A Construction Wife

One of my good friends sent me this in an email but it was for the definition of an Army Wife.  It was so close to being perfect for us I had to change a few things and now I think it fits.  For my girls--Jill, Ashlee, Tyna and all the other Construction Wives-







The Definition of a Construction Wife:

Lots of moving...
Moving...
Moving...
... Moving far from home...
Moving two cars, two kids, a turtle, and one dog...all riding with HER of course.
Moving sofas to basements because they won't go in THIS house;
Moving curtains that won't fit;
Moving to new school districts, new neighborhoods.
Moving away from friends;
Moving toward new friends;
Moving her most important luggage: her trunk full of memories.

Often waiting...
Waiting...
Waiting...
Waiting for word.
Waiting for assignments.
Waiting for phone calls.
Waiting for reunions.
Waiting for the new curtains to arrive.
Waiting for him to come home, For dinner...AGAIN!

They call her his 'dependant', but she knows better:
She is fiercely In-Dependent.

She can balance a check book;
Handle the yard work;
Fix a noisy toilet;
Bury the family pet...
She is intimately familiar with drywall anchors and toggle bolts.
She can file the taxes;
Sell a house;
Buy a car;
Or set up a move... .....all while he's working hours that seem inhumane.

She welcomes neighbors that don't welcome her.
She hates being the new girl, but does it with grace.
 Locates a house in the desert, The Arctic, Or the deep south.
And learns to call them all 'home'.
She MAKES them all home.

Construction Wives are somewhat hasty...
They leap into:
Decorating,
Leadership,
Volunteering,
Career alternatives,
Churches,
And friendships. They don't have 15 years to get to know people.
Their roots are short but flexible.
They plant annuals for themselves and perennials for those who come after them.

Construction Wives quickly learn to value each other:
They connect over coffee,
Rely on the each other, like others rely on their families,
Accept offers of friendship and favors.
Record addresses in pencil...

Construction Wives have a common bond:
The Construction Wife has a husband unlike other husbands; his commitment is unique.
He doesn't have a 'JOB'
He has a 'career' that from the outside can look like he's a work-aholic...
 But every hour he puts in is for his family's future.
A Construction Wife knows she can't make plans around his schedule, he may work late every night for two months straight.
A Construction Wife has sat quietly more than once trying to figure out how bad a job site accident is just by the tone of her husband's voice on the phone.
A construction Wife makes hospital visits, sets up meal trains for the hurt, and helps in fund raising to get families through hard times.
 She is the long- distance link to her family and  keeps them informed;
the glue that holds them together.


A Construction Wife has her moments:
She wants to wring his neck;
 Paint his hard hat pink;
Refuse to move to Siberia;
But she pulls herself together.
Give her a few days,
A travel brochure,
A long hot bath,
A glass of wine,
A wedding picture,
And she goes.
She packs.
She moves.
She follows.

Why?
What for?
How come?
You may think it is because she has lost her mind.
But actually it is because she has lost her heart.
It was stolen from her by a man,
Who puts his family first by being the first to work every morning and the last to leave at night,
Who hates the strain his job puts on his family,
Who lets her cry,
Who builds the things that you take for granted and she doesn't understand,
 And whose boots in the doorway and lunch box on the counter remind her that as long as he is her Construction Husband,
She will remain his Construction Wife.
And would have it no other way.

