I was really shocked. My husband was not one to ask for sexual favors while driving.
I told him to get in the carpool lane if he was looking for that. He got into the lane and immediately relaxed. “You’re right, honey, this is easier. I forgot about the carpool lane.”
What? I was confused. When I tried to oblige his request he looked at me like I was crazy.
We did have some communication problems when he first returned, which took us a little while to work out.
Sharing a bed with your spouse after a deployment is a totally different subject. I had acquired some bizarre sleeping rituals in order to get some rest during the months of separation.
At one point in the deployment my bedtime had moved from 11:00 p.m. to about 2:00 a.m.
Instead of sleeping on the left side of the bed I now slept in the middle of the bed surrounded by all the pillows. I made a nest of pillows. I had also bought this tiny squishy pillow that I put on my stomach to make up for the fact that Jon was not there. By the time Jon got back, I was used to this ritual.
Jon took an instant dislike to the pillow on my stomach. In fact, the new pillow became his arch rival.
Jon would toss it across the room when I wasn’t looking. I would go insane when I couldn’t have it. I felt like Linus without his blanket.
Whenever Jon complained about sleeping with one leg hanging off the side of the bed because there was no room, I would tell him to be glad I no longer kept the Taser under my pillow.
I also had a cat on the pillow above my head, another at my feet, and sometimes the dogs in the bed. With the bed jam-packed, Jon had to fight for his share of space. Often when I fell asleep I would spread out into an “x” shape and Jon would wake up squished into a corner of the bed.
As payback for my sleep routine, he would tell me in the morning that my breath “smelled like Iraq.” One morning I rolled over to find him wearing a gas mask.
I had learned how to sew while Jon was gone—hand stitching ten different muumu-type nightgowns. I was quite proud of my handmade designs. These gowns were a cross between the dresses worn by Mama in “Mama’s Family” (complete with ruffles, a high neckline, and lots of lace) and a dress worn on “Little House on the Prairie.” I completed my ensemble with a thick pair of socks.
For Jon, these outfits were a huge turn-off. I thought of them as really soft and comfortable.
When I emerged from the bathroom in one of my handmade gowns, Jon would hiss under his breath, “MOO MOO!” Somehow this sounded like a threat.
I would try to initiate sex, but he wouldn’t respond. I told him, “Let’s play fantasy! It’s the Civil War. You’ve been injured on my father’s land and I hid you in the barn … go with it.”
My role playing fantasy, however, didn’t spark anything. I couldn’t understand why he cared what I wore to bed. We had a healthy sex life. What was the big deal?
Deep down I knew I was being selfish and was putting my comfort before my man’s needs of seeing his wife looking attractive.
Thanks to Dr. Laura, I eventually saw the error of my ways and put all my muumus in storage.
After I bought cuter, hipper looking jammies at Target, I enjoyed the new attention I got from my man. Now I looked cute and sexy instead of resembling a grandma.
My sex life and sleeping habits improved as well. All was back to normal. My man was happy.
I did ask for one compromise, though. Since I was wearing cuter nightgowns, Jon allowed me to keep the socks on.
The pillow, however, is still an issue. I’m working on it.
HIVES
In our battalion’s reunion brief, we were told to keep everything positive for at least three days while our men became acclimated. We were told that no matter what, we were not to argue or bring up anything that would upset them.
That’s certainly easier said than done.
I had kept some serious family issues from Jon while he was on his first deployment and still had to hold them back after he returned. I had had some problems communicating with his family while he was gone. It was a problem that had been building since we eloped. We didn’t know each other well back then, so we didn’t know how to communicate. This led to misunderstandings.
It was to the point that I needed Jon to address his family directly. He needed to take care of the problem so it didn’t repeat itself during the next deployment.
But I had to find the right time to raise this issue with him. I kept to the three-day rule and said nothing. Even when he asked me how things were going with family, I bit my tongue. Still, Jon could sense there was a problem.
