I took my 3-year-old to her first soccer practice last month. 

It was the little toddler team on the Navy base. Other than ballet, it’s the first organized activity she’s ever done. And it’s definitely the first team sport she’s ever done.

First, the coach rallied them all together and made them pick a team name and taught them a quick cheer. I heard “Go Heroes!” the rest of the way home and on into the following morning.  She loved soccer, even if she still had absolutely no idea how the game was played. She just loved the idea of being part of a team.

And so, after I got my little soccer player and her sister tucked into bed that night, I sat down and exhaled deeply and thought, “Phew! We survived another day of deployment.” And I wasn’t referring to the royal “we,” either. I was literally talking about my two girls and I. We had lived through another day of practice and meals and work and responsibilities and wonky appliances, all without the help of the man of the house. While it was nothing knew, we are at that point where every day survived without broken limbs is an achievement.

So, yes, we did it. My little team of two toddlers, an old dog, and me. It’s funny to think that that’s how I survive. That I carry my girls through this hard time. And sometimes, they carry me.  They are the reason I sleep soundly without him. They are the reason I am busier than busy. They are the reason I get up before the sun every morning.  They’re my teammates. They are in this with me till the end.

While we often don’t wear matching jerseys, and we don’t really have a team cheer, other than, “You have to wear underwear to the dinner table,” we’re still a team.

And while these last few months have been rough, I couldn’t have picked better teammates to survive it with.