"I am no superman. I have no answers for you. I am no hero oh that's for sure, but I do know one thing, where you are is where I belong."

My thanks are extended to @Kblogger for tweeting lyrics to Dave Matthews Band's "Where Are You Going."

After yesterday's heavy post, I had no idea what to write. I don't want anything quite that heavy because, honestly, I'm STILL exhausted from writing yesterday's post. At the same time, I don't want to write about random funny things the kids said or product reviews or anything too frivolous.

That song, however, is one I listened to quite a bit during dh's deployments, so I'm using it as inspiration.

Yes, I stayed with my husband through the hell that is PTSD. I've been very open about the fact that I nearly left once. Well, twice, really, but the first time was after his first deployment to the Middle East and I didn't have this blog then.

I really do miss the man my husband once was, but I love who he has become. Yes, I liked my husband more before he was forever altered, but I admire him more now.

Where are you going
with your long face pulling down?
Don’t hide away like an ocean
But you can’t see, but you can smell
And the sound waves crash down

There was a long time after he came home when he wasn't himself at all. He lived inside his head. He still does this far more than he used to before he deployed. No, I don't like that one bit. He dealt with the physical distance by distancing himself. It's what he needed to do to cope. You can't just snap out of that after months and months, though. He's been home for years and he hasn't completely come out of that.

Yes, it leaves me feeling lonely. I've known loneliness when my husband was a world away. It's a far different type of loneliness when he's lying beside you at night, but isn't really there. I've told him, "I miss you," to his face. That is absolutely crushing.

I am no superman
I have no reasons you
I am no hero, oh that’s for sure
But I do know one thing for sure
Is where you are is where I belong

Still, he is there beside me at night. He could have decided he had no desire to stay with someone who pestered him to get help. He could have decided he had enough stress over there and could do without any from me. Family life is stressful as hell. He could have walked away. He didn't. True, he is far less patient with the kids than he was before he deployed, but every evening, you can find him reading bedtime stories to them all on one of their beds.

He does what he can. We just have to adjust our expectations of what he can do.

And above all, this line still rings very true for me,

I do know, where you go, is where I want to be.

It's been frustrating for me (and I say, "Me," not "Us" because the children don't remember what he was like before. I find that both crushing and comforting), but I've just had to be a support. I just stand by and watch. He's the one who has had to do the searching. He's the one who took the misguided drugs prescribed by the military doctors. He's the one who had visceral reactions to noises that reminded him of the desert. He's the one who still suffers physical pain.

Where are you going, where do you go?
Are you looking for answers
to questions under the stars?
If along the way you are growing weary,
You can rest with me until a brighter day
It's okay. You're okay.

No, he's not the same. He is better than he was in the months following his homecoming. Maybe some day he'll be more like the man I married over a decade ago. He's not the same, but he is "Okay." We're okay. Yes, I do mourn who he was and I feel lonely now and then, but I love that man! I love our life. Don't let my melancholy posts fool you. I love that man with so much intensity that it's overwhelming. We share a life. We share understanding. We share a deep love.

Tell me where are you going, where do you go?
Where? Let's go.

Veterans' Day: Every time we say, "Good bye," you're frozen in my mind as the child that you never will be again.

First and foremost, I present my previous ramblings about Veterans' Day.

I've always taken issue with the use of the phrase, "Happy Veterans' Day." There is no such thing!

I don't often let myself think about how being a veteran has changed my husband. On this day, though, there is no hiding from it. Last night was one of the rare nights when I let myself break down and cry about how becoming a veteran has changed him. He, however, didn't notice I was upset. He doesn't anymore. If he did, he didn't say anything about it. He doesn't do that either anymore.

The changes in him caused by PTSD as a result of his deployments go by largely unnoticed. Every once in a while, though, I'm painfully aware of how very different he is. Last night was one of those nights.

