"I don't know how you do it"

A lot of people have expressed pity for me over the past several years. Not because I'm drop-dead gorgeous and can't go to the grocery store without being ogled by men, adored by women, and mobbed by paparazzi, but because I'm an Army wife. By virtue of that, my husband is often gone. Sometimes it's for one day, sometimes it's for six weeks, sometimes thirteen months. But the point is, the task of getting myself and three little boys through each day falls to me, and me alone, more often than not. On any given day, we have school, sports, homework, three meals, snacks, some inevitable cartoon watching, laundry, dishes, various injuries, cat vomit, large smelly dogs, clogged toilets, dead batteries, bills to pay, missed deadlines, barely-made-it-by-the-skin-of-our-teeth deadlines, messes, hissy fits, and other such atrocities that take away from our joy. And I manage it all.

I know women who cannot plunge a toilet. Cannot comprehend the thought of taking a preschooler and a toddler to an entire season of the older brother's baseball games without their husband or other trusted child-watcher there to help. Cannot physically handle the sight of blood when their child's fingers get smashed at school and fingernails are ripped off. Cannot clean up vomit or poop. Have little or no idea how to pay bills or do their taxes. Have never stayed anywhere, even in their own homes, without another adult there just to make them feel safe. Assume the position of helplessness when their fence falls down or their basement floods or their car won't start or a spider crawls across the floor. Can't fathom moving more than 20 miles from their parents or their hometown.

These women say to me: "I don't know how you do it. I couldn't do it." (what they're really thinking is that I must be crazy.) And I never know how to respond to this. It's clear that they're trying to compliment me, no matter how left-handedly. But I always feel both insulted and disgusted instead. Insulted because they seem to be implying that, thank God, they have a husband who takes care of all their dirty work and bills and emergencies for them so they don't have to miss a lunch date or break a nail; disgusted because it seems to be that any wife, mother, or otherwise competent adult should be able to handle most of these situations anyway, without constantly relying on their husband or parents to do any heavy lifting that may be required. I have no patience for women who can't take care of themselves or their kids without daily assistance. These women whine and cry when their husbands leave for two or three days for a business trip, loudly wailing about how they can't handle all the stress of being left alone, "it's so lonely," "I just can't go 24 hours a day without a break for me," "he better make this up to me," and so on and so forth. These women make me wish there was a "How to handle common situations and take care of yourself in life" test that must be passed before you can be declared competent to have children or any other life form that must rely on you for assistance and care.

Yes, it is lonely. Heartbreakingly lonely. Crying-with-the-kids-when-you-see-them-crying lonely. Desperately lonely. Lonely enough to make you wonder just how much postage it would require for you to mail yourself to wherever he is at that moment. I know lonely, my dears. I start getting teary-eyed when my husband starts packing, and heaven help us all if the baby starts crying, because I'm crying right along with him. I call my friends and cry about how empty my bed is, how bare the bathroom counter looks, how quiet the house is without him. The first night (or day) is always the hardest. But after that, unless he's been gone several weeks or more at a time, (or 13 months), and you're lucky to hear from him once every couple of days, don't tell me about how lonely you are. Go clean something. It does wonders in the way of distraction. If your housekeeper has already shined the place (we should all be so blessed), go sort out your kids' Legos by color, shape, and size - or come to my house. I've got more than enough housework to keep you busy; you'll forget all about your loneliness while scrubbing my kitchen floor.

And a break for you? All right, granted, when you signed up for this mom gig, you probably didn't envision having sole responsibility for the little bundle(s) of joy all day, every day (and all night as well). And I admit that I take my breaks. I try to have at least several hours in a row at least one day out of the week when it's all about me; I can read a book, take a nap, take myself to lunch, watch tv not aimed for a target audience of ages 5 and under. And I do arrange for a babysitter now and then, usually when I'm going someplace where it's considered inappropriate for three little hooligans to run around creating mayhem and wreaking havoc, like at the ob/gyn's office, or a parent-teacher conference, or if my son's baseball game runs past the little ones' bedtimes, since I can't physically carry a sleeping toddler and preschooler at the same time, along with lawn chairs, all the way from the field to the car. Sometimes the wait in the dr's office is the only "me time" you may get that day, and my only advice is to bring along a book or magazine or your iphone and enjoy the relatively quiet time to yourself. I once brought my ipod to a late baseball game, plugged myself in, and paused it only when my son was at bat. I got a few condescending looks, to be sure, but that was the only "me time" I was going to get that week, and I was going to enjoy it. I wasn't there to watch the other parents' kids, anyway, so as long as I paid attention whenever my own son took center stage, I just couldn't work up any guilt. Yes, you may not get your weekly massage, you may miss your favorite soap operas (or grown-up tv altogether), and your friends may have to do without the blessing of your presence at your favorite lunch joint or book club, but surely your mama must have told you that life isn't a bed of roses all the time. If not, well, I'm here to tell you now.

He better make it up to you? Hand me my smelling salts, please, or I may break something.

Look, if he's out party-hearty-ing, or cheating on you, or abandoning you altogether for no justifiable reason, then yes, I would agree. But if he's genuinely working, fighting a war, rustling cattle or climbing all over an offshore rig, or the like, and would rather be home with you and the kids, then your demands just don't hold water with me, my dears. Some husbands won't make it up to you because they're scum; they don't notice all the hard work you're doing or the sacrifices you're making, and they wouldn't care even if they did. In that case, you may want to reconsider just why you're with this guy, anyway. But a decent husband will recognize that hard work and those sacrifices, (even if you have to point them out to him), and will do what he can make it up to you on his own, anyway, without your threats. I am on call 24/7 unless my husband is home or I'm visiting my mother; it's just my default state. I'm used to it. If I were to be resentful of it all the time, I would be miserable all the time. Are there times when I am resentful? Of course. When my husband went bowling or played volleyball or ogled, ahem, watched nearly-nude cheerleaders entertain him and his buddies during his off-duty hours while deployed, I will admit to a certain geyser or three of resentment. And there are definitely times when I feel overwhelmed beyond measure, taken for granted, and underappreciated. But when my husband presents me with spa days, diamond earrings, roses, date nights when he's home, and other things that show me he's listening to what I like and want, I positively radiate excitement. And when he spends time playing baseball with the boys, taking them fishing, teaching them strategy board games, waging Transformer battles, watching movies, playing blocks or trucks or Legos, or staying up with them until they fall asleep, I am reminded of what a great dad he is to them, which makes me love him all the more.

So here's what I say to those women who "don't know how I do it": I'm an Army wife. This is the life I chose, with my eyes open. I do it because that's what's required of me as a military wife. Sometimes it's blissful, sometimes it's heartbreaking, but isn't that life in general? So please, the next time you're astounded by how I manage it all, don't mutter "I don't know how you do it;" rather, thank me and my kids for the sacrifice of our time with our soldier while he's away, so that you can enjoy the freedoms and protection that you do. It's not just servicemembers who serve.