I've Fallen In Love

I have a confession to make:  I have fallen in love. Sometime during this last week, I have fallen head over heels for a man. He has given me butterflies. He is strong and caring, funny, smart, and incredibly sexy. He’s my husband.

That may sound funny, since my husband and I have been married for more than six years, but I know what I’m feeling. I have a crush on my hubby.

I’m not sure that he did anything, and I’m not sure when it happened. I woke up one morning the happiest woman in the world. I could not believe that I am lucky enough to spend the rest of my life with my best friend. Yes, I’m swooning.

Military wives will tell you that they’ve felt the same thing, probably more than once. Usually it happens that second night after they’ve headed out to the field, or after that first phone call when they deploy--letting you know they’re at Cherry Point or in Canada. And sometimes it happens at 2200 when he’s on duty.

It happens when you’ve been separated long enough for all of his annoying quirks to escape your memory in favor of the way he smells fresh out of the shower. How he wrestles with the kids. He sends you flowers at work, so all the women know he loves you. He holds your hand while he’s driving. And he gives you that private smile (and wink) that lets you know that you’re his.

While my husband is definitely unique, I have to admit that he’s not one of a kind. Since he became a Marine, I’ve had the pleasure of learning that there are many men that share my husband’s better qualities. They still hold doors open for women and the elderly. They carry the heavy grocery bags and take out the trash. They change diapers and trade off middle-of-the-night feedings. They kill spiders and fix leaky faucets.

But Jesse is so much more than chivalrous. He would rather work two jobs, than have me work at all. He wants to build me my dream house--and he could do it, too, literally. As much as he cares for our kids, he puts me first (even before himself). I never worry about anyone hurting or taking advantage of me (you do not want to cross my Papi!). And, I’ll admit, he sometimes fights my battles for me.

Yes, I call him Papi. It’s probably silly for an Asian girl to call her white hubby that, but I do. It comes from two things: (1.) When I think of a guy called Papi, I think of someone smooth. (Which the hubby can be when he wants to. You should see him sweet talk a waitress!) Papi is a man that lets his woman know she’s desired. It might make me sound like property, but I like being Jesse’s “Woman.” No other man will ever get close to me. (2.) Jesse’s Bro-crush is Will Smith. Do you remember his song “Miami”? There was a woman that riffed, “Ay, Papi!” Sometimes I say that (in that voice/accent) just to mess with him.

I’m his Babe, and he’s my Papi. Right now he’s working the evening shift. He doesn’t get home until after the kids and I are in bed. It’s not the military, but I’m still going to bed alone. I’m not falling asleep snuggled into my favorite spot in the world, which makes me love it even more. Which makes me love him more. Which makes the butterflies take flight.

Homcoming-limbo

My little princess turned two today. It was so sweet. Her Daddy sent me a text from Afghanistan a minute after I updated my Facebook status. Thank you Facebook world, for wishing my baby a happy birthday. She appreciated each and every comment. Ha! If you believe that a two year old really gave a whoot who said what on my Facebook, you’re seriously deluded.

Obviously Daddy was not here for the festivities--hence the text messages from abroad. He said he didn’t have time to call, but I was glad to hear from him today, one way or another. He told me that he had received the most recent packages that were sent to him. Including the ones for Father’s Day & our wedding anniversary, and his birthday. I am very proud of those care packages, thank you very much. I worked hard on them.

Between two boxes, I sent him ten greeting cards, two books, cupcakes, candles, army men, novelty t-shirts, and one hot pepper necktie. Oh, and one package of thirty-six noisemakers. I wanted to make sure that my husband could celebrate with all the fan fair that I would have given him if he were here. I would like to think that he also groaned at all the fan fair just as he always does when he’s home.

We’ve reached a very pivotal point in the deployment. I like to call it Homecoming-limbo. Most of the deployment is over. I have a generally-specific idea of when my husband will be arriving. The banner has been ordered and received. I’ve taken care of my end of all the special homecoming projects. I have the outfit, even.

But, we still have many moons to wait until the hubbs returns. I can’t do the psycho-Homecoming clean, my children will mess up the house in less than a day. I can’t shampoo our carpets, the kids and dogs will create more stains within a week. We live on base, so no travel plans to make. I’m hard-pressed to find things to keep my mind occupied for the next **** weeks. (ah ah ah ... OPSEC, I can’t tell you how many weeks are left, sillies!)

Now, I’m sitting here blogging. Editing, writing, cooking, eating and entertaining. Yet, my mind still has time to wander and think about the fact that Homecoming is getting closer, but is still so far away. The only thing left to do is to fall back on a classic. I think I’ll head to Youtube and do a search. “Bored Marines” sounds about right, should keep me entertained for at least a few days.

Empty Bed Syndrome

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night. I wake up when I roll over, and I don't hit anything. I expect to smash into my husband, but he isn't there. It's a sudden reminder that he still isn't home yet. Where is he? He's overseas, in a hostile environment, fighting for me to have the right to continue to fill the world wide web with my babbling. Yes, my husband is deployed. Yes, I knew that he would leave home for weeks, and months, at a time when I told him that he could sign next to the "X." Yes, I worry every day for his safety. And yes, I couldn't be more proud to tell the world that my husband is a Marine.

He's been gone a few months now, and I'd like to think that I'm doing pretty well on my own. The kids are fed, bathed, and in (relatively) clean clothes. Our dogs are fat and healthy. The bills are getting paid. And Momma has been able to add some cute touches to the house and garden. I've been able to volunteer with the unit Family Readiness Officer, and even decided to start a blog (ta-da!).

But that doesn't mean that our days aren't without hiccups. The kids and animals test their boundaries constantly, because they know that Mommy's attention is pulled in about 15 directions at once-instead of only 5 or 6. It's taught me to find my inner strength, so that I can keep all the little ones in order. I've learned not to let my weakness show when the drama queens are screaming, the dogs are barking, and the phone is ringing. I put the kids in time out, the dogs in the kennel, and let the phone go to voice mail.

I save the emotions for late at night, when the girls are all in bed and my favorite movie is playing. When, after a long day of changing diapers, I realize that at 1800 no one walked in the front door. No one took Daisy out to play, and there are no new cigarette butts in the ashtray on the patio. I spend time on the computer trying to distract my brain, playing games until my lids won't stay open. Then I finally turn out my light and fall asleep. That is, until the middle of the night when I roll over and wake up when I don't hit anyone, or smash into my husband's back.