When he deployed, I stood there in tears clutching small children watching as my husband filed onto a bus and pulled away for the airport on two different occasions. The first time, I fell to the ground screaming crying while I clutched two toddlers--each arm around one. A mother I had never met came up to me, said nothing, but hugged me tightly. I cried as my husband was taken away. I had no idea that I would never see that same man again. I worried that he would never come back alive. I had no idea he could return, but so very very changed.

I stood at the airport, not once, but twice and ran to him when he came home, but the arms that held me tentatively belonged to a man completely altered by war. Even after therapy and drugs, he's not the man I married. I can never express how grateful I am that he survived those deployments. I worry that some will think I'm being whiny and ungrateful. I am so very thankful that he is alive. I have Sheheyanu-ed many many times. Still, I mourn for the man he was.

I love this man. Despite the hell we went through, I love this man. I have a new respect for this man who came home and was willing to work through these problems not once, but twice. But you know what? I loved the man he was too. I liked that man far more.

I miss the man who would rub my back in bed. I miss the man who would randomly reach out and hold me. I miss the man who was more aware of the world around him. I miss the man whose main interaction with his children was talking to them or playing with them rather than screaming at them. I miss the man who had enough patience to deal playfully with his children.

When TheBaby was born earlier this year, I saw glimpses of just how sweet and gentle my husband once was. He cooed at her. He held her and refused to put her down saying, "The others had to be without me for so long. She doesn't have to, so I don't want to make her."

With the others, he has very little patience. Yes, he's a good father and he loves them dearly, but he can't deal with them the way he used to. The "War,"stomped all over anything remotely resembling patience that he once had. It takes very little to annoy him. I find myself pleading with the kids, "Please don't even ask Daddy. You know how he gets."

Our poor son has it the worst of all. Dh was gone for TheBoy's first year and you can absolutely see the detachment. They butt heads a lot and dh often has no idea how to parent him. TheBoy is a good kid. He's smart and sweet and very stubborn. Dh adored him as a baby, but by missing so much of our son's first year, it created a rift.

After the first war-time deployment, when dh came home to our twins, they were initially a bit timid, but in only a matter of moments, they excitedly, "Daddy! Daddy-ed," at him. With our son, I placed him in dh's arms and while TheBoy didn't fuss, he obviously didn't know who that man was. TheBoy was the only one of our children for whom "Dada," wasn't one of the first words (it was both the twins' first word). When he did start saying it, it meant, "Telephone," because that's all he knew of his daddy.

I feel badly complaining because my husband is still a great man. He parents. He helps at home. He supports me in our decisions. He's generally a nice guy. But you know what? The man I married was even better. The man I married was gentle. This man is gruff. The man I married was sweet. This man ignores. The man I married wanted to be a more attached and loving parent than his parents were. This man calls his children, "pain in the ass" behind their backs and is more likely to yell AT them rather than talk WITH them.

This man is a veteran. The man I married is gone. I hate Veterans' Day because today, of all days, I'm thankful for my husband's sacrifice, but I'm painfully aware that I traded the wonderful man who was my husband for this man who is so very changed--this veteran.

The title is from this song.

Husbands say the darnest thingsregarding our childhood animated heroes

My husband complained about our collection of kid videos (yes, VHS tapes. The DVD player is being fickle). He made some comment about the choices being terrible. To which, I replied, "Jem is NOT terrible." He then said, "I don't like her, even if she is truly outrageous."

Nice kids, nice kids, what cha gonna do? What cha gonna do when they come for you?

So often, we hear about the bad kids. At playgrounds, our eyes are drawn to the kids who yell, scream and kick. When someone wrongs your child, our mama sense go into over-drive. When we watch the news, we see the ones who made wrong choices, often they're so wrong that we cannot even imagine how that decision came to be.

Let's not let the bad kids eclipse the sweet ones. The nice ones may pass unnoticed, but they're out there and for that, I'm so thankful.

My friend came to visit recently. I hadn't seen her kids in years, but they were even more lovely than I remembered. They were sweet, funny, friendly, polite and self-assured.

