I have been struggling with "Mommy Guilt." Have you ever had that? For me, it is the horrible feeling I get when I make what I feel is the right decision for my children but then I worry that it is the wrong decision.

So, last summer, the kids and I did some traveling while sweet soldier was deployed and that was lots of fun! This summer, we haven't traveled at all, and once the extended school year was over in June, I was really not sure what the rest of the summer would hold. However, a sweet friend and neighbor told me about the summer camp at the local YMCA and I decided to check it out.

I spoke at length with the director at the local Armed Services YMCA. They and the "big YMCA," as I like to call them, put on the camp together. It was decided that the best fit for little sweet boy was at the Armed Services YMCA where they have a smaller group for his age and more adults around to help, while sweet boy and sweet girl would go to the big YMCA where they would spend the days walking to the park, go to movies and swim. And, the price just could not be beat! To pay that little for my summer sanity, it is truly a gift.

So, I am sure you are wondering how my Mommy Guilt applies.

When I initially registered the kids for the summer camp, I thought that I would let them attend two weeks in July. After the first week, however, they loved it so much that I decided to let them go for the entire month, every day, from 8:30 a.m. to 4 p.m.

Enter the Mommy Guilt. I, the mom who doesn't work, have put my three children in full time daycare for the summer.

Truthfully, as my marathon training has picked up, I have needed a sitter four days out of the week anyway and the cost of a full day at the Y is about the same as three hours with the sitter. On top of the great price, the kids have made some great friends!

The biggest bonus was for my little sweet boy. You may remember that he is the one on the autism spectrum, but being around his peers did wonders for him during the school year. This summer has proven to be no different.

Sweet boy is best at answering yes or no questions, and typically, his answers are appropriate. Since beginning this program with the ASYMCA, his spontaneous speech has increased dramatically.

For example, last night he looked at me and said, "Mommy, my stomach hurts. I need medicine." The other morning, I woke him up and I said, "It's almost breakfast time. Are you hungry?" To which he replied, "No, I'm thirsty." We went to register for school this afternoon and he greeted and hugged all of his old teachers and friends.

One thing I have always said with regard to little sweet boy is that anything can have therapeutic value. In our case, the more time he spends with his peers the better off he is. So Mommy Guilt, be gone!

Sweet friends, I tell you all of this to simply say, go with your gut. Once you take a plan of action, don't second guess yourself. And when your mommy friends do the same, don't judge. Think about their perspective and show kindness and compassion for where their family is and what their needs may be.

Enjoy the rest of your summer. The first day of school is just around the corner!

Strength and Courage ... sby

I watched my friend’s husband return home last week after a year at sea, stationed aboard a carrier.

As I cheered on sailor after sailor as they re-united with their family, I thought, “I could never do that.”

Another friend's Army husband faces bullets whizzing by and land mines when he deploys.

I have said to her before, “I could never do that.”

I know women married to Navy SEALS, officers in the Air Force, pilots in the Navy and Army medics. Every time they tell me what their husband does and how it affects their lives and emotions, I have, at one time or another, thought, “I could never do that.”

Then, last week, as I was talking to the wife of a Navy corpsman and discussing my own husband's job she said, “I could never do that.”

And I stopped, because I truly found it funny.

Some people consider my husband’s job easier than most. He works on a submarine and is only away from home three or four months, consecutively, twice a year. It's a huge bonus since the government mandated sequestration has required some ships and submarines to deploy for six or more months at a time.

The downside though, when he is gone, is that we hear little to nothing from him. I get very short e-mails once in a while, and during a good month, maybe a letter.  I have gone months with neither and never worried.  It’s the nature of the beast.

I wouldn’t say it was easy, but, as I like to remind myself on the bad days, “It could be worse.”

Maybe for a wife who can talk to her husband in some fashion every day, it seems hard. Though perhaps, for someone whose husband is gone for 15 months at a time, it seems like a breeze.

It all depends on your perspective.

What I find ironic is the constant competitiveness I see among military spouses. They compare whose husband has been gone the longest, worked the oddest hours, had the weirdest assignment or missed the most holidays.

These comparisons can be hurtful, sometimes. Especially when you see one spouse discounting another’s experience because her husband didn’t deploy as much this year or had an easier job in a nicer location.

It’s also a shame. This lifestyle is so unique and challenging that support is often the only way to survive.

I do my best to celebrate when other families reunite.  I cry happy tears for friends when their husbands return home.

After all, for every month that goes by that I'm left to wonder how my husband is doing or what he’s thinking, I also find another woman who I’m in awe of as she remains calm knowing her husband is constantly in harm’s way, even if she does get to talk to him every day.

