He is Home + I am back.

Dear Amy,

Hello again. So sorry for the time lapse I've allowed to pass before responding! As you know we had a very big week in between your last letter and now. Actually two very big weeks. It all started with a homecoming of epic proportions and ended with a lot of vomit. (TMI?)

But first of all, thank you so much for your letter. While I was awaiting the arrival of my better half, I was a bundle of nerves and your words touched my heart. I agree wholeheartedly. Deployments are awful. Emotionally draining, physically exhausting, and you never feel quite right. But that homecoming. Oh man. One of the best feelings you will ever experience.

That moment of waiting. 

Our day was great. I was so nervous all day. I didn't eat much, I didn't think much, I didn't do much. I went for a run. I kept my kid alive. And I lived in this tiny world in my head that was altogether chaotic and calm. I went through motions while watching myself from the outside, and then it was time to go. Time to pick up my husband.

We watched all four planes fly overhead and my heart started pounding. Harry was confused, but loved being outside and people watching. I didn't see anyone. I was just waiting to see those planes land and taxi around the corner. I knew Jon was in the last plane and it felt like an eternity for those propellors to stop moving and people to start filing out of the plane.

My eyes scanned the little, uniformed people as they excited looking for my little uniformed person. The second I saw his walk, I knew it was him. I couldn't see his face, his name tag, his hair, but I could see his walk. And I knew the second that he saw us. He started walking straighter, faster, with a purpose. As he got closer I found myself frozen to the spot (which surprised me, I thought I'd start running as soon as I could) and scanning his face. Looking for changes. His hair was longer. He was thinner. But his smile was still his. As big as I've ever seen it, but it was still Jon. 10 feet away from us, he put down his bags and I jumped into his arms.

The most amazing feeling. I hadn't held anyone's hand in 5 months and you'd never realize how weird that was unless you did it.

You know that moment. It's like the whole world doesn't exist, just you two (well three). Harry was a little stand-offish. He didn't want Jon to hold him. You could tell he recognized him, but was confused why he wasn't in the computer. Don't worry, he warmed up to him in just a few short minutes. I was so happy to finally, finally after 5 long months, have him home. All I wanted to do was to drag him to the car and go home. I didn't want to go on vacation, I didn't want to listen to his commander talk about all the good they had done. I wanted to be at home with my two boys. To sit on the floor and talk. To hold hands.

And since he's been home, it's been great. Just great having him home. Great washing dishes or vacuuming or going for a walk, because Jon's doing all of that with me. In the past two weeks, we've gotten into a daily routine, we've thrown a birthday party for Harry, we've hosted house guests, we've celebrated my birthday, we've taken a trip to New Orleans, and we've all gotten sick. And today he returned to work. All is normal again, in a way. In another way, it's very different.

But I'm so happy he's home. Life feels right again.

How are you my friend? Can you believe it's February? Any goals for the month? I've got to start organizing. My house, my mind, my calendar, my life. I need to.

xoxo, Mallory

To you during this very emotional week...

To my dear Mallory,

As you know, I wrote you a different letter. A sucky letter. What I meant to write was a heartfelt, yet level-headed response to your letter about homecomings. Unfortunately, as soon as I started really thinking about our deployments, the letter turned into this powerfully depressing babbling of thought and emotion and crap. Total crap.

Because deployments are crap.

How was your homecoming? How are you? How is Harry? How is Jon? How are you guys? What is your life like now? How are you the same? How are you different?

I just left a comment on your post. And I can promise you I am still crying; I just love your little family so much. Like I said in my comment, I wouldn't wish a deployment on my worst enemy--whether deployed military member or spouse. I just wouldn't. As a caring person, I couldn't wish a deployment on anyone. A deployment is, in my opinion, the weirdest, most effective form of torture. If a country ever needs to break someone, deploy the person they love most to a war zone. It will break them into a million pieces.

Simultaneously, I count military families as the luckiest families. I've never been able to describe the feeling that washes over you right before grabbing your formerly deployed spouse, the love of your life. It is intense. It is so intense it is practically mind-numbing. But it can't numb you because your heart is going a million miles per hour, while also taking the most deliberate, pounding beats against your chest. You want to cry. You want to scream. You feel like your legs might give out. And there's so much happening at one moment--other families being reunited, taking in your spouse's appearance [Aaron always returns looking incredibly different; he spends too much time in the weight room], maybe talking to each other, maybe making weird squealing noises [me].

