The Pros of (Temporary) (Military-Related) Single Parenthood

Yesterday, we went over the cons of such a situation. But today we celebrate the silver linings! It’s not always bad. Even in college we had summer and winter breaks apart, giving us an opportunity to miss/appreciate/become less annoyed with the other. PROS That span of 2005.5-2008.5 where we didn’t have a break?

Yeah, I don’t want to talk about that. Deployments can be good! We’ve come to enjoy them, at least parts of them. 

Plus they don’t exactly hurt the bank account and are pretty much the reason I don’t have to schlep to work every day any more…

Anyway, let’s get started! 

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The Cons of (Temporary) (Military-Related) Single Parenthood

Clearly, things could be harder. I could always be a single parent. But I’m not. I have pride in my husband who has chosen an important career even if it means he is away from home several months at a time. Even then, I know it could be three to four times longer than that. I’ve accepted this as OUR situation, both before and after we had a kid. And obviously, there will be more cons than pros, I’m not heartless. But there are, in fact, a few pros. We’ll get to those tomorrow. PROS

Quite honestly, I’m used to this routine, I’m happy to find good moments where good moments lie. And while things change (i.e. get ridiculously harder) as the kid grows, you just gotta MAN UP and roll with the punches. Even if you just want to punch yourself in the boob sometimes.

So on with the CONS:
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Deployment Curse Lifted? NOPE.

Almost. But nope.

Don’t know what I’m referring to? Start here. Then come back.

While this year has not been nearly as bad as those previous years, and I do think Little A’s lucky gene had a little hand in it, there were still some issues.

Multi-legged issues.

After living in Georgia and dealing with those giant bastards they call Palmetto Bugs – which are, in fact, giant motherfucking flying cockroaches – I can handle spiders. I don’t like them, but I don’t run shrieking from them like I used to. One smack of an oft-nearby flip flop and we’re good. Black widows in Georgia? No problem! SMACK.

So for the occasional stink bug that popped up in the bathroom this summer, I had hairspray and a toilet to take them down. That one that popped up in the shower got what he deserved. Because naked me + stink bug staring me in the face = holy freak out smack the bastard with a shampoo bottle then clean him the EFF up before he smells like a 1,000 year old gym shoe.


Fine. Like, ten stink bugs. Totally tolerable. Not pleasant, but tolerable.

And then one day I woke up and two and a half of our pine trees were dead. Like, DEAD dead. Brown, barren, dead. And our fence was covered with cocoons. But I summoned some courage and went closer and saw they were moving. MOVING. Little wormy heads moving in cocoons. WORMS.  It was like a damn Stephen King novel in my backyard. And as I continued to survey the land, I noticed those shits hanging from the trees, like spiders. WHAT IN THE HELL ARE THESE THINGS?!

I ran inside. To ask Facebook.

LUCKILY Facebook knew the answer! Big A’s aunt, specifically. And I hauled my grossed-out butt to Lowe’s, examined every bottle of insecticide until I found one that specifically said BAGWORMS and then killed those weird, nasty, tree-destroying things. After the initial bug murder, I hosed the carcasses off the fence, lawn chairs, grill, trees, patio, everywhere they were. BECAUSE THEY WERE @#$!#!%$%$# EVERYWHERE. And then I gave a nice healthy preemptive spray down to the still living and brand new pine trees on the other side of the yard. The bottle told me I should.

So now, upon his return, Big A gets to uproot three seven-foot dead ass pine trees. Welcome home, champ!

I thought nothing could top Stephen King Mini-Series Bagworm infestation 2013.

At least I could deal with those from a. my kitchen on the other side of a door and b. with a bottle of poison attached to a hose. But then came the motherflipping. giant. undying. spiders.

My husbands car has been safely parked in the driveway, under a cover, since my dad drove it in June. Turns out, when a vehicle is immobile and has a tree on either side, spiders like to build GIANT FUCKING WEBS from the branches to the car. Webs you just have to walk THROUGH in order to get to YOUR car, which has been demoted to the street.

F that.

I didn’t think much of it, at first. Because in my head, I felt like I remembered some spider adage of “the smallest spiders build the biggest webs”. NO THEY DON’T. IT’S A LIE. THE BIGGEST !#$!#%! SPIDERS BUILD THE BIGGEST @$#$#%! WEBS.

For a few weeks, I ignored the webs. I waved my arm or a stick in front of us as we walked to the car so they wouldn’t stick to my face because there is nothing creepier than spiderweb on the face. But then one night, while taking the trash out, I was INCHES away from walking into the biggest web yet, WITH THE GIANT BASTARD IN THE MIDDLE OF IT. Like, literally inches. Thus ended my night time trash removal duties. We do that shit in the day now. So I sprayed that bitch with, you guessed it, insecticide. As well as the tree branches, driveway edges, garage door and sidewalk.

