the ball

He tried to keep it from me, but girls have a way of finding out when there's a ball. He knew it would be a bit expensive and a lot of work to get his uniform ready; I just wanted to wear a fabulous red dress.  When I found out about the upcoming battalion ball, I coerced him into agreeing to go. He lamented that it was on his birthday and that everyone said balls boring events in which old soldiers gave long speeches. Ok, I said, but I have a dress... So we went to the ball! :)

I wore my old prom dress from seven years ago. Thankfully, as a 17 year old, I picked a pretty classic red floor length dress that I could pull off wearing again. I borrowed shoes and jewelry and had two friends help me with my hair and makeup. I didn't spend a dime on my attire! On the other hand, John had to pay a pretty penny to get his formal uniform ready with the proper ribbons, patches, and awards. 

The ball was held in a convention center. It was decorated beautifully and had a huge sparkling chandelier. There was a bar, but we kept it classy and brought flasks. They served dinner and dessert, but not before a litany of traditions. First, there was some sort of a receiving line to greet the Lieutenant Colonel and Command Sergeant Major and their wives. It felt strange to stand in line to shake their hands. When we got to the front of the line, John told a man my name. The man then introduced us to the Lieutenant Colonel and Sergeant Major as we shook their hands. We both respect them and their positions, but for me it felt too much like they were royalty. 

There was then the presenting of the colors and the national anthem. After that, there was a speech given in honor of Prisoners of War. More mingling and pictures took place after a few more welcome speeches and such. Then dinner was served and the main portion of the night began. The most memorable was the grog ceremony. Grog is a type of alcoholic drink with various recipes. The way it's done at the ball is that there is a big vat in which many higher ups pour ingredients into it to make a nasty concoction. For instance, one soldier added lemons to represent the bitter time of war. Each person gives a short reason why they've chosen their ingredient and adds it to the vat. Once the ceremony is complete, one man from every table rushes to the vat with a pitcher to get some grog to bring back to his table. However, the guys jumped the gun and started rushing to the front before they were done with the ceremony. (Good job, 11B.) CSM got really mad and grabbed a microphone and said, "Listen you mother f@?!$^s! I want to have a good time and get drunk like the rest of you, but you WILL NOT act like animals in the process! Sit down and wait like gentlemen!" It was silent after that until they got the go. John got a glass of the grog, took a sip, exclaimed that it tasted like his old jock strap and asked me if I wanted some. For the sake of tradition, I took a drink. I've never tasted a jock strap, but I would imagine that they would taste pretty similar. I left the grog drinking to the boys. 

Finally, the dance floor was open for business and that's where we spent the rest of the night. First my shoes came off, then my updo came undone, then off came my pasties (don't judge, but I was too sweaty for them to stick anymore). I think that's an indicator of a good time. We were literally the last people on the dance floor. The staff had already started cleaning up while we were dancing to one more song. When a woman brought me my bag and shoes, we got the hint and headed home. For a man who didn't want to go, I think he enjoyed the ball more than I did. 

PCS

A PCS, or permanent change of station, is the military's fancy way of saying that someone is moving. The acronym is used as a noun or a verb; for example, saying that someone is "PCSing" is fairly common. PCS orders can be a wonderful thing: a new unit, a chance to travel, a fresh start, a fun adventure. Other times it means leaving behind a place that has become home. We are hoping that John doesn't get any PCS orders until I finish nursing school. It's kind of stressful knowing that at any moment, he could be ordered to a new duty station. In order to maintain sanity, I have repressed the worrisome thoughts of having to PCS in the middle of nursing school. However, PCS orders are affecting me in a way that I hadn't given much thought to. This month, three of my good friends have moved or are moving due to PCS orders. 

Often times these types of orders come down at the end of a deployment. For those of us back home, deployment can be a time of new or strengthened friendships. Part of me wants to always make a clear distinction between who I am and what my husband does for a living. Because of that, I resisted surrounding myself with other Army wives. However, there were times during deployment when no friend married to a civilian could understand what I was going through and I simply wanted to be with someone who knew what it was like. I finally began to open up to the idea of having friends who were also married to soldiers. Most of the friends I made, although many were from different brigades, had a spouse that was also deployed. This led to many unforgettable girls nights and stories that I most certainly will not tell my grandchildren. The friends that were made over glasses of wine, junk food, loud music, laughter, and tears during a tough and emotionally charged time are difficult to part with. Sonja, Erica, and Heather, I miss you already! Thank you for being just the kind of friends I needed at the perfect time. I hope your new places have a spare bedroom. :) 

what the promise is for

This is not what I signed up for.

This is not the man I married.

I didn't agree to this. 

Those thoughts would creep into my head when I was looking at his blank, zombie stare through the computer screen.

That is what I thought when "they'll all be home by Christmas" turned into "most will be home by Christmas, but yours will stay until July."

That is what I would say to myself when my war weary husband lacked the physical and emotional ability to give me affection from thousands of miles away.

These are the things that went through my head weeks after he was home and I would still see a cold anger flash in his eyes without warning, when in an instant he literally looked like a different person.

But then again...

This is what I signed up for.

This is the man I married.

I did agree to this.

I came up with a lot of superficial things that were positive about deployment, but all of them seemed unimpressive compared to the massive suckage that deployment is. I really wanted to write something positive. I really wanted to encourage my friends getting ready to send off their husbands. It took me a month to figure it out: Deployment helped redefine marriage and put my promises to the test.

While we didn't have the exact words in our vows, we did agree that marriage was "for better or for worse." We promised that our marriage would embody a type of love that "bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things and endures all things." I didn't feel like bearing, believing, hoping, or enduring, but that is the promise I made to my husband. Deployment presents an opportunity to ask yourself, "did I really mean all those things I said on my wedding day?" I had to look in the mirror and ask myself some hard questions:

When your man is incapable of showing affection because he is so worn out, withdrawn, and going through a tremendous hardship, will you continue to give affection, even if he can't give it in return? 

When his job requires even more sacrifice, will you continue to bear the burden with him? 

Will you continue to love him even if this experience changes him? 

The opportunity that I speak of is a defining, "make or break," moment. Are you going to do it or not?For me, this opportunity was the most positive thing to come out of deployment. It was a blessing that I was forced to solidify my promises so early in our marriage and to put them into action. I chose not to give up during a difficult situation. I chose to believe that it was only temporary. I chose to hope for better days. I chose to bear the weight of war alongside my husband. My vows were no longer a hypothetical romanticized speech. I had to choose to live it out.

And at the end of it all you can say, "We went dancing in the minefields; we went sailing in the storm. It was harder than we dreamed, but I believe that's what the promise is for."