It never feels weird being reunited. It feels weird falling back into daily routines. Dinner seems so basic. So important yet so insignificant. Taking the dog for a walk seems ridiculous. Worrying about bills seems like a non-worry. Getting gas seems laughable. The daily routines are necessary, but seem so strange after months of separation.

 Only an hour after he got home from Afghanistan.

A month and a half after returning from Afghanistan and a month after he stopped cutting his hair.

Aaron always wants to shower as soon as he walks in the door. And because it's been months, I usually sit on the bathroom floor with Hurley [Chuck has yet to endure a deployment], talking to him and joking and asking questions and reliving the reunion. After returning from Afghanistan, we went out to dinner with friends. Aaron was so exhausted after 48 hours of traveling [he doesn't sleep on planes], that he almost fell asleep mid-sentence. I kid you not. I picked Aaron up at the airport at 12:30AM after his deployment to Kuwait. We got home around 2AM. He fell asleep almost immediately and I was awake until 4AM. I honestly just sat there watching him. I couldn't believe he was home. In my bed. Waking up in a sweat because I had an all-too-real dream of him being killed by a sniper might still happen, but he was home and I wouldn't have to check CNN with tears running down my cheeks to confirm it was all a dream. I could just roll over and cuddle into him.

I have a lot of opinions about deployments and their affects on military members and their spouses. Surprise, surprise. But we'll discuss those at a different time. I want to know how it's been.

How has it been since your best friend got home?

I am so happy for you. I'm still crying.

Amy

oh hey. we're still here.

Oh hi Mallory.

We took an impromptu hiatus during this holiday season and I love it. My mind has been so wrapped up in food and gifts and work and no work and dog walks and Aaron's weird schedule and sleeping that I wouldn't have been able to right a cohesive blog post/letter.

I didn't know he was going to smile, so I scowled. Merry Christmas!

Also, I messed up my shoulder at some point last week and sitting at a computer during those initial few days of pain would have been absolute torture.

First things first: YES! I would love to teach you how to knit. I have no idea when we'll have the opportunity to do this, so I suggest a Skype date. We can always hold the lesson on a Saturday during one of Harry's naps [as long as you promise to give me a peak of him sleeping because he just such a cute dreamer].

How was your Christmas?! You went on one of the most beautiful trips to see family. The photos you posted on Instagram? Beautiful. Do you love Montana? Did you explore the Big Sky area? How did Harry like the change of scenery?

We received a record player for Christmas, so we've been record hunting.

The Velvet Underground & Nico collector's limited edition colored vinyl FOR THE WIN!

As you know, I didn't go anywhere for Christmas. My job and Aaron's job wouldn't allow us to leave. It's actually kind of a sore spot for me at the moment, so we'll skip over the topic of the Dieringer's freedom. Actually, let me say this: just because we are without children does not mean we are less of a family and we should, therefore, be afforded the opportunity for leave just like everyone else.

My adorable, cuddly family.

Yeah, you heard that correctly.

Any ways. I can't wait to hear about your trip!

Your eager friend, Amy

being thankful for a year.

Mallory.

I am so glad your trip to Michigan went well. Did it make you miss Michigan more? I hope it rejuvenated you. I hope you were able to absorb some love from your family and friends. I am so happy you got some snow, too! And I am so glad that you are back.

My Thanksgiving was pretty unconventional, as it always is. Ever since marrying Aaron, our Thanksgiving has been unimpressive and very nontraditional. Year one was spent getting drunk at my cousin's house. The next year was awkwardly celebrated with Aaron's friends while he worked [one of the attendees turned out to be a former skinhead which gave me nightmares for a long time]. That third year we... God, I have no idea what we did that year. The fourth year he was traveling back to the States after a deployment and I was a bundle of emotions, as you may remember. Last year was spent with my sister! And this year I conned Aaron into picking up a pizza on his way home from work [9PM] because I had spent the entire day cleaning.

You know, now that I think about it, it was very modern-American of me.

But yes, please. Let's talk about what we're thankful for.

First, I am thankful for this crazy family that I am somehow blessed to know. Genetically and by marriage, my family is pretty incredible. Like any other family, they drive me absolutely bonkers, but I really do love them. They are selfless and over-exuberant in the love that they give Aaron and me. They teach us lessons both knowingly and unknowingly. They have infectious laughter and incredible life experiences to learn from and bear hugs that make us feel just how strongly they care for us. They make our life beautiful.

Top photo: my mom, me, Aaron. Northwest Trek.