It’s indoor/outdoor stuff that’s safe for pets and kids, not the epic poison bagworm destroyer and I didn’t see any dead birds after, so I think it’s okay.

kill em all

Everything is good for a week or two. But then I’m walking into MORE webs on the OTHER side of the car. And then, last week, I SEE the new web building beastie. I’m pretty sure it’s the same one. so WTF. It’s hanging between the car and the tree, I can’t smack him with a flippie floppie, so I swat his web down with a freebie coupon clipper that has conveniently been left on my sidewalk. Before I can stomp him into oblivion, he disappears into the grass. MOTHER BITCH.

I’m not even joking, you guys. A few hours later, I opened the front door and THAT MOTHERSHITHEAD BASTARD DROPS DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF MY FACE. It’s the same one. I just know it. And that demon with eight legs was waiting patiently for me. I yelled, unfortch, possible very loudly, “Jesus fuck!”. As the school bus was unloading its contents down the block. So now I am officially THAT person in the neighborhood.

So what do I do? Sprayed the other tree, porch, door, porch ceiling, table, doormat, moose, mailbox, EVERYTHING down. I tried to catch and smack the beast but, once again he alluded the flip. He’s a tricky one. It has to be the end of him, though. He got a direct spray of demon poison in his face. It’s like I made him shotgun a Natty Light.

Apparently, he’s a !#$!!#% frat boy, because him or his brother or his legacy cousin was ON THE !#$%#! TRASH CAN last night, which thankfully I was retrieving in DAYLIGHT because otherwise he would have gone unnoticed at 9.30pm. But he was finally on a hard surface. I had a chance. And in a moment of adrenaline, balance and hatred, I held the kid on my hip, removed a flip flop and smacked the everloving shit out of that beast. Once again, he disappeared into the grass. But I smacked him GOOD. He’s at least wounded. I put the kid in the high chair with a cookie, and once again armed with a bottle of shit that I don’t think actually WORKS, I sprayed down the trash can.

As well as all the trees, again, the driveway, again, the porch, again, you name it, again. I was like the Rambo of bug spray.

Seriously. WTF.

I was going to be happy to have my driveway back but honestly, I may let Big A keep it. He’ll leave in the morning before I do and take all the webs with him, should there be any. I don’t want that crap attached to my car. Or nesting inside of it. Waiting. Plotting against me.

Welcome home, honey! The driveway is alllllll yours.

I’d be afraid to get in that car if I was him…

So Deployment 2013 is hereby dubbed the Curse of the Creatures. And is thankfully thisclose to being over!

The Military Spousal Guide for Changing Sheets During Deployments

Dear Military Spouses (also Long-Distance Relationshippers, Spouses of Business Travelers, etc):

I don’t know about you, but I hate changing sheets alone. It ranks #3 on my list of Things I Hate During Deployments.

#1 is everything breaking all the time. Seriously.

#2 is changing the duvet. That shit’s hard, yo. I usually get lost in the corner and have to take a nap before I can tunnel my way back out. Plus, no one can fluff like my husband.


ANYWAY. After a recent sheet change, it occurred to me. I could change sheets half as often. But not be twice as gross. It’s so simple, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. PLUS it’ll help the mattress wear and tear.

I’m just going to switch sides.

When it’s time to change the sheets F it. I’m rolling over to the empty side.


Maybe the cat will give me more room over on that side, too. He’s been trying to bully me out of my side for weeks.

That's a King Size Bed, y'all.

That’s a King Size Bed, y’all. With a Crouching Tiger.


What can I say? I’m a genius.

Get Ready. Or Not.

I told you I could disappear for weeks! I may bullshit but I never lie.

In the last two weeks, things went a little hectic. Big A and I spent a few days in Boston seeing the sights and exploring the city. And by that I mean drinking all the beer.


Cheers to beer, Boston, cardboard Sam Adams and you guys!

Cheers to beer, Boston, cardboard Sam Adams and you guys!

Then it was a whirlwind of avoidance and preparation for his sixth deployment. SIXTH. And while we had become accustomed to these things, even sometimes looking forward to them, this one hit us hard. I tease my husband about his lack of feelings and I couldn’t make fun of him when we drove to the airport this time.

Oh, whatever. I still found a way to make fun of him. It made ME feel better.

So now it’s just me and the kid. And the dog and the cat. And the house that betrays me.

You’re either going to get a whole lot of posts now or a whole lot of nothing. Doing this single parent thing is exhausting, especially when you have a baby that may or may not like food on any given day who also needs to eat more than he does because he’s falling off the curve. I try to write during his morning nap, but that’s when I clean up the hovel. Or if I do sit down to write then it’s dark in the basement to keep him asleep and to be honest, I fall asleep much of the time, too. Sleep is awesome.

Sleep when the baby sleeps is still a rule at 11 months old, right? HOLY SHIT HE’S ELEVEN MONTHS OLD.

The only other time I really have to write would be after bedtime and by then I just want to veg out and watch the shit that’s piling up on my DVR. Thoughts are hard. TV is easy. Which is also why I’ve been reading a lot of your blogs but not commenting. I am out there. Stalking.

Hope you all have a fab weekend, it’s a long one here in the good ol’ USA!