Practice does not make perfect

   I left a five mile zig-zag trail of snot, sweat, spit and tears through my neighborhood today.  I ran as long as I could, I walked when the stitch in my side took my breath, but my heart still hurts.  I dead lifted more today than I have ever lifted, I used every muscle in my body to move weight, but my heart still hurts.  I cleaned and breathed Lysol til all the dirt and grime were wiped away and everything looked perfect, but my heart still hurts. 
    I've done this before, I've told you good bye.  I've moved to a new place and met a new girl before.  I've spent time with you til you became my family.  I've made more best friends than any one person deserves and told them all goodbye before, but my heart still hurts.  You are in Kentwood, you are in Utah, you are in North Carolina, you are in Cartersville, and you are moving to West Virginia and Michigan.  I've hugged you and promised nothing will change knowing full well it will.  Life will get in the way.  Kids and husbands will need us, groceries don't buy themselves, errands will need to be run.   Life will become the new normal, but deep down my heart will still hurt. 
     Even when we don't talk you are in my thoughts.  The memories of growing up together flash through my day.  I see you in my children and I miss you.  I remember learning to be a wife with you.  I loved having you in the whirlwind of being a first time mom.  I leaned on you when I miscarried.  I cried on your shoulder over silly things.  You were the first one I told I was pregnant again.  We tried out recipes on each other, had too many play dates to count.  You ran my first race with me.  We packed pic-nicks and laid in the sun together while the kids splashed in the lake.  We let our kids fight like cousins and love each other like siblings.  I was one of the first to hold your sweet baby. 
     We have never once run out of things to talk about, and I love you for it.  I love you for simply being you.  I love you for listening to me grumble and gripe.  I love you for talking me down off the ledge when the world piles on my shoulders.  I love you for letting me know I am not alone in the battle field that is Motherhood.  We have laughed enough for two life times. Even when you didn't know it you helped me through every single day. You are my sister wife and I thank you for that. 
    I hope you forgive me for my lack of grace when it comes to goodbye.  Practice does not make perfect when it comes to this.  I've told my best friend goodbye more times than I care to count.  I will cry when we hug.  I will miss your kids just as much as I miss you.  No matter where we both live I will always be your chick.  No matter how much time passes we will talk just like I am standing beside you in your kitchen.  My heart is strong and it holds you so tight you couldn't escape me if you tried.  So we'll get this goodbye over with quick, like ripping a band aid.  I'll walk away and break down in my car around the corner.  We will do this and know that some things will change but know you will always be my best friend. 

Yet Have Believed

    My Sweetness brought home big boxes of stuff this week.   This is the time at the end of each job that I know that it is really about to be over.  Usually when he unloads boxes from his truck and brings in the contents from his office I am boxing everything up too so it isn't so out of place.  This time it seems weird, like he's getting ready to move but the rest of us aren't.  I guess that  is exactly what is happening I'm just not able to process it yet.  Every time he brings in the contents of his office I get a small glimpse into his daily life.  I always want to replace his pictures of the kids and marvel at how much they have grown since the last move, but now where in the world will those pictures hang next?
     I think Sweetness and the rest of PCL will be done here in Macon with in the next three weeks or so.  We have been given no word, no instructions and only have our best guess to plan around.  I like to think this situation would unhinge even the most stable of people.  Every move we have made together has been full of uncertainty, I'm trying to remind myself of that.  We are usually packing up while still not knowing where we will be moving, but at least having two or three cities of possibility.
        Right now we are not packing and going on as if we still live here.  Let me explain: Turner started baseball last night.  Why on earth would we have signed him up if we know we are done here in  Macon?  Well the kids and I aren't done here it seems.  I have not "broken up" with Macon.  This is my silly way of explaining the complex emotional process of letting go of a place that up to this point I have fought to make feel like my home.  It's a process, it creeps up slowly.  The last day of summer I said goodbye to going to the pool, knowing I would never see it again.  It's little things that people mention, "Next year we'll do this again..." about BB Q's, summer camps, get togethers, that I just smile and nod but inside I know we won't be here for.  I've been in the process of breaking up for a while now.  I have to do it to be at peace, and now Macon and I making up.  I am going to drive through the clouds of cherry blossoms again, I think my kids will get to swim with their friends for one more summer, I'm being tantalized with keeping most of what is wonderful about living here.   But what about my Sweetness?  What about my best friend and her daughters who I love like my family?
     My friend Dana gave me a life line.  She saw me struggling with a situation bigger than my capabilities and handed me Streams in the Dessert.  It has been rocking my world ever since.  I'm not sure if I am understanding each mornings lesson, but I am hearing what I need from each.  It isn't a flowery, lengthy devotional that plays up only Gods love and that your life will be all sunshine and roses because you believe.  This book is showing me that waiting, trials and the blows that life gives you are like strikes from a chisel.  My sculptor has to strike blows to shape me into what he means for me to be.  Waiting while not knowing can be a testimony.  Waiting itself is not punishment, it is an opportunity to listen, a chance to show faith.  I am struggling to find the balance of praying like a child, petitioning God with my hearts needs, and believing that what I have asked for in prayer because I believe will be mine.  I guess this whole faith thing is far more complex than I could ever hope to understand.  I am trying to know that the lack of information we have about our future is not a lack of God.  He loves me, He knows where and when we are going, and just because He hasn't given me a sign or showed me the path we will go down does not mean He won't, it just means I may not be ready to see it yet.
       My heart is hopeful today.  I'm still scared of the day Brad calls to tell me when he'll be leaving.  I'm in denial that my West by God Virginia coal miners daughter is packing her house and getting ready to move and  taking two little blond pieces of my heart with her.  Maybe I am supposed to learn what it feels like when someone leaves.  I am always the one to leave my friends, I've never felt it from the other side.  I am usually wrapped up in my own ordeal of relocating, and sad because I am leaving my whole life, I've never had to go through my best friend moving on and leaving me.  Is this what I need to learn?  Is God trying to teach me how to be a better friend?  I have no idea.  Is my husband leaving to work in another country going to show me how to be a better wife?  I hope so, I hope they are lessons.  If it's a lesson it means there is life to be lived on the other side of the lesson.  We will all make it through this, even if right now it feels hopeless.  I'm ready to rip this band aid off.  Just get he hurt over with, but I am meant to wait. I will be repeating "Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed." over and over.  I need to have better faith.  God has heard me, He knows when to tell us what we should know.  He knows my heart, and when it needs to love more and love better.  He keeps cramming people in my life that I didn't expect.  He keeps giving me family where ever I land and still I question Him and His timing.  I am learning to Yet Have Believed. 
    