Bottom photo: Mike (Aaron's brother) and Aaron. Museum of Flight

Secondly, I am incredibly grateful for the adventures 2013 gave our little family.

Chuck & I in the Badlands.

Third: Aaron. We discovered this year that it's a lot harder to get pregnant than they ever tell you. And I will also say that infertility has taught us more than anything else this year. It has taught us how strong we are as a couple and as individuals. Infertility has taught us communication. Infertility has taught us patience. It has taught us the limits of that patience. Infertility has taught us what anger is and what disappointment feels like. It has taught us to laugh more and to cry more freely. It has also taught me that Aaron is my man and he is mine alone. I am so happy with my decision to make him mine--babies or no.

Fourth, I am so thankful for the ability to laugh. Through the years, Aaron has taught me the beauty that is a beautifully crafted dirty joke. And I have shown him that I have been paying attention; I am an expert at delivering the surprise dirty joke. Aaron has taught me to laugh at myself. Because I can be an idiot. And I have learned to laugh at not just what Aaron says, but what he does as well. What is life without laughter? A waste. That's what I've learned.

I'm all, "Let's take a photo!" And he's like, "Okay." And I'm like, "Smile!"

And he makes that face.

Fifth, I am so, so grateful for friends. Like, incredibly grateful. I could write a book about this, but throughout this year, I have had to lean on friends for advice and laughter and hugs. All of which requires vulnerability, something I am not good at showing but something that my friends are great at receiving. I love my friends. I love the old friends I've had since I could barely walk. I love the friends I acquired in college [Mallory!]. I love the friends I have made from our moves. I love the friends I have made through the internet.

Kate Yo & I celebrating Fourth of July.

I'm getting a bit choked up. This year was a good year for growing. For learning about myself and Aaron and the world we live in.

It was a good year.

I am so thankful for you, Mallory. I think you are the person I have talked to most this year [aside from Aaron]. I'm not necessarily talking about quantity, but more so quality [even though we do talk every day]. There was a day during the beginning of the year. I was working at the art museum, guarding a gallery and speaking with patrons. I could feel something brewing under the surface all day. There was a lump in my throat and my eyes felt especially watery. I wanted very badly to find my supervisor and make up some lie about a stomach bug or an emergency. It just was not a day to be around people. I took a lot of bathroom breaks to hide in the stall and collect myself. There was no specific reason for this emotional tumult. I just was. Thoughts of babies and questioning the future and stress [always stress]. And I was sitting in this chair in front of a closed gallery. I was texting you about what was happening and you were so patient. I know you were working and probably didn't appreciate my text messages, but it was one of those days where I needed someone. I needed someone to talk me down and listen and talk me through it. And you were that person--you always seem to be that person. And I just lost it. I remember jumping up from the chair and finding a corner of the gallery where the cameras wouldn't see me, and I just broke down. And I don't know if you knew, but you never stopped texting me. You just listened. You never called me crazy. You were sympathetic, even in your inability to know how much and how badly I was hurting. A week later a box of caramels arrived at my home and you had included a note that said something like, "These are for bad days." Because you knew it wasn't a constant hurting. You understood that it tends to build up and bubble over and leave me breathless. A few weeks after that you sent me a Mother's Day card. There was a brief note on the inside that said something like, "I can't imagine how hard this day must be for you. I'm thinking of you."

Thank you so much for being so genuine and handling my vulnerability with a gentle heart. This year would have absolutely blown without you. The universe seems to have known that I needed a friend like you during all of this, and I am just so impressed that they found a friend for me who seems to get me so well.

Thank you for sticking by my side through a truly tough year. Your friendship means the absolute world to me.

Amy

My current job and a few questions.

No introductions today because you had to pee in a cup at the welcome center? I thought my life insurance exam was weird [home alone, male nurse came over, listened to me pee in a cup via bathroom door, cup was still warm when I handed it to him, yadda yadda], but I can't even. Did any of the Security Forces members notice? Or even make eye contact? Eye contact during embarrassing moments on base is the worst. Those guys are all macho and immature and sexist [I'm allowed to say this because Aaron is SFS and some of his friends... Good lord] and then to have to blatantly pee in their welcome center... How did you walk out with the cup? How do you even hide something like that?

Also, how the heck is the nurse driving around without vehicle registration?

My morning last Thursday consisted of job hunting. Still. You know, the usual. My morning this morning consisted of job hunting again. There is nothing. Nothing. Unless I'm missing some rad job search engine for non-profit professionals?

