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Military wives get a crash course in human behavior whether they want it or not. It comes with the territory. I have dealt with anticipatory grief, loss, saying good-bye, saying hello, saying good-bye again, and saying hello again. Within the confines of all of our military life experiences, I have learned something new about myself and about my husband as well. If you pay close attention to the details of readjustment you may see quirks you didn’t notice before. It’s better to notice them and embrace them, than to ignore them and let them grate at you slowly over time.

I remember fondly when Mr. Hooah! had come home last year. He was already through the first half of his officer training when he broke his leg. It was a very severe break and required surgery and a metal plate to correct it. After surgery we had to make the painstaking decsion to either stay in and rehab as an enlisted soldier or chapter out and come back when he was rehabilitated. OCS does not have the facility to rehab any soldier like AIT units have. Their HHC is very temporary. He chose the latter and is currently preparing to accept a direct commission in our local reserve unit.

it’s been several months now since Mr. Hooah! hit the front door, and believe it or not, I am not ready to pack his duffel bag already! I was a little worried about how well the reunification would go, and what bumps in the road we would hit. It has been relatively smooth going. We are very blessed to see most things eye-to-eye, and the matters in which we don’t are usually small enough to look over in the long run.

My big concern was how it would be to have him home after several months of my running the show solo. It’s hard sharing the driver’s seat when you have had to live in hyper-drive mode for months. I was very used to late nights, early mornings, doing all of the finances, keeping up the house, pampering the Princess, and running the high schooler everywhere. All day, every day (except Sundays), and all alone. I didn’t realize that I had shut off a small area of myself in order to cope with the daily grind. It’s a part of me that did easily reopen once I had my husband home.

The first couple of months were a lot like a honeymoon. It was ideal and cozy. We could hold hands, touch one another, and steal a quick kiss anytime we wanted. It was an easy period of time because it still felt to both of us that he was home on a visit. Shortly after that the quirks started coming out, but I think we are handling them all quite well. I do credit the fact that I lived everyday, while he was gone, as if he were coming home tomorrow. He was gone physically, but he was still the husband and father in this home. I know my husband well enough to function for both of us for a period of time. I know what he would say and think in certain situations, and I acted with that knowledge accordingly.

Sometime around Christmas last year after a month of being home, my husband came to me with a very concerned look. “Honey, where are all of my clothes?” I looked at him kind of puzzled and said “I’ve put them in your drawers and hung them on your side of the closet.” He was perplexed that I had, as he put it, “assigned him drawer space and not informed him of its location.”

He was very relieved to hear that his clothes were in a safe location. I think he had a fleeting moment of fear that I had burned his Army PT clothes that he likes to wear around the house. I can’t honestly say that the thought never crossed my mind, but I do digress. I just washed them and put them away. I had a hard time even getting him to surrender his laundry. I think he was afraid that it would wind up smelling like lavender or jasmine (which it has, by the way). When I was finally able to convince him that I seriously do not mind doing his laundry with mine and Emma’s, I began to realize that he had not fully unpacked yet. Our closet is stacked with tightly rolled clothing. Everything neatly ordered, neatly rolled and ready for inspection. It was at this point that I realized that no one can go through 6 months or longer steeped in TraDoc and come out it unaffected. I know that’s why they call it “indoctrination” but geez oh pete!

I am learning to overlook the locker in my closet, and he is willing to live with shirts that smell like lavender (well sorta anyway). It’s one of those quirks that makes you smile and shake your head. My husband had to chapter out so he could properly rehab his hip and still have a shot at commissioning, but a part of his heart and mind are still in the Army to this day.

The Army as a way of life, as a form of identity, is something that I didn’t understand or “get” before Mr. Hooah! joined the ranks. It creeps into your blood, it settles in your bones (and sometimes even breaks them!), and it captures your heart and mind.

The essence of who my husband is has not changed. His faith and core values dovetail well with the military, but I can see the changes more in measures he takes and his perceptions of civilian life. We’ll have to wait and see where this path leads us. I am here, my seat belt is firmly buckled, and my willingness to travel down an unknown road is in check. I am ready to roll.

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