The Pants

     One of the things I love about living in Paraguay is having household help.  Please understand sometimes it is actually more work to have her around than it is to not have her here.  There have actually been days when she has not come to work for one reason or another and I do a little happy dance.  It is a day I can lay around the house watch anything I like on TV and eat junk food.  But all of that is for another blog.
     Most of the time it is very nice to know that first thing in the morning dishes will be done, beds will be made and floors will be mopped.  One thing however that I will not let her do (which drives her crazy might I add) is wash the clothes.  There are a plethora of reasons I do not let her wash clothing, when she washes I have to replace clothing more often, the uses laundry soap by the cup, she often washes dry clean only stuff with Levi's, she washes every single day so often it is only 3 things in the washing machine, etc.  But one of the biggest reasons is I do it is because, I don't mind doing it and it feels like it is something I still "do" for my family. 
     Since my husband left for Afghanistan we have moved houses.  So the house has a weird feeling in it, it is a place he has never lived, or even step foot in.  When I moved in, all of his cloths went into the corner of one of the closets and that door is never opened.  I sleep on the other side of the bed because it is closer to the kids.  I use up most of the space in the house.  But there is this one pair of pants.
     Every time I wash the laundry there is one pair of my husbands pants that are at the bottom of the pile.  At first I didn't wash them because they have to be washed separately and I just had too much laundry to do to wash a single item.  But now I do not wash them because it means he must be coming home.  My goodness he still has laundry undone here, of course he will be home.   
     I know that this line of thinking is silly and clearly his dirty pants have no actual bearing on him coming home, but it is still my thing I need to do for him.  It is my unfinished business and I need that.  So call me crazy, or call me lazy, but Honey, I still have your laundry in the hamper and I can't wait until I have another pair of pants in the hamper so I don't have to wash them separately.

Three and a half months down..... eight and a half to go. 

Sounds of the Herat Attack from Paraguay

It is a little after midnight and my phone rings waking me up and I think, "He does know it is midnight, right?"
I pick up the phone and I can hear a lot of noise and my husband say to me, "I'm alright.  I need you to say it back to me, I'm all right."
"You are alright."
Then it hits me...something is not right.  Suddenly the noise in the background becomes all that I can hear.  I hear people yelling, I hear panic. Then I hear my husband again... "We have been attacked, but I'm alright."
I immediately pick up my cell phone and start looking for news.  I hear him say words like, "air support," "bomb," "communications down," and "troops," but all I can see are images of Bengazi in my head.  And then like a bolt of lightening the fear of losing the most amazing man I have ever known, my life, shoots through my body.  Tears begin to flow, and my own panic sets in, because I know that he is not the guy hunkered down in the safe room, behind the blast proof walls.  He is the guy making sure everyone gets to those rooms, he is the guy helping with the guard force to make sure the embassy is not over run, he is the guy with the gun.
Our conversation lasted less than 4 minutes, just long enough for me to know that the shooting had stopped, the marines had arrived and he was alive.

After the attack on September 13th

Before

The next three hours I sat in front of my computer waiting for news sites to catch up on the news.  I talked to my loving Mother who wished more than anything that she could be here to hold my hand (and I wished for the very same thing.) I read anything and everything I could about the bombing.  Around 4 I finally went back to bed, but not before sending an email just to make sure that he was... still here.


The last 40 hours have been some of the hardest of my life.  I have cried more than not; not only because I'm so worried about my husband, but because the reality of how dangerous his job is over there sunk in.

Telling my children  and watching them go though the emotional roller coaster that I had been going through was heart breaking.  I simply cannot imagine being 9 years old and trying to process that information.  I remembered watching as my amazing brother-in-law who at 9 years old learned that his father was going to die, and I feel so much gratitude in my heart that I did not have to have that conversation with my son.

We are still continually praying for his safety and the safety for all of those in that part of the world.  I am especially grateful for the military who were sent to guard the consulate while my husband works, who risk their lives to protect the lives of others.  And I am grateful to the spouses and children of those military members for their sacrifice.  I know that sacrifice; and I know it is often overlooked.

I ask that you please pray for the families of those who lost someone that day.  I know they were not American but none-the-less they died in the service of our country.  I will be forever grateful to those men who did their job with such honor and integrity.

And we continue to pray for the safe return of all of those serving to protect our great nation, no matter which corner of the earth they are doing it in.

Day One of our Unaccompanied Tour

Well, July 9th came much faster than any of us was ready for.  Our two weeks together was full of doctors appointments, birthday parties and family reunions.  Not to mention those last minute trips to the store to get those last minute needs.  Of course if I had had my way I would have spent every minute relaxing on a beach somewhere with the hubby and kids.  But that is never what our last few days before he leaves are like. 

The morning he left he made sure to give the kids their school year blessing, and when it was my turn and the tear started running down my face, Eli crawled up on my lap and said, "What wrong?" while prying my eyes open so I could seen him.  That little one is going to be the light that keeps us all laughing. 

Emma, Eli and I took the hubby to the airport.  We were running a tad late and the security line was forever long so what is usually a 30 minute hug at the airport turned into a total parking time of 17 minutes.  Isaac decided that he could not bear to send his daddy off at the airport one more time so he said his good byes at home.  It was hard for me to leave him behind with my mom, knowing that he was going to go through that good bye pain alone, but I had to respect that he was figuring out how to deal with the stress for himself. 


The airport brought many tears and dreams about Christmas.

Saying good-bye is hard, but it was even harder to watch my children say good-bye to their dad, and watching my husband say good-bye to his kids.  None of this is fair, but we will make the best of it and try to make some memories along the way. 

Church Calling --- the what?

On Sunday we arrived at church (late as usual-- but to be fair it starts at 8:30) and headed to our classes. While Shawn was in Priesthood and I was in Primary we were summoned by one of the counselors in the Stake Presidency.

 This is what we hear: "Buenos Dias, something something hasta mañana mummble, somthing importante que something, somthing something something servir something parte something, something fuerte something."

 I look at my sweet husband and he looks at me and I say, "I didn't get any of that did you?"

 "NOPE"

 The man repeats again what he wants and at the end I look at my husband and say, "I think they are calling you to be the first counselor in the bishopric."

My sweet husband feeling overwhelmed by the HUGE language barrier says, "When do you need to know?"

"Sometime before sacrament."

With about an hour to come to terms with this new calling we sat, talked, prayed and cried. Okay I cried. And now I will sit by myself during church, kiss my Tuesday nights good bye and probably have to stop cursing. But I will pray for strength... and the gift of tongues and enjoy the service.