We went down to the USS
Tarawa
to pick up the belongings he had left on ship. While there, I sat on the wool blanket on his bunk. I was wearing shorts. Wool and I have never gotten along, so by the time we got home I was itching all over.
I had these welts up and down the back of my legs. It got worse over the next few days. My legs were beginning to swell and the bumps went all the way up to my bottom. This is not so sexy, particularly when you have not seen your man in seven months and you have a lot of lovemaking to catch up on.
Jon took me to the doctor, who diagnosed hives. He thought I caught it sitting on Jon’s wool blanket on the ship, and gave me antihistamines and calamine lotion.
There I was, covered with pink cream all over my legs. I looked like a kid at camp who had gotten into the poison ivy.
To make matters worse, Jon and I were leaving for Las Vegas. He only had a week of leave and his family had planned a big welcome home party in his hometown.
We had to split his leave between his family and our alone time. I was simmering emotionally. I had all these pent up emotions that I still had not shared with him.
I was miserable in Vegas. The heat aggravated the hives. My legs looked disgusting—even more so when Jon lathered me up with lotion every night. Who needs kinky foreplay when you can use calamine lotion?
I wanted to keep this trip positive, so I continued to bite my tongue and avoided talking about what had happened. But the longer I held it all in, the worse I got physically.
Beenie and Lloyd were with us for a few days in Vegas. Beenie freaked when she saw my legs. Really, I looked like a monster. She knew what I was upset about and was hoping I had finally talked about it with Jon. “No,” I replied. “I just want this vacation to be fun and positive.”
I had the burden hanging over my head and all over my legs the whole trip.
Partying with Beenie and Lloyd helped loosen me up. I was glad to have my best friend with me.
Jon and Lloyd had all this Iraqi money and used it to tip all the valets and waiters. It was hysterical. The money was worth nothing, but a rumor was flying all over Vegas that two Marines had found Saddam’s money and were handing it out. We got free drinks everywhere we went. Those definitely helped calm me down.
After we got home, Jon asked me if there was something wrong. That’s when the floodgates opened. I told him everything in a surprisingly calm manner. I told him about the issues I had had with his family, and how upset I had been. We talked about everything rationally and calmly.
He could understand the communication problems I had had and he understood my feelings. As we talked, I realized that I had been having a panic attack almost from the start of the reunion.
He immediately got on the phone with his family to discuss the problem. I took a Xanax and went to bed. When I awoke, my legs had nearly cleared up. Every night for a week I took a small Xanax before bed and each morning the hives were smaller and smaller.
I had stressed myself out and made myself physically ill. After talking with Jon and straightening things out with his family, I was able to calm down and begin to heal. Many newlyweds go through adjustment periods with their new families. Unfortunately for us, there was a war thrown into the middle of our growing pains. Great communication and a lot of love got us right again.
It’s important to find that balance when your husband returns. If there’s something pressing that you need to address, don’t put it off.
I’m an advocate for the “three-day-nothing-negative” rule, but I took it way beyond that to three weeks. I wanted to pretend everything was perfect, but that was the wrong choice.
I had endured a lot during Jon’s deployment. Once he was home and settled, though, it was time to take care of me.
Might I suggest that you write all your concerns down in letters, but don’t send them? When he gets home you can decide if those letters are something he needs to read.
A lot of wives get into this martyr routine of, “I suffered more than you.” They want their husbands to believe they gave just as much.
It’s like their emotional needs are a bag that needs to be filled up. And yet, there’s a hole in the bottom of it. No matter how much their husbands try to fill them up, it leaks out of the hole leaving them feeling empty. Eventually they will stop trying to fill the bag. The marriage is never the same.
Find acceptance and address legitimate concerns that can be changed. Don’t bitch just to bitch. It becomes an endless cycle.
Nor is this a competition. I have had civilian friends ask Jon, “Who had it worse? Your freaked-out wife back home? Or you at war?”
Jon and I have the same answer. We both believe the other had it worse.
