get a call and I am in the middle of the pew, in the middle of the church, during mass, I'm taking that call. I eat, sleep, and pee with my phone beside me. Because I can't call him back when the movie is over. I can't call him back if I leave it on my desk while I run out to get the mail and miss hearing it ring. It's hardly ever a breaking news phone call. Mostly it's How are you?....Fine. You?....Good....What did you today?....Oh same ole' thing. You?...Grocery store, oil change, went to work out. I miss you and love you....I miss you and love you, too. What matters is hearing his voice, his laugh. Even though he laughs at everything and in the midst of a serious conversation it drives me nuts, he just wouldn't be the man I married without it.

I started thinking about those phone calls last night. And the quiet that fills the house at night. So much quiet that sometimes I feel like I'm just going to suffocate from the weight of it. And I started thinking about the worry. I have taken to calling his ultimate destination Camp Cupcake because there will be amenities that Forward Operating Bases in Afghanistan do not have. But he is traveling to a region that, according to CNN, is no longer part of the "war." And where there is no war, there is very little military protection. He is not worried, but I am.

And I began to think about the ceremonies planned for pre-deployment. I have never had the opportunity to participate in these events because he has always been cross-leveled in...meaning that he was pulled from his unit in Kentucky and attached to other units across the country. I have always been alone when that jet took off, not another spouse of a Soldier in sight. Now I will be surrounded by many of the family members in our unit. I can't sit down in the middle of the Atlanta airport and have an Ugly Face Cry like I did the last time. But maybe I shouldn't be doing that anyway.

Anticipation will make a person crazy. Predicting what the last few days of one chapter and the next few days of the next will hold...it will cause you to stare alternately at the ceiling and the clock. I am not new to this game and yet I still dread the coming days and weeks. Women often say to me, "I wish I could send my husband away for a year!" And mostly, all I can do is smile and nod because really, you don't. You don't want to send your husband, your best friend, you life partner into a completely inhospitable environment (both weather-wise and safety-wise) while you stay behind and keep everything running as smoothly as possible. When the baby projectile vomits all over 3 walls in the middle of the night, it's just you and a rag. There is really no point in even mentioning it when he does call because by that point, the situation has resolved itself, either for better or worse, and it would only cause him worry. There are a million tiny crises over the span of a year that you must address and dissolve. No woman wants to face these without at least a little bit of help from the man who said "I do." If he is making you crazy, send him on a golfing trip with his buddies. But don't suggest to a military wife that you would trade shoes with her in a hot second. Chances are, you would be banging on the door, wanting those Jimmy Choo's back in a week.

I am trying as hard as I can to continue being a functioning, even thriving, member of society. But the truth is, I'm suspended in a Jell-O mold of jealousy. I am jealous of the anniversaries spent together, of babies being born and babies being planned, of a weekend routine full of chores and projects done with a husband close by. We will have our Parisian holiday, complete with pie in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. It's just a long and lonely road to get there.

This post is part of my Deployment ramblings. I am writing these because A) another military wife, new to the game and lost in a sea of feelings, may stumble across this blog and realize that we are all in this together. We are a family and we all know what it's like to endure Annual Training, deployments, and pressing uniforms. No one should feel alone. There are too many of us. and B) Blogging forces me to sit down and record my life's events. Whether ridiculous or tragic, I can always look back through my blog and see how far I've come...how much further I have to go. Blogging through a deployment may just keep me from losing my mind. I have thought a LOT about this and have decided to close my comments during the Deployment ramblings. I am doing this not to prevent you from having your say, but from feeling like you must say anything at all. I know and love that you all are pulling for us, praying for us, thinking of us. I am not blogging about this deployment because I need affirmation. I am not doing it for sympathy or attention. I simply think that the stories that evolve out of a deployment will never make it onto CNN. So, I'm putting them here. It's the least I can do. If you really want to contact me, I check my email about 7000 times a day.