There's a large family at shul that was formed through a series of adoptions. These children all came from vastly different circumstances and countries. And these kids are WONDERFUL. The 16-year-old boy, having grown up surrounded by other children, is amazing with younger kids. He worked for their Sunday school class and he's a counselor at camp. Both of my daughters insist they're going to marry him. His sister is about 22 and one of the sweetest people I know. When I took the kids to an event last week and the big kids weren't playing along, she came to get them and dance with them. She gladly scooped up TheBoy so that my arms were free. There are other brothers and sisters who are very nice, but those two come to mind immediately. When considering moving away, that family is one of the reasons I don't want to go. When we do move, I plan on writing a letter to them all to tell them that.

Another friend's daughter grabbed the phone to speak to Girl2 when she was having a difficult time. That friend tried to help calm Girl2 down. She was so sweet and caring. She's a few years older than my girls, but that has never bothered her. She's always willing to play with my girls and she never speaks down to them. I love that kid (and her mom who is equally amazing).

Then there are random kids that we never get to know well, but are lovely none-the-less. These are the kids who immediately come up to my kids and ask to play, the ones who hold the door open or are very polite.

I've said this once before, but I think we should all challenge ourselves to not only notice the good kids, but also to make them aware of our attention. When a child holds the door for you, make sure you let his/her parents know that he/she did it and that you appreciate it.

Happy happy joy joy

• Coming soon to a theatre near you: Fraggle Rock, the Movie.
• The 29 day giving challenge
• This morning, I caught the last few minutes of The Littles on the CW. I didn't know it was currently on t.v. I haven't seen it since I was a kid.
  

In My Garden Grows a Tree

In my garden
grows a tree,
Dances day
And night for me,
Four in a bar
Or sometimes three
To music secret
As can be
Nightly to
Its hidden tune
I watch it move
Against the moon,
Dancing to
A silent sound,
One foot planted
In the ground.
Dancing tree,
When may I hear
Day or night
Your music clear?
What the note
And what the song
That you sing
The seasons long?
It is written
Said the tree,
On the pages
Of the sea;
It is there
At every hand
On the pages
Of the land;
Whether waking
Or in dream:
Voice of meadow-grass
And stream,
And out of
The ringing air
Voice of sun
And moon and star.
It is there
For all to know
As tides shall turn
And wildflowers grow:
There for you
And there for me,
Said the glancing
Dancing tree.
From Collected Poems for Children by Charles Causley

Ima on and off the bima's recent post inspired me to post this.

It's Tu B'shevat. We went to a Tu B'Shevat seder yesterday and it was lovely. As part of the seder, we read a slightly different version of the story Ima posted.

Honi came across an elderly man planting a carob tree with his grandson. Honi laughed at the man and said, "Silly old man, do you really think you'll live long enough to enjoy the fruit of your labor?" The man replied, "I eat today from my grandfather's tree." Honi then fell into a deep sleep. 70 years later, he awoke to find a huge carob tree and an elderly man tending it. Honi asked, "Are you the same man I saw planting this tree long ago?" The man replied, "No, that was my grandfather."

And now, I'll share two stories about trees.



With our ice storms last year, many trees were lost. One of my friends lost this tree in her back yard. That was the tree she, her husband and their son planted 8 years ago in honor of the baby daughter they lost. She was still born.

Here's a happier story for you.
This is why I love the Honi story so very much. I have lived it.

My grandfather was plant crazy. He planted trees all over the property. I was lucky enough to grow up in the same house where he had lived. So even though he died just before my 7th birthday, I grew up with evidence of him all around me. Time and weather have destroyed all but the one that stands in front of my parents' house. I played under the shade of all of those trees, but especially that one in the front. As a child, I studied its branches from my parents' bedroom window. I remember the times I tried in vain to climb that trunk. It has grown over the years, so now, when I visit, I can see the bright green leaves from the front door. That tree has been there through my father's childhood, mine and now, my children's. I have a deep affection for that tree. Its roots and mine are intertwined.