The days are too nice to be stuck inside, but I have to apply to those jobs.

Therefore: outdoor office.

My mom visited over the weekend, which was interesting only because Aaron and I have only explored so much of our new city. We explored some restaurants and a mall [Anthropologie!] and part of downtown and took the dogs for numerous walks. Oh, we also showed them around base. I know you'll understand when I say: civilians think base is the coolest place ever. Maybe better than Disney World. I mean, maybe not, but the questions and the "oohs" and the "aahs" and the exclamations and, depending on the person, the reminiscences.

My mom came bearing gifts: my Babysitter's Club series. 

It's official! Aaron and I need another bookshelf.

I know your mom visited this past weekend, how was that? And how did the baby shower go? I know you love planning parties and the like--something I try to avoid [I doubt myself too much]--was it everything you wanted it to be? I'd love to gain some insight into throwing and hosting dinner/parties and birthday events. For some reason, I over-think everything--food, drinks, decorations, times to arrive and leave, clean-up. Do I send out thank yous? Do I invite by word of mouth or text message or email or paper invite...?

Your ever-curious friend,
Amy

Being forced to grow.

Dear Mallory,

I’ve been thinking a lot about your letter. The things I hate most about the Air Force have definitely taught me some valuable lessons.

I’m extremely independent. I mean, you kind of have to be [at least to some degree] if you want to take on the military lifestyle, right? But I’m independent to a fault: I hate asking for help. I hate asking for anything. Period. Asking for help or a favor or for information or anything makes me sweat and shake and, inevitably, cry. I hate it. But when you’re alone because your husband is TDY [temporary duty] and it is January and you arrive home from work one snowy, icy day to find a pipe has burst, spewing a geyser of water all over your front lawn and you can’t get a hold of your retched landlord or his wife or his office or your husband, you cannot panic. You just can’t. What’s the point? The very least you can do is run to your grumpy neighbor’s house for some help. Even when they give you the stink eye upon opening their front door, you have to proceed with the very timid question of, “Can you please help me?” And then say a little prayer that they won’t break into your house in the dead of night knowing that you’re home alone. Because they’re grumpy and you never know what The Grumpy are going to do.

I think I have shared that story with you before…? In fact, I’m positive I have because I believe I texted you as it was happening or afterward. It was horrible. But it’s moments like those that I feel myself grow a little more. Unfortunately, those situations crop up a lot so I’m being forced to “grow” at a rate much faster than I am comfortable with. I have learned to speak my mind with even the strangest of strangers. Thanks to many an experience, it takes no effort whatsoever to tell anyone, “Do not speak to me that way.” I’m a whole heck of a lot nicer to everyone in the service industry thanks to my former jobs and Aaron’s current job. I’m a bit more honest than some are comfortable with when asked how I’m doing--I’ll just tell ya. I know exactly what to look for when I move to a new city—pit bull bans, how to obtain residency, how many museums are in the area, crime rate maps, population size, tattoo artists, Anthropologie and Ikea locations, and the biggest airport’s website. Do you feel as if you’re being forced to “grow” a lot, too? Or is that just me?

 Quieter moments I've been sure to give myself this week.

Any ways, all of this to say: I’m not the same person I was in 2009, when I moved to California to begin living my life alongside Aaron. And the Amy of 2009 was not the same Amy that kissed Aaron goodbye hours before he left for boot camp. In some ways I’m the best version of myself right now, but in other ways I’ve forgotten a bit of what makes me tick. I have learned that I want to be a librarian! And I actually want kids! And the Midwest lied because I don’t need meat and gluten in my life! And without the Air Force I wouldn’t have great friends like you. But I forgot that I need at least 45 minutes on an elliptical to kill my anxiety. I forgot that an afternoon of painting leaves me refreshed. No matter the lesson or the realization, I’m constantly learning and I’m constantly growing and I’m constantly pushed out of my comfort zone. Constantly. And Mallory, sometimes I really hate it. But sometimes I really love it, too.

What are the first questions you ask when you move? What was the hardest lesson to learn? Do you ever really feel as if you’re in your comfort zone? Do you like yourself more today than you did yesterday? I'm just curious. Sometimes I feel like the only one wading through this life as a military spouse [drama alert], so it's nice being reminded that I'm not the only one.

Amy

It's not all bad.