Because no matter how many times we think, “I could never do that,” the fact of the matter is, a bunch of us are doing it. 

And that’s amazing, impressive and inspiring, no matter what the circumstances.
 

Follow Brittany at http://www.brittsbeat.com/

Check out our monthly list of job fairs around the country sponsored by Hiring Our Heroes, Military.com and other military friendly organizations. Each of the events is open to current military, veterans and spouses. Follow the links below each date for fair location and registration information.

North Charleston, SC - Hiring Our Heroes

Date: Aug. 8, 2013

Garden City, KS

Date: Aug. 8, 2013

Nashua, N.H.

Date: Aug. 8, 2013

Farmingdale, N.Y.

Date: Aug. 14, 2013

Honolulu, HI

Date: Aug. 16, 2013

Nashville, Tenn.

Date: Aug. 20, 2013

Cedar Rapids, Iowa

Date: Aug. 20, 2013

Fort Polk, La.

Date: Aug. 21, 2013

Devens, Mass.

Date: Aug. 22, 2013

Houston, Texas

Date: Aug. 27, 2013

Lafayette, La.

Date: Aug. 27, 2013

Aisle after aisle my husband stopped to chit chat with co-workers he hadn't seen in months, some of them years.

Their first glance of me, ever, was of me chasing our toddler up and down the aisles as I tried to catch Danimal yogurts that our other toddler was throwing out of the cart at people. Behind me, my two oldest children were in a screaming argument over what kind of cereal to buy while my 6-year-old was tossing box upon box of sugary snacks into the basket because frankly, no one could yell loud enough for him to hear us say, "Stop."

The entire aisle stopped to snicker, laugh and stare when my husband finally dropped the 6-year-old for push-ups as punishment for his antics. And from behind a stack of toilet paper I heard my neighbor screech, "Oh my God Allison, do you want me to take one of them for you?"

Yep, we may move every three years, lose touch with friends and live a continent away from our nearest and dearest. But, there is nothing to make you feel like you live in the smallest town in the world than trying to shop at the commissary, on pay day, with your entire family in tow.

And if your children are at their worst, everyone you have ever met will be there. I promise.

Tonight, we were the crazy family on aisle seven. With five children, including two who were struggling to keep their tears in check as it was very much past their 7:30 bedtime, three overflowing carts, two pre-teens and an ornery first grader I had a feeling people were taking their time lingering over the dishwashing soap. They were there to watch my mental breakdown in slow motion.

My three-year old got loose and ran up and down the aisles, the wind in her hair, her princess dress flapping behind her as passersby exclaimed, "So cute!" She left me in the dust and I eventually had to yell ahead for a woman in line to grab her. Not my best moment but, hey, she didn't make it past the registers and out the door.

My two-year-old began sobbing by the time we reached the cat food and launched her yogurt assault as we tried to hustle to the checkout. I managed to catch all the would be missiles but I'm pretty sure the splattered bottle of ranch on the bread aisle was our fault. Casualty of war, my friend.

My husband chit chatted as if the outlandish chaos unfolding around him wasn't happening. It wasn't until I hollered at our oldest daughter as she scurried to the bathroom after announcing loudly that she had waited too long and she's pretty sure she had diarrhea. I yelled out, "Try not to pee yourself" and he finally looked over the rim of his rose colored glasses. It was official, we were in commissary shopping hell.

And everyone I know saw it.

With each aisle, a new outburst from my exhausted kids and a new witness to the insanity. I recognized faces from Cub Scouts, Girl Scouts, church and my husband's office. People I didn't recognize knew who I was and I'm pretty sure they'll never forget me again.

I whispered to a woman nearby that if I suddenly went missing they should start their search at the liquor store across the parking lot. I'm not sure she thought I was kidding.

By the time we swiped the last item across the scanner, employees manned the doors to lock them behind us (yes, we were there that late) and we were done. My husband tried to buy us some good karma by tipping the bagger $10 and it may have worked. Two of the five were asleep by the time we reached our driveway and not a one of them gave us a fight heading to bed.

So next week when school starts and I begin running into those who witnessed our commissary breakdown there's no way I can deny it. It is what it is: five tired, cranky kids dragged to a grocery store on a busy payday night. And I'm pretty sure at some point it will happen again.

But next time, I may just take my neighbor, and any other friend who happens upon us, up on their offer to help.  Five kids dispatched across the store for free babysitting? We may just move to the head of every line.

Suddenly I am completely grateful for my crappy on-base housing.

