Independent

This deployment stuff is getting easier and more difficult all at once. You know how you start to paint a picture in your head when you imagine something? I tell myself not to do that, because the final result ends up looking nothing like the reality that soon happens, but I just can't help it. One of the aspects I was looking forward to during this deployment, was being able to prove to Shawn that I'm capable. Nay, not just capable, but super capable- cape and everything! I envisioned hearing his voice on the phone, marveling at all that I had accomplished, while I nodded humbly, saying, "No big deal. It was easy, actually."

My first set of challenges came about a day after he was gone. The dishwasher wouldn't drain, and our deep freezer had come unplugged in one of my cleaning frenzies. I now had a freezer full of butchered chickens bleeding all over, about 30 jars of frozen goat milk gone bad, some soggy vegetables from the garden, and a defrosted 20 lb. turkey. It took some breathing, but I told myself not to go into hysterics. I unloaded the freezer and took it all out to the garbage, cursing under my breath and kicking random items along the way. By the time I hefted the last dripping, bloody chicken into the bin, I wondered if I was going to have a baby in the driveway next to the garbage can. The dishwasher perplexed me, and nothing I tried worked...except calling my father-in-law. I contemplated asking him to keep his maintenance "our little secret" and pretend I had fixed the appliance. No. I like to think I decided against this because I'm so honest, but it's mostly because Shawn would know that I would never step foot in our spider-laden basement to fix anything. I would hand wash dishes for the rest of my life before I would go turn off the water supply down in our own personal Hades.

Two days after that, I went to walk out the door, and the knob was locked. Except, our knob doesn't have a lock. That little thing in the middle that you twist? We've never had one- just a hole- and therefore there has never been a key for it. It never bothered us because we used the deadbolt if we ever felt the need to lock up. Now, suddenly, the knob is locked, and there is absolutely no way to unlock it. Olivia immediately grabbed some long skinny devices and said, "Let me see if I can manipulate the tumblers." What?! My nine year old knows how to "manipulate tumblers" and break in to places?? How does she even know what a tumbler is? Luckily, she couldn't unlock the door, or I would have felt severely inadequate. Now we use the only other door in the house, which is in my bedroom.

Another day goes by, and this time it's the vacuum. Our vacuum is very important, because I do not sweep. Ever. I am utterly revolted by hair, and will not deal with it in any fashion. Our house does not have carpet because of Genevieve's allergies, so I vacuum quite often. I know, I get told all the time that I'm making tons of extra work for myself, but this is how I do it. Anyways, I fire up the purple beast, and it only sucked half-heartedly. That won't do. I made sure the canister was empty (something that was traumatizing, because Shawn always empties the canister so that I don't have to touch the hair that comes out), and did other little tinkery things to it in hopes that I might accidentally fix whatever was wrong. After turning it on again and seeing that it still wasn't functioning... I quit. I sat on the floor and threw an adult tantrum. I was so angry that I couldn't fix this STUPID vacuum. Then I was angry because Shawn was gone, and this stuff is so easy for him! I got mad at him for leaving, I got mad at him for being such a natural at fixing stuff and making it look easy, and I got mad at him for not sending out magical vibes that would ensure all appliances were perfect before he left. I got mad at quite a long list of people for quite a long list of offenses before my meltdown was over. I realized I was still on the floor where I had thrown myself in my 32-year-old fury. I was not being independent. I picked myself up off the floor, and called a vacuum repairman.

Last but not least, I have had to buy a minivan without Shawn. This has been the ultimate test. I know absolutely nothing about cars, other than the fact that I'm going to have a baby in approximately 8 weeks and have no way to transport it. My mom's neighbor- a complete stranger- took me to a car dealership in Rochester that he has grown to respect, and tried to help me make sense of the prices, engine sizes, mileage, etc. I found a van that the girls and I really loved, but I was worried about the high mileage on it. I talked to a dealership in Roseville that sounded like they had an amazing van. I was very excited to buy it! My friend Shannon came with so that she could drive our old car home for us while I would drive the new van home. Then the plan was to bring her back to Rochester. Lots of driving, but necessary. My salesperson, who had sounded wonderful on the phone, turned out to be a total liar. People like her are who give used car salesmen a bad name. The van she pulled up was not the van she described on the phone or on the website. It had scratches, cracks, and dents all over it. However, was I being too picky? This van did have 30,000 less miles on it than the pristine one in Rochester. Were they just scratches and dents, or were they signs of deeper, structural damage? This is where knowing a thing or two about vehicles would have come in handy. Shannon had gone outside to call her husband for some quick advice, and the saleslady and owner of the car lot jumped at the opportunity to hustle me. The man quickly took over, spewing information and statistics meant to confuse me. They both hinted at my vanity since I was concerned about the cosmetics of the van. I tried explaining that I hadn't even known what color the van would be before I got here- how it looks was much less important than any future problems I may or may not have with the vehicle. I was getting frustrated, so I said, "You know what? I need a minute." To her credit, my salesperson left, but this Mr. Schmooze character simply stared at me- albeit silently- for a moment. Then, he jumped right into his pitch again. I was starting to get frustrated and angry. I repeated, "I just need some time." Then, I thought about how this guy wouldn't be treating me like this if Shawn were with me, and I burst into tears. Right in the car dealership. That's not embarrassing at all, let me tell you. However, one positive from a situation like this is that most men are utterly terrified of women's emotions, and this guy nearly tripped over his own chair trying to run away from me. That made me giggle while I cried, and this ensured the no one else in the entire building would come near me, because I was obviously crazy. Shannon came in and we left. The saleslady did ask what they could do to make me "feel better" about the van. Drop the price? Fix the dents? It occurred to me that hysterics may be a useful tool for women who were car-shopping on their own, but I was so past ever buying from this place. I told her there was nothing they could do, and I just wasn't comfortable here. I apologized for crying, and she said, "Well, you're pregnant." Someone has never been pregnant before. Shannon and I drove back to Rochester, laughing hysterically about the whole experience.

I did end up buying the van in Rochester, and you know what? I love it. The horrible experience in Roseville has now convinced me that I really am getting a good deal for my money. And you know what? I did it. Myself! So, maybe Shawn wouldn't have handled these situations the same way I did. My mental picture had me doing all these things like Shawn does them. Would Shawn have needed to call his dad over to fix the dishwasher? No. But ultimately, the dishwasher got fixed. Shawn would have had the freezer empty in ten trips, not forty, but I did get the freezer empty. Shawn would have sat on the floor so that he could better see what he was working on while fixing the vacuum, not because he flew into a seizure about it, but I am confident that the repairman will have my vacuum working soon. Shawn would never have brought his BFF to go car shopping with him, or had an emotional breakdown just because the salespeople pressured him; but I now have a van, and it's a good one. The girls and I are ecstatic about it. And you know what else? I got this text from Shawn after he heard that the sale was final: "Baby, I truly appreciate everything you do for me. I couldn't do this without you. I may be deployed but we are still a team, and I honestly think you have the harder job even if mine is more dangerous. You are the best wife I could hope for and a prize I will jealously guard!"

That makes it all worth it.