xoxo

The Eve of Eve

I wanted to sit down and write one more nugget of love before Christmas officially arrives. Neal is off tomorrow through Monday and I anticipate lots of kitchen time, a fair amount of couch time, and maybe just a smattering of bed time. Not much blogging time. We are under the 30-day mark and if I don't think about it, I'm perfectly content. Once I start dwelling on the events Neal will miss and the shear loneliness that always accompanies a deployment, it's a total tailspin into multiple tubs of Nutella and bourbon. But I am making you this promise...there will be blogging! Magnolias and Mimosas burst onto the scene approximately a month after Neal arrived home from Kuwait. And what I regretted most about my decision to begin blogging was that I hadn't made that decision 13 months earlier. Not for the ego-stroking or self-gratifying posts about a military wife's struggles. It was more about providing the truest glimpse into deployment and the sorrowjoygrieffrustrationdelight that comes with it. I heard a pundit say once that only 5% of the American population is really affected by the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. The other 95% is at the mall. But what if you could read the stories from the front line? Breathe in the honesty? Translate that into action for our men and women in uniform and their families? We all sleep under the protection of the flag, sometimes blissfully unaware of the men and women who are providing that protection. I can be one story. From one perspective. I promise that over the next year, I will give my version of events...not for sympathy or even empathy...just to give a viewpoint.

But for now, the gifts are all wrapped and placed under a tree that is up and decorated only because I was bitten hard on the bah-humbug butt by the Christmas spirit at The Biltmore. We have more food than our base housing fridge can hold, a true testament to the blessings we are bestowed. And a wreath holds all of the Christmas cards we have received over the past couple of weeks. More blessings. We will spend the next few days baking, cooking, laughing, lounging, and being together. I will soak up every minute and store them in the footlockers of my mind so that I can pull them out when I see a movie that I know Neal would enjoy or bake a dish that he would lick clean. Facing a year without your best friend and life's partner is a daunting task, but why squander hours away on that thought when there are so many moments to enjoy now? Tiny, joy-filled moments that make up the length of life...that is my Christmas wish for you. Thank you so much for reading this past year; I hope you will stick around for the next one. Merry Christmas from the Miller household. I will see you on the other side, a few pounds heavier, but no worse for the wear!

xoxo and Cheers!

Twas the Night Before Mobilization

Neal poses in front of a HET.

'Twas the night before mob'ing, when all through the halls,
Not a creature was stirring, not even the Slaws.

The duffles were packed with thought and with care,
In hopes that everything was all crammed in there.

The colonel was nestled all snug on her cot,
While visions of logistics danced in her thoughts.

And Captain in his beret and Giles in his fleece,
Were having a long talk about war and peace.

When out on the road, there arose such a clatter,
They sprang from their desks to see what was the matter!

Away to the window they poured like the rain,
Yanked up the blinds and peered out from the frame.

The moon and the light of street lamps below,
Gave the luster of mid-day to events they'd behold.

When what to their bomb-searching eyes should attest,
An up-armored Humvee and 8 rumbling HETs!

With a fiery lieutenant leading the show,
They suddenly saw, it was Firrento!

More rapid than gunfire, the 5-tons rolled on,
Soldiers all driving, destroying the lawn.

"Now Grayson! now Martin! now Paxton and Sheal!
On Weston! on Hayman! on Hammond and Deal!

To the front of the gate! to the top of the wall!
Now drive away! drive away! drive away all!"

As dry leaves will whip in the December wind,
When met with an obstacle, they all did ascend.

So, up the rooftop, the HETs they all flew,
With a Humvee of gear; Firrento, too!

And then in a flash, they heard way up higher,
The squealing and screeching of their balding tires.

As Giles grabbed Captain and was turning around,
Down through the air shaft Firrento was bound!

He was clothed in Dress Blues, from service cap to shoes,
Limping from the fall, he threatened to sue.

A bag of OCIE he had flung on his back,
He looked like CIF, just opening his pack.

His eyes - how they twinkled! his smile was so merry,
His cheeks rosy red - like chow hall cranberries!

His pursed commander's mouth, drawn up in a grin,
Baby butt's got nothin' on his clean-shaven chin.

The white of his teeth, his slim silhouette,
What keeps him from bouncing around in a HET??

He had slender man-hands and toned runner's calves,
He smelled a little like patients and Tiger Balm salve.

So clean-cut, so fit, so essence of brass,
Leading HRC was his skinny lil' ass.

A wink of his eye, a click of his heel,
Giles rubbing his eyes to see if it's real.

He spoke not a word, just unpacked the gear,
Sunglasses, Gortex, wet weather pants in here.

He turned to his men, a salute he then mimed,
And giving a nod, up the air shaft he climbed.

He sprang to his HET and called to move out,
They shot to the sky, broke free of the clouds.

"We got this!" he screamed, as they roared out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all! And to all a goodnight!"

by: Moi

* I apologize for the all of the acronyms. I can only tell you that OCIE is the gear that Soldiers get - and usually it's pretty fancy stuff (in the way that everyone who has ever slept in an Army sleeping bag will never appreciate North Face sleeping bags again). And CIF is who gives out the OCIE.