To be fair, in many locations where military housing has been revamped and even scrapped for new construction, the houses are better than what you could buy locally for the same amount of money. Still, living in someone else’s house, especially someone who has the right to dictate every move you make, gets old fast.

When we moved into housing in Hawaii the housing rep told us in no uncertain terms that we were not allowed to hang anything on the wall, that no play structures were to be put in the backyard for children, we were not allowed to grow anything of any kind in our yard and nothing but cars were allowed in the garage, even though there is an entire wall of built-in shelves. Garages are for parking, not storage. Period.

Welcome home. Don’t. Touch. Anything.

So, like many military spouses who dream of owning their own home and painting something an obnoxious color just because they can, I’ve been waiting for this moment, when our military life becomes a memory and we finally begin house hunting for our own home.

That moment is here and it stinks - mainly because we are doing everything from a continent away.

Moves are never easy for military families. There isn’t time to settle in or take a few weeks to look for the perfect place. You have to move in and move on - and in many cases that means searching for your new home sweet home from very far, far away.

Because of our children’s medical and educational special needs, moving more than once isn’t an option. Changing schools is a nightmare. We need to simply figure out where home is and get there.

While I love online house hunting sites like Zillow.com, pictures can only say so much. What does the layout look like? Will our king bed really fit in that room? And why are there no photos of the closets?

Shopping for a house, sight unseen with only photos for a guide, is in a word, frustrating. I can pull years’ worth of property tax records, sale histories of the property, aerial maps, a list of dimensions of each room and even tell you with the help of Google Earth what color car the neighbor drives.

But I feel like with each property we see everything and absolutely nothing at the same time. What does it feel like to stand in that kitchen? Can I see my kids playing in the backyard through the window? Can the neighbor see through our windows? Can we see through theirs? And god almighty why are there no photos of the closets? With five kids, closet space is prime real estate in our house.

As I search in vain in the comfort of my military-issued house with a layout I hate, cheaply made cupboards whose varnish chip with every use, the worst designed driveway in the history of driveways, but fantastic closets throughout, I am thankful.

For the last 12 years we’ve simply been handed a place to live. Good, bad, ugly, stinky, falling down or brand new, but almost always with fabulous closets, the military has made going home a very simple process.

We sign a paper, they give us a key and a house number. Done. Home was, as so many of us have emblazoned in artwork on our walls, where the Army sent us.

Now we wade in a sea of choices and have no idea how to get home. As we search for our dream house, the one we’ll live in ‘til the end of our days, finding it has become a task more than a joy. It’s become a dreadful feeling full of what ifs -Did we pick the right one? What if the neighbors are mean? Should we wait and risk losing to another buyer? What if there are no closets?

There’s no place like home. Now, we just have to figure out where that is.

So, today happened.

It started out as a great day! Everyone got up on time. We got out the door on time. No one forgot anything. I dropped everyone off at their respective camps. I went for my three-mile run that my training plan dictated for today.

Then, it all began to unravel.

The beginning of the trail that I like to run is just outside the post gate closest to my house. My truck was running on empty, so my thought was, 'I will stop for a run. Then I will go through the checkpoint onto post and go straight to the gas station.' I finish running and a text from my sweet soldier appears. He tells me that the power is out at work so there is a good chance it is out at the house.

"Did you lock the back door?"

"Yes. (Expletive).”

You see, the power went out after he went to work so the electric garage door is closed tight and on the track. I have a key to get in the house but there is a "hotel lock" on the front door that stays locked so that kids and dog don't escape. Basically, I am locked out of the house, sweaty, tired and frustrated.

So I decided to go to lunch. Sweet soldier needed to go with his boss, so I decided to go somewhere on post where they had power. I also needed to drop off a gift to be worked on at the Arts & Crafts Center, but they didn't open until 1pm. It was 11am. As I stood in line waiting to order lunch, I felt really badly for the guy who was standing behind me at the sandwich shop. My dirty running clothes can give my husband's dirty PT's a run for their money! I was smelly! I finished my lunch and headed home to see if the electricity was on, and luckily, it was.

I get cleaned up and changed. A new email arrived on my phone from the jobs website. This is the email that I have been waiting for. As I read it carefully, I read the following paragraph:

_{"We have reviewed your application and found you qualified for the position listed above. However, you were not among the most highly qualified candidates. Therefore, your name will not be referred to the employing agency at this time. If we receive a request from the agency for additional candidates, or another agency requests a list of eligibles for a very similar position within the next 90 days, your application will again be reviewed for possible referral. Thank you for your interest in Department of Army employment."}

I begin to shake and cry and my shoulders began to heave. I sat down on my bed and made a decision to let myself be sad. I really wanted that job. It was one that I felt like I could do. It was one that was perfect for me. It was "the" job. Ugh! I did not make it through the application system to even be considered for an interview. I cried for probably an hour, and then I realized that I had to keep on with my day. I still needed to drop off this gift and pick up the kids soon but I still allowed myself to be sad for the afternoon.

