Well, my other half has been gone for two months. Tomorrow, he returns. I'm here to tell you, it's a good thing.
I'm not an incompetent person. Military life is what it is and I have adjusted accordingly. I'd be lying if I didn't say that the deployments are, on occasion, a relief. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that. I wish I could say that simply missing my husband and the comfort of a complete family unit are my chief complaints when he is away. It's not the case, though. And this particular deployment has been trying in the extreme. It wasn't all bad, I can't say that. There were some definite high points, but my limits have been tested. When life shows her teeth, I withdraw. It may not be healthy, but it's a fact.
And that's my excuse. The reason for my absence. I'm not quite comfortable enough to relay the events that have been so cataclysmic, but they were such that even my need for social interaction was severely crippled. I have however, in my way, dealt. Am dealing. And tomorrow, Mr. Sprite will return. The world is once again tilted at approximately 23.5 degrees and has resumed orbiting the sun. Tad bit melodramatic, aren't I?
Let me tell you about the good stuff.
I am no longer in the employ of Narcissus. I was recommended for a position (something that has never happened to me before and was an incredible boost to my ego) at a local ophthalmologist's office. I emailed a resume, met with the office manager and the HR manager and was hired in short order. So now, I am officially a Ophthalmologists Medical Assistant (in training). This job is awesome! My co-workers are, so far, fantastic.
My daughter plays hockey. Her team this year was not a good one. They won only one game and tied another. The end of the season tournament was designed in such a way that even my daughters team could win a medal. I'm not sure how that works, haven't tried to figure it out. It's not the sport I enjoy, it's watching my kid have a blast doing it. Anyway, after putting a little more than 800 kilometers on my car over 3 days of the Easter weekend with my son and my father (who visited for a week, one of the highlights) in tow, the last game was a welcome sight. Strangely, our girls were to play a team that had beat us 15-0 at the beginning of the year. We took our seats in the stands to bear witness to the trouncing that was about to take place. But our girls rallied! 3 periods passed and no one scored. Everyone played well, but our goalie and defense played their asses off (my daughter plays defense. Surprised? I think not). Officials decided the two teams would play a 3 on 3, 10 minute overtime period. My daughters defense duo was chosen to play the second lineup (is that what it's called? I'm not concerned enough to research it; you get what I'm saying). I was proud. And so they played the overtime period and still no one scored! The officials then decided a shootout was in order. Each team picked 5 girls with the best shot and my little girl (not so little, she'll be 14 in a month) was chosen! I was bubbling over with pride at this point. And my father, who was happy just to be able to see her play, had a perma-grin from ear to ear. I should also point out that the tension in the arena was palpable. Our team, a team that had done so poorly all season, played hard that day. Harder than they'd ever played and the cheers in the stands for our girls was deafening. The game they had played so far was vindication enough, victory wasn't even necessary. But our hope was renewed and we shouted every encouragement we could. Ten girls were lined up against the boards waiting for their turn to shoot the winning goal. The opposing team got the first shot. It was evident that the players knew the stakes; formerly sure footed and quick skaters looked like it was their first time on skates; the best puck handlers were rarely able to control the puck (one of best forwards took a shot that went about 10 foot wide of her mark). Our third shooter scored! The crowd literally went wild! But the other team still had a chance. Then, with my daughter at center ice and them with one more shot, my daughter pushed off. I will be honest and say the following description contains it's fair share of parental pride, but it doesn't make it any less accurate. She handled the stick and puck like they were God given appendages, she skated like she had been born to do it. She took the shot and I marveled at how picturesque she looked with one foot slightly off the ice and the stick held out in front of her. I looked at the net. Did it go in? The force of the puck hitting the back of the net over the goalies right shoulder told me it had! My girl skated around the back of the net and came out with her stick high above her head, cheering when her team mates piled on top of her. The weight of 16 girls confirming she had just secured the bronze metal for them. And in the stands I was surrounded by parents who were jumping and hugging. I screamed cheers so loud I could barely talk the next day. My father looked like the cat that caught the canary. Even my son, who abhors hockey, jumped and shouted. It was truly amazing.
Like I said there were some high points.