Jon says that he knew when he was in danger and when he was safe. He knew when to worry. He knew he was alive and breathing. But, he always felt bad for me because I never knew from one minute to the next whether he was dead or alive.
I say he definitely had it worse. I could get distracted, go to the movies or out with friends, drink a soda or a beer, eat out at a restaurant—all without someone trying to kill me. He was on alert 24/7 and in constant danger.
The point is we both recognize it was hard for each of us in different ways. And we love and honor each other for the strength and character we exuded in those times.
SHARING
I didn’t push Jon to talk about what he had gone through or experienced over there. He shared what he wanted to share. I didn’t have to prove that I could understand. He knew I did. He only told me what he knew I could handle, which was not much.
I believe wives don’t need to know everything.
We pulled out photo albums so I could show him pictures from all the parties and celebrations the other wives and I threw.
It warmed his heart to know I was not home crying and sulking during his entire deployment. It brought Jon peace and joy to know that I had been taking care of myself and hadn’t been crying and depressed every day. That made me proud of myself.
To this day there are photos of his time in Iraq that I have not seen, and I will probably never see them. While he was gone, I never told Jon when I was afraid, when I had had a bad day, or when there was a family crisis. Jon’s ongoing gift to me is to never share the gory details of the missions and dangerous events he experienced.
We kept our concerns and fears in our own hearts. We didn’t need to burden the other. That is love.
Over time we began to share some of what had happened in our separate lives during those months.
After Jon’s second deployment we took a cruise to Mexico. It was our official “honeymoon,” although it took place three years after our wedding.
Carl and Natalie were also going on a cruise, so Natalie and I went wild shopping for “cruise wear.” I wanted to get some tops that would be comfortable as well as cool since it gets hot in Mexico
I purchased a ton of these smocked baby doll tops. They are gathered with elastic at the top then flare out in a baby doll fashion at the torso. The tops made my boobs look bigger than usual, which was annoying. My chest looked like one big boob in the middle.
Despite this, I liked the fact that the design flared out so much you could not see my stomach. Cruise ships are notorious for encouraging gluttony. I knew that I could eat as much as I wanted and would not have to worry about hiding a huge bloated belly. Covering my bloated gassy belly was more important than having deformed-looking boobs.
When we reached our first port on the cruise, I was feeling comfortable in my smocked top and shorts. We met another couple from the ship near the cab station and decided to share a ride. We were chatting about the cruise, what excursions we would being doing, and general chatty stuff you would expect.
The other couple said they were going to swim with dolphins. I was thrilled for them. I started my typical whining, asking Jon if we could also swim with dolphins.
The lady started to giggle. She patted my knee and said, “Well, you certainly can’t do that now in your condition, but maybe next time.” She looked at her husband. They smiled at each other and then looked back at me.
After we reached their destination and they got out, I found myself wondering if there were size restrictions for dolphin riding.
Later that day, as Jon and I were shopping, the locals kept trying to sell us goods. One by one they approached me with different items. They were calling back to each other and then pointing at me and calling me “Momma.” I was flattered. I thought they were telling each other I was a “hot momma.”
When one of them brought me a baby onesie that said, “Mexico” on it, it dawned on me what they meant: the locals calling me Momma, the baby onesie, the lady in the cab.
I turned to look at myself in a full-length mirror in the shop and saw my luxury “cruise wear” top made me look six months pregnant! So that’s why people had been letting me go to the bathroom first if there was a line. I vowed to toss all the tops as soon as we got home.
By that night I had forgotten all about my “baby” and was tearing it up at the Karaoke bar on the ship.
Since we were on vacation and didn’t have to drive, Jon and I were throwing down the vodka.
I was on stage with my drink in my hand singing and slurring Tina Turner’s “Private Dancer” when the couple from the cab walked in. They stared at me with their mouths hanging open, their eyes moving from me, to my drink, at Jon, and then back at me. Finally, they shook their heads and walked out. When mommy boozes, baby loses.