So we made it through pick-ups and dinner. As the kids were helping me clear the table and bring dishes into the kitchen to be washed, I smelt poop. Yes, I did say poop. It is at this juncture that I should tell you that I have always been taught that "when the poop hits the fan it is never evenly distributed" but in this case, when the poop hits the floor, it belongs to the dog. In the immortal words of Janice of Friends, "Oh My God!"

That was it. There was my threshold. I officially could take no more. I shooed everyone out of the kitchen, turned off the hot water for the dishes and I changed Little Sweet Boy's pull-up. I finished washing the dishes and got everyone to bed, and then announced to my sweet soldier, "I'm going to get some ice cream."

I'm not gonna lie. The chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and organic coffee made me feel a little better but honestly, that is not the root of the problem. The root of the problem is that when a potential employer says, "no thank you" we tie that to our self worth, and once the wind was out of my sails, I let that affect the rest of my day and it should not have.

As I finish my coffee and feel my eyelids getting heavier under the weight of the day, I have to remind myself that it is just a bad day. Tomorrow is another day. It is a new chance to be extraordinary! It is another chance to embrace where I am and who I am and to bloom where I am planted.

So today happened, but hot on its heels is tomorrow. And tomorrow is going to be great!

Strength and Courage ... sby

Starting secondary education is always tricky, simply because it involves learning new routines and schedules. Additional trickiness is added if you are an adult, a parent and/or running a household.  In my case, the summer semester was not only when I chose to begin my jaunty skip toward academic awesomeness, it was also the beginning of my husband's deployment. 

Insert my incredibly heavy sigh here. 

It quickly became clear that I would not be accomplishing any serious studying or completing any significant assignments while my son was awake. No matter how many times a day I plied him with apple slices, books, markers and my iPad, he still needed ... well, parenting. Around the time he brought me a stack of books and a blanket it also became clear that I was not doing him any sort of Mommy justice by providing him with distraction tactics so that I could complete my daily scholastic grind. 

Just like potty training or remembering anything aside from the names of the Backyardigans, routine seemed to be key. So I pulled out three of the five Ws, and fit them into my Ultimate Study Plan. I know it might seem odd, using the Ws. What can I say? I'm an English major and we like knowing things like who, when, where, and other things that satisfy our nosiness. And, although my routine keywords are What, When, and Where, variations of these steps which still involve feeding and bathing your kid (and yourself) and getting decent grades are, of course, acceptable.

Studying with the Ws. Drumroll, please!      

What, for example, meant finding out what I needed to study. It was easy to pick a subject I preferred, but that isn't what gets the job done. Sometimes I had five pages in MLA format due and sometimes there was an impending math test. There were nights that all I did, for hours upon hours, was math. Let me be clear here: I hate math and math hates me. But at the end of the session, by choosing math I felt like I was able to hate math from an educated stance, rather than from a place of ignorance.  

Learning where I could study most efficiently, believe it or not, proved to be one of my most helpful habits to develop. With a deployed husband and a toddler, the living room was the best option I had. It was quiet, but far enough away from my sleeping kid that I could turn on some music without waking him. It kept me near the coffee maker and a bathroom, allowed for all the light I needed and kept me close enough to hear if my kid started to scream the scream of a nightmare stricken (or suddenly parched) three-year-old.       

When would quickly prove to simultaneously be the most difficult and important of all three Ws because this meant figuring out when I could study most effectively. I am not an early morning person and my husband was not home to allow me quiet time in the evenings. Suddenly, my evening DVR dates with reality TV were replaced with writing persuasive essays and learning how to solve for X. I was a bit sad at first, however, this habit became one of my most effective techniques for successful studying. At the end of the day, this successful studying lead to great grades which made me very, very happy. And despite the schedule changes, I always found a way to mend my relationship with Gordon Ramsey and his kitchen from Hell.

Think it was hard being one of four kids named John in eighth grade?

Try having the last name Payne in basic training. Or Love. Or, Dick. Yes, I’m certain Private Dick was happy to be promoted. These are all real individuals that either I or my friends have come across in our travels.

Occasionally, military life can be pretty funny, or painful, depending on your last name.