Dirt and Sweat

    I am clearly in a funk, and not sure how to get out of it.  I don't write much when I'm happy, I'm not trying to get dialogue out of my head when I am happy.  When I am pissy I pour things out hoping to make room for the happy to come back.  I wish I ran.  I always think that if I liked to run I could go for a long run and clear my head.  Alas, I hate running.  I wish I was a shopper, I could go loose myself in a store and zone out but that's not me either.  If I were a guy I would go out and pick fights, punch out my frustration.
     I need dirt and sweat. I need to work myself hard enough to tire myself out.  I don't know if I found the gym or the gym found me, but it is as holy as any cathedral in my mind.  I can push and grunt and move weight til I feel better.  My favorite movie quote is from Legally Blond  "Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people don't shoot their husbands, they just don't."   Elle Woods was on to something.  I work out to be a better mother and wife. I have a lot of mean in me.  I need to exercise my demons, its the only way they let me sleep.  Right now my steady work out just isn't enough.  I need dirt under my nails, an aching back, and sweat, lots and lots of sweat. 
    I raked leaves for four hours today.  I bagged twenty-two bags of leaves today, and it felt good.  I need to quiet my head, shut down all that is driving me mad.   My life feels out of control, no I don't know when I'm moving, no I don't know where I'm moving or if my husband will move with us.  This lack of control really sets me off.  So if I run out of leaves at my house, I may show up in your yard.  What I wouldn't give for a downed tree and an axe.
      Some of my happiest and most comforting memories are full of dirt and sweat.  I am six or seven years old walking barefoot down just plowed  rows of our garden.  I follow behind my Dad, he pokes planting holes in the top of the rows and I count out three seeds and drop them in then cover them with dirt.  It's hot and smells like fresh earth, and all is at peace in my life.  I am a fourteen year old girl and I work for my Dad surveying.  I have my own machete, I know how to sharpen it and what angle to swing it to cut a line through Louisiana thickets and briar patches.  We leave at day light and work til dusk.  It smells like tree bark, sweat, and hot musty air trapped in thick woods.  Saturdays are my favorite day of the week because I get to work and spend the day with my dad.  At the end of every work day I appreciate money and baths more than I ever thought I could, and all is at peace in my world.  I am a sixteen year old and I am at church during the summer, I am cutting the shrubs and hedges from around the church, raking and hauling off limbs.  Standing outside of the church knowing that its beauty, for most, is held on the inside where light streams through stained glass. But what I need most is the outside, the work, the feeling of sun burnt shoulders and a tiredness earned through hard work, and all is at peace in my world.
     Today I tackled my front yard, maybe tomorrow I will start on the back yard.  Maybe I'll sleep good tonight.  Maybe between the gym this morning, and the time spent cleaning out yet another closet, all added to the wondrous work of raking leaves maybe it's all enough to tire me out. 
     Thanks Dad for always letting me work with you, thank you for never treating me like a girl, thank you for letting me try to keep up with you.  Thank you for teaching me the value of dirt and sweat.  Sometimes the only way I can handle myself isn't by talking, it's by shutting out the world and working, thank you for showing me how.