Dear Mallory,

It’s funny you asked for the things I like about the military. Strangely enough, quite a few people lately have shown an interest in learning about life in the military. I never know how to answer. It’s so complicated. Nothing could have prepared me for the roller coaster that is life as a military spouse. At the same time, though, if I were any different from my independent, opinionated, adventurous nature, I would crumble under the weight of this life. Do you have a way of answering the questions and interest? If you were any different, do you think you would thrive in this culture?

 That dead, rough PNW summer grass.

What do I like about the military? Not much, but I have found that, as much as moving makes my head spin, I love getting orders. I love planning out the road trip. I love hitting the road and moving into new spaces. I like exploring new cities and states. I like living within this military culture and, at the same time, adjusting to regional cultures. The Midwest is different from Southern California is different from the Pacific Northwest is different from the South. I like discovering that the desert is actually extremely cold at night and during the winter. I like watching the grass die and wither away in the Pacific Northwest climate. I’m looking forward to the South’s humidity [it’s been so long]. I like adventure.

I also like the decisions the military has forced me to make. We eloped because we didn’t know if we’d be able to have a traditional wedding. My dad wrote and led our wedding ceremony because we were married and I didn’t want to hire an officiant for my wedding. I drove my crap from MI to Edwards AFB, reserved a house on base, and flew back to MI all in a week while Aaron was in Afghanistan because we didn’t want to deal with the process days after returning from his deployment. We took regular trips to Las Vegas while at Edwards AFB because, well, when else were we going to want to visit? 

He's mine.

I like the questions that press on my psyche thanks to the military. What is the mission of each deployment base? Aaron’s job in Afghanistan restricted him to working on base—and on base only—so what did he do all day? He worked with locals; did he make any friends? In Aaron’s opinion, why do some veterans return with PTSD while others don’t? If they’re being rocket-attacked at night, what sort of precautions do they take? Was he able to eat any local faire? Why aren’t Officers allowed to work as SFS? What do all of those acronyms even mean?!

Actually, I really like that, after these 6.5 years of Aaron’s service, I’m able to understand most of the military jargon that he uses. It’s especially fun to talk to my parents about PCSing and BOP and SIM rounds and Red Man suits and TDYs and the difference between officers and enlisted and forts and AFBs, etc. I think all of it is confusing and impressive and frustrating for civilians, but this is our life.

What do you like about the military? What frustrates you? If you could change one thing, what would it be?

Amy

[If any readers have any questions or comments or concerns about life as a military spouse, feel free to leave them in the comments. We would be more than happy to answer them.]

The stresses of dreaming.

Dear Mallory,

I've been avoiding writing this letter all morning. I took my time with my make-up and hair and getting dressed. I started a load of laundry. I found all of the dogs' toys and threw them outside so their backyard experience this morning would be full of entertainment and whimsy. I refilled my coffee and decided I needed oatmeal with Craisins. Then, while I let that cool, I decided I needed to start burning through our candles. So I found our votives, placed them in the appropriate candle containers, and lit them on fire. Which meant I needed to save the wick in a rather large, ill-burning candle. And then, to prove all of this happened, I took photos of everything. Oh! Also, somewhere in there, I got all caught up on some of my favorite blogs.

Sorry if that photo of the oatmeal grosses you out...

I'm sorry for the delay.

On Friday night I said good bye to our roommate, Kate Yo. She left for Chicago early Saturday morning and ever since then our house has felt gigantic, empty, and silent. Hurley has been a little weird. We're back to doing our own dishes. I've started to realize all of this crap in our house really is ours. And yesterday, sweating profusely while wrestling with some weeds [say that 5 times fast], I cursed our large backyard and the lack of helping hands and our dogs who pee on everything [I love you so, you muttly dogs]. And while this all might sound very stupid and shortsighted of me, I really miss our roommate. I miss my sister who once lived with us and now lives 5 short miles away. I dread saying good bye to her. I miss the days of not having roommates because, had I known then how difficult these good byes would be, I wouldn't have invited them into our homes and our lives.

And while I love dreaming of the future--Australia mayhaps!--it's making me impatient. And a little bitter. I know our lives are happening now but I'd like to do what we want to do now, not what the Military wants us to do. I'm tired of making do with what we have. I'm tired of talking about "someday," and wish, instead, that "someday" was now.

And had I known the Military was going to move us again, I wouldn't have grown so attached to our house and our town and my friends. I would have stayed in the house that was repeatedly broken into. I would have stayed there, comfortably close to the large dog park and the job that I left because I thought I'd have time to change my career. I would have done so many things differently.