Recently my friends and I were speculating on the name of the soon to be born British royal infant. We all wished that the prince and duchess would kick tradition and formality to the curb and simply introduce the world to a Prince Kyle or Princess Molly.

And then we thought about how the simplest name could cause big snickers, especially with a military title tacked on.

I met a Major Love while I was working in South Korea. One friend knew a Sergeant Sergeant. I once met a Major Sergeant, though I’m not sure there was any relation.

And I have a friend who had a very hard time keeping a straight face when she addressed her husband’s co-worker, Major Dick. When he was standing next to another peer, Captain Kinky, it wasn’t even possible to say both names in the same sentence without pausing for effect.

And now, I think of the young children I have met with war inspired names such as Jeep, Tank, Ace and Slayer. These are all real people with their real, given names. And yes, we met a kid last week at the park playgroup named, Slayer.

Now, pair that with a rank or two. Sergeant Slayer. Private Tank. Colonel Ace.

Yep, eighth grade, and boot camp, is going to be a bumpy ride for someone.

One of the things that I have learned in my 11 years as an Army Wife is how to embrace friendships. Our family has moved five times in those 11 years. The most time we have spent at a duty station was four and a half years. The least amount of time spent at a duty station was one year.

What I have learned in my short time as an Army Wife is that we are like trees. We stand strong where we are planted. Our roots are not deep but they are spread wide. Our branches are not only far reaching, but they envelope anyone and provide shelter to those who need it. Our branches are strong enough for not only our own children's swings but the swings of every child we know. We stay stalwart during the storms. We may bend to the point of doubling over, but it takes a lot for us to break. And that almost never happens!

When new people come into our lives, we are very accepting. We are the first to your door with a basket and a card with our contact information for you to use when you register your kids for school. We celebrate highs. We commiserate the lows and dance and cry with everything in between.

It is sometimes difficult for our civilian sisters to understand how Army wives can become such close friends so quickly, but you know we don't have a choice. Sometimes our sisters in arms are all we have.

Sweet friends, never miss a chance to make a new friend. You never know which one will be the one that your heart needs right at that moment.

Strength and Courage ... sby

The night after I started writing my last blog, we had our first ER trip in NC - followed by two rounds of the stomach bug, pink eye, ear infections and a busted lip.

And, it just so happened to be the week I cut out wine and coffee from my diet for one of those jump on the health bandwagon cleanses. Don’t worry friends, I haven’t hurt anyone and I don’t hate the world. We are still happy wanna-be southerners here!

But I’m not going to lie, it was a little stressful. Ok, a lot stressful. I am still adjusting to our new area and luckily our ER trip wasn’t a true emergency because I had a big mom/military spouse fail. I wasn’t sure of the closest hospital, I did not have emergency numbers posted or saved on my phone and I didn’t have my neighbors’ numbers.

The base is 40 minutes away which means my husband was not close by for guidance. And let’s be realistic, these things only happen when my Marine is away. So, the PCS lesson learned this year: get all emergency information compiled and ready before you have an actual emergency.

Once my kids were both sick, I also came down with something. Then my husband caught it and had a toothache which turned into two root canals! Yep, when it rains, it pours friends.

At the time, the days were pretty rough and very long but we survived. I think we had a record five doctor appointments in one week so I am thankful for Tricare these days (did I just say that?).  I definitely did not have some of my best mommy moments. I was pretty miserable but the beauty of having young kids is that they still love me despite those ugly moments and, hopefully, won’t remember the days when I may have lost my cool or when we didn’t get out of our pajamas and watched more Disney channel than should be allowed in one day.

The crazy roller coaster of illnesses got the best of me and I needed a break. Instead of holding it in, I admitted it to my husband, but he already knew and he had a plan.

As soon as we all recovered, we had a great weekend. My husband took the baby monitor away from me and I had 10 hours of uninterrupted sleep. The next morning I had fresh coffee made for me, an empty house and a solo grocery trip. It was heaven. The next day we visited the beach, had a pizza picnic and went to a concert in the park. Now, it’s Monday morning and I feel refreshed and ready to tackle this crazy life.

Whether it be deployments or just another day at home with the kids, the bad days can be pretty bad. But there is always a good day that follows. My Marine is always coming and going so I may not be able to take advantage of his help all the time.

Fortunately this time he was home and, unlike in the past, I accepted his offer of solo recovery time for me, away from the kids. Parenthood away from family and friends can be isolating at times. I have learned you can’t be afraid to ask for help - whether it be from your military family or your spouse. We all need a break now and then. We aren’t super heroes, even though at times it feels like we have to be.