*Firrento (also not his real name) is the commander of our unit and is truly a skinny little dude. And a physical therapist, hence the Tiger Balm.

*Also I am not an Australian journalist leaking sensitive documents over the WWW. Names and unit abbreviations have been changed to protect our men and women in uniform.

Champagne Friday: The Little Village That Could (with your all's help!)

A Christmas Story
by Mama Virgo

Most American school children, OK and some adults, would have a difficult time finding Zambia on a map of Africa. Hopefully, most would be able to point to Africa – “you know, kids, it’s the really big one between two big oceans”. Depending on their age and interests, they might have heard of Dr. David Livingstone who has a large town (pop. about 90,000) named for him in southern Zambia. But the vast majority of the world population has never heard of the Kazungula District of Zambia. And only a handful of people, including you folks who frequent this blog, have ever ever heard of a remote forest village called Namapande (you won’t find it on Google Earth). This geography lesson is intended as a reminder of how special you are! Not only are you aware of this village but some of you sent contributions to help put a roof on their school before the fragile bricks were destroyed by the rainy season. So settle in, grab the drink of your choice and listen to the Christmas story about Namapande and how a few good folks made a difference just by caring about people you will never meet; people who want their kids to have an education; people who are on the margins of the marginalized; people who can never repay you or do anything for you – except of course make you feel warm all over because of your generosity.

Many villages in Zambia were flooded during the rainy season several years ago. This season can last from about October until April with an average of nearly 40 inches of rain. Unable to rebuild their community after another flood, the government advised about 400 villagers that they would be relocated to a new area, Namapande, virtually flood proof as there is no water in sight. The villagers were allowed to take minimal possessions to their new land. One gift that they did not realize at the time was that they were placed in a part of the Kazungula District which is an area loved and served by two Kentuckians, Lonnie and Fran Turner. There is some discussion/debate about why the government chose land that was isolated; had no readily available water source; was at least 10 miles from a main road; was covered with bush and vegetation; and had no visible means of obtaining food. I prefer to think that they did not intend harm or hardship.

But these villagers are tough. They did not whine and complain (which is the American way…why did the government do this to me…nobody likes me…blah, blah,blah). Nope, they dusted off their machetes and started clearing the land by hand. Keep in mind, this is an area about the distance from the U.S. Capitol to the Lincoln Memorial if you squared it up. And if you think that’s not far, try walking it sometime in July or January and imagine clearing your way with a machete. For housing, the government gave them military style tents, which when we saw them were fairly tattered. These villagers, being more comfortable in thatch huts, started building their homes quickly. Soon, the government installed a well about mid range of the property. Helpful, but not sufficient for all these folks. Onto the scene arrived Lonnie and Fran, having heard about this remote cache of people who had few resources, a village now called Namapande Resettlement. Who knows how these things become known in a forest of no computers, no phones, a community not visible from the highway. Nonetheless, Lonnie and Fran’s humanitarian organization, Partners in Development, went to work and put in another well and started visiting the village on a regular basis, providing some resources, and developing a relationship with the people and the village president, Billy. Guess what, you must have a relationship with people before you can help them! Sweeping in, destroying their village, setting up a democracy, and arranging the village American style does not work.

Our group, who was visiting with Lonnie and Fran, arrived at Namapande on Sunday, August 1, 2010 to an unbelievable welcome. The only indication from the main road (a two lane highway through the bush country) that a village is near is a road sign made from a log with Namapande carved its length.

The road that traverses about 10 miles back to the village is composed of packed and loose sand, one lane and barely passable in places. Its’ condition in the rainy season is unimaginable.

The road ends in a clearing where many villagers were gathering, cooking fires were burning and two large tents stood as the centerpiece with UNICEF stenciled across them.

These were the tents, equipped only with small wooden benches, which served as the school buildings for what appeared to be several 100 children of all ages. Behind the tents was a newly constructed brick building, a skeleton of a structure with no roof, made from homemade bricks and mortared with local material (not your Daddy’s bricks and mortar).

As we unloaded, we were surrounded by smiling, eager children who are unaccustomed to seeing pale skinned, pale eyed people. As we began to take their pictures with our legion of digital cameras, feeling so paparazzi-like, and then show it to them, they were aghast. Many, if not all, had never seen a picture of themselves. They pushed, crowded, all wanting more photos taken. That afternoon evolved into music, the performing of plays which they had written for us, dancing, laughing, eating familiar as well as new foods, and sharing, although we did not speak a common verbal language. The Turner’s brought $5000.00 worth of donated textbooks from the U.S. and presented these to the headmaster of the school and her two assistants.