It's Just One Summer in Phoenix...

   When Brad and I got married there wasn't much work to be found in Louisiana.  We got married on December twenty-ninth, and by April he was on his way to  a job in Phoenix, AZ.  I really didn't want him to go.  I was in school and had never thought about moving away from my family, but we were married and he was my new family.  So we talked and he told me "Just come on out here.  It's just one summer in Phoenix."  So I have been living one endless summer in Phoenix for ten years now.  I wouldn't go back and change the path we've been on.  We have had to rely on each other in a way I don't think we would have if we had stayed in Louisiana.   I have never regretted stepping into my one summer in Phoenix. 
      The end of Sweetness' job is here in Macon.  We've known since we got here that February 2012 would be the close of this chapter.  But I am having a really hard time because there doesn't seem to be a next page written.  We are living in limbo and it's very uncomfortable.  I have tried not to worry about where and when  we will be moving for most of our stay here.  But February is just two weeks away, I can hold the worry off no more.  Brad will close this job out, so he may be here as long as March, but then what?  We usually have somewhere to start thinking about moving to, hear of jobs, and have cities to look up on line and start learning about.  But I don't have a city to start piling hopes on to this time.  There aren't rumors of jobs in other parts of the US, there are only goodbyes being said to friends leaving for Canada.
      I am more than willing to move to Canada with my husband, that is not the problem.  The problem is the jobs going on aren't ones your family  comes with you to.  Brad tries to keep me from worrying, he told me "It's just a few months in Canada".  I can't hear that from him.  I want to stay in my summer in Phoenix.  I want to see him every night, pray and eat at the same dinner table, listen to him read bedtime stories to the kids and lay down next to him every night.  Our life is not a fairy tale, we fight, we get irritated with each other, but we joke that everything is just about perfect 92% of the time.  We are finally getting better at talking to each other, he can't be sent away now.  I am trying to concentrate on being thankful he has a good job in this terrible economy, but I am selfish and childish and I want what I want.  What I want is a home, no matter how big or small, no matter in what part of the world just as long as it holds my children and my husband we will be fine. 
     Everything in me is scared to death of "Just a few months in Canada".  What if that is how it starts?  He does one four or five month job, then gets sent to another temporary job again and again.  Yes I will see him every couple of weeks, but that a family does not make.  I can't see him every day, remind him to take his vitamins, fuss at him for not eating more vegetables and all the other things I like to do that annoy him.  He won't be here to make me go to sleep, check on noises in the night, or warm my feet up when it's cold.  Marriage is not a certificate or a box checked off on a form, it's a collection of mundane and ordinary shared moments that when all thrown together become wonderful.  My favorite times are Sunday afternoons in the summer sitting on the front porch talking with the kids, or when he puts the kids to bed a little early just so we can have a few more minutes of time alone.  How do you maintain that in two different countries? 
      I know I am borrowing trouble, as my mother would say,  but there aren't any other things to fill my hopes with.  I am extremely lucky to have the girlfriends I do, they listen, encourage and help me through this.  Two of them are living this with me right now, waiting to know where their husbands will go and what path their families will take.  I am struggling to keep the days going as normal as I can.  I'm cleaning out all of our house, getting ready.  Any day now Brad could tell me he's being sent or that we are all moving.  I feel as if I am pushed to the edge of a cliff  and I am blindfolded, I know I have to go over the edge, I am just waiting on fate to push and hoping the bottom isn't too far down.    Where ever we land I hope it is still summer, I hope the warmth of  Phoenix is still with us.  I am not ready to even try just a few months in Canada apart,  I need the that imaginary sun on my skin and my Sweetness by my side.