Some of the children were allowed to hold the books and were visibly upset when it was time to return them to the teachers for safe keeping. As we toured the school shell, we were told how the funds had been exhausted and the danger of the bricks crumbling when the rains came if no roof was in place. There was no question that we had been placed there at that moment in time to serve a purpose. We could be the feet to make sure that school was protected; knowing in our hearts that Americans are generous and that we would not be alone in our commitment.

In many African countries, children complete Basic School which is comparable to our elementary education. If they are to go further, then families must pay for them to leave home and live in boarding schools. Understandably, few are able to further their education due to finances and the need to stay and help the family. At a minimum, children need that basic education and hope that they can go further. The intellect of these children is quite amazing. We were saddened to know that many will not be able to attend high school. But the building in Namapande is the beginning and prayerfully not the end for many of these children. The roof is now on and the building is protected. Plans are underway for finishing the building when weather permits.

If anyone dares to tell you that a few people really cannot make a difference, especially halfway around the world, tell them the story of Namapande. If anyone asks why you are here, what is your purpose in life, tell them the story of Namapande.

Writer’s note: This about the 4^th draft of this blog. I started out trying to be cute, caustic and comical, and a bit critical of the government. Entertaining, but stupid. It dawned on me, Duh, that this will be posted on the internet which means the government can see it which could result in consequences impeding the work of the Turner’s. So, a word of warning, if you care to comment on this piece, please be aware that if you Google Namapande, this blog will likely be there, as it was when I did so in preparing this post. Please be mindful of how your comments could be taken. It’s preferable to believe that everyone is doing their best to help these folks.

Champagne Fri...er...MONDAY!

OK, yes, I think my exact words were "and there will be a Champagne Friday this week! I promise!"

And then Neal came home from work.

And opened the bourbon.

Not just any ole nasty gut-rot redneck stuff, either. The Woodford Reserve. (Tip to the bourbon afficionado wannabes: Maker's Mark is for your wife to mix with her Diet Coke/7-Up/triple-distilled sparkling water. If you are asked at the office Christmas party, Woodford Reserve is your drink of choice. Ascot is optional.)

So we had a bourbon with dinner. And another with dessert. And then another while we watched Wall Street (the original, not the one where Charlie Sheen is trying to fit another movie in between jail terms). And then, well...I don't quite remember. A Christmas tree was definitely involved, though. Suffice it to say, the good Cap'n needed to blow off some steam. It was our first weekend home with nothing to do since the first part of September. And in just a little over a month, bourbon will be nothing but a wet dream for him. So, rev up the ice maker and pass the bottle!

Anyway, here it is Monday and while things have calmed down some, I still have a couple of projects I'm finishing up. But I wanted to spread Christmas joy through the WWW. So...first...

Isn't this AMAZEBALLS?? I bet bourbon would be very tasty in an angel mug. Or Champagne. Or something non-alcoholic. Bwahahaha...whatever.

Anyway, as part of Shana's 12 Days of Christmas, this is today's giveaway item. Just by telling you about it I get 3 entries. Which is awesome. Unless 3 of you enter because you saw it here first. Or 4. And then I'm in the red as far as entries go. All you have to do to enter is leave a comment on today's post....which you should do anyway because she is, once again, letting us live vicariously through her and Christmas in NYC.

Secondly, the children of Africa are singing your praises because the school in Namapandi has a roof!! Mama Virgo sent me these pictures on Friday:
Isn't the most beautiful thing you've ever seen? Yes, well it's no Frank Lloyd Wright...but it's a fully functional school building. When you're comparing it to a tent, it may as well be the Louvre. If you have forgotten how the school looked when Mama Virgo and her team of IBC volunteers left, here's a refresher:
And then I did that annoying and pushy thing where I asked for money/prayers/a band of angels and *voila* we raised the roof! So, to all of those who sent checks, prayed about it, told a friend who sent a check, or told a friend to pray about it, THANK YOU! Here is proof that money and prayers work hand-in-hand.

To celebrate the completion of the school in Namapandi, Mama Virgo has graciously agreed to write a blog post about her experiences there last summer. She has been known to string a sentence or two together into paragraph form (and once, into book form...God bless the dissertation) so expect great things. No pressure, Mama Virgo.

Congratulations on making a difference, good luck on Shana's wing-ed coffee mug, and Happy Monday! Just 12 more days until Christmas!! I can hardly stand myself...