Seven Years

  How can my sweet boy be seven?  He was just a chubby little blue eyed baby boy.

His toddler years went by too fast, he was still a baby when we had another baby.



Will she ever know how lucky she is to have him?

Mommy is selfish and just wants more time, more hugs, more cuddles before he's too big.

He is definitely all "snails and nails and puppy dog tails"

So happy birthday to the man I didn't know I needed in my life. 

Turner you are an incredible man in the making.  I can not wait to see what you become, what ever it is you will be wonderful.

  You are my heart~  Love Mom

Finding a Fountain

    There is a huge house on the way to Tate's school, and I mean it is huge.  It's all manicured with gorgeous landscaping and it has a fountain right out front.  When we first moved here it was winter and the fountain was a big frozen ice sculpture every day as I brought Turner and Tate to school.  This sparked many conversations in our car.  The kids would cheer and scream every morning as we passed the fountain, it just looked so cool with ice sickles exploding from it. 
    Turner now gets dropped off at his school and doesn't get to view the fountain every day anymore, but Tate gives daily reports.  She knows when the house is coming up, and talks to me every morning about if she thinks it will be frozen, flowing, or broken.  We've discussed how water freezes, what we think the family is like who lives in the big huge fountain house, and Turner has even told me he doesn't want to live in a house that big because I would take all day to clean it and wouldn't be able to play.
     As we drove by the fountain this week I got sad thinking about not seeing the fountain any more.  Every time we move my kids manage to begin making their own rituals to make a new place feel familiar, the fountain was a big one here in Macon.  In Cartersville is was a little gas station/BBQ joint with an ever evolving garage sale out front.  Turner would press his face to the car window and tell me what all new junk was at the BBQ emporium. 
    Routine is king at our house.  I think it's my futile attempt to bring stability in to a very unstable life.  If my kids know what to expect every day they are happy, and feel secure.  They will never know what it feels like to grow up in the same house their entire life.  I try to remember to take a picture of the outside of each house we have lived in and keep it.  One day I'll put them all in a photo book and give one each to the kids.  My memories are of the same house my parents still live in.  I go home and it's still home.  My kids won't have that but I'm trying to make sure the feeling of "home" is right where we are at the moment.  So far Turner B. has five different houses in his home file, Tater has three.  When I write that down it sounds awful, like we do nothing but pack and move.  But each of the houses is so packed full of time spent, dinners eaten together, night lights in hallways, familiar smells, Christmas mornings, and so many other memories that I barely remember the houses themselves.  My memories of my past ten years aren't a fractured and scattered collection, but a cohesive span where only the background scenery changes. 
     I've already started talking with the kids about moving.  I don't hide anything from them or sugar coat it.  They know we'll be leaving here some time next year, they know it's going to suck.  I think they also know that we will get through it.  We've started adding things in our morning prayers asking God to start getting a house ready for us in the next town.  I ask for God to get our hearts ready to meet new people and not hurt too badly for the ones we have to leave.  I'm hoping since the kids are older that they will have lots of contact with their friends through my email, Skype and on my Facebook.  Maybe it'll help, it helps me anyway.
     Tate wanted to know if there would be a fountain in our next town that we could talk about.  I told her I don't know, but that we would find other things to drive by everyday and talk about.  Maybe I'll start adding a fountain to our prayers.  It is very surprising what little things my kids will get attached to.  Junky roadside gas stations and fountains in other people's driveways.  But I will search for the next roadside interest and try to make our next house and routines feel like home, even if it means driving out of my way to look for a new fountain.