And I'm just so beside myself today. I'm sad. I'm angry. And I am anxious. Nothing is in my control. Nothing can be changed. I have to make life decisions based on this bitch who demands my husband's attention, moving us and deploying him and leaving us alone for nights, weeks, and months at a time. The Military is ruthless and selfish and weird and scary and avoidant. And lately I've been struggling. I've been struggling to focus on the next two years; the last two years Aaron will give to the Military. I'm pursuing my Master's out of anger. I daily go back and forth on our decision to have kids. I don't know where we should settle down once we're out [Australia, Michigan, Chicago, D.C., Florida...?]. And then there are friends like you. I just hurt for you and your little family. I wish we were neighbors so we could knock out TDYs and deployments together, but even simple things like having neighbors you like is outside of our control.

[Confession: I took another break to go outside and clean up the Miracle Grow I spilled all over the gardening table yesterday. Which meant I then had to turn the sprinkler on so as to ensure that Miracle Grow works! And then I consoled Chuck because ever since I sprayed her down with the hose after one of her many romps in the mud she's been terrified. You can't blame the girl.]

I have no idea what happened to our grass.

I've been telling everyone I'm excited about this move because I am. But I'm also scared, really stressed out, and tired. I would just like to get it over with. We're still waiting on TMO & Finance to tell us how many reimbursable days we have to move from the PNW to the South. We just discovered, in order to get a moving incentive, we have to move 500lbs of our stuff. I have no idea how we're going to cram 500lb of crap into our Jetta [this does not include our bodies or the dogs' bodies]. The earliest TMO can have our belongings in our rental is 5 days after we arrive in the South [which means they have more time to move our belongings than we do to move ourselves]. The Military is no longer paying us before the move and is, instead, reimbursing us afterwards. They just don't have the funds. Which makes me wonder, how are families--like yourself, with babies and dogs and cats and things--moving without that extra help? It's a forced move, people! What are they doing with that money? Wouldn't it be cheaper to pay us beforehand? Who's making these decisions? I imagine it's some rich, white, wealthy jerk in D.C. taking naps in his plush, leather office chair, toupee dangling precariously on his bald head, cigar staining his teeth.

[I'm sorry. I know money is a touchy subject. But it's extra touchy in the Military, and I'm just frustrated right now!]

Do you guys have TMO move you? Or do you move yourselves? What things do you love about moving? And hate? How do you say good bye? Is it a relief when you get on the road or are you terrified of what's to come? I like moving. I really, really do. It's always an adventure and I'm so happy we'll only be a day's drive from MI. But it's these upcoming weeks, before we hit the road, that I hate. Do you get antsy like I do? Do you write lists? Do you save them on your computer? Do you plan out a road trip or try to get there as fast as you can? Camp or stay in hotels? Stop at "roadside attractions" or blow past them? Do you go out of your way to see cool things like national parks and war monuments, or do you stick to a straight and narrow path?

I would do anything for that face, though.

Sorry for the ranting and raving. Wednesday's letter will be much nicer and coherent... I promise. I think I need to go outside, turn on some Girl Talk, and absorb some vitamin D.

Thank you for being such an understanding friend,
Amy

PS: In an attempt to procrastinate further, I tried to find some index cards for a project and it seems I have packed them already. If only I wasn't always such an overachiever... ["Overachiever" sounds better than "antsy" or "anxious" or "crazy."]

The End of Dreaming (Not Really) + An Update

Dear Readers,

First of all, I don't think Amy and I can thank you enough for coming to our little corner of the internet to see what we're up to. It makes us happy to have such a great community already. Make sure to comment when you feel compelled... we want to get to know you too!

This pup has lived in seven houses. He's only five years old.

I just wanted to update you all on our little puppy. I had such an amazing, supportive reaction to my letter about sending Duke to live with his grandparents for the rest of the year. I was actually a little worried about hitting "publish" on that post, because it's a very sensitive subject in our home. And, believe it or not, I was nervous that someone would have something negative to say about our situation. I should have known we'd receive only an outpouring of love and support from all of you. What a great bunch of people we're getting to know.

Anyway, Duke is doing okay. He was great the first week. It was like summer camp - he had friends to throw the frisbee with for hours upon hours. He was living in a new house where the people didn't know all the rules. He got walks and trips to the park and treats and cuddles. He was living the life. I think it's starting to sink in now that he's up there for a while. We've heard he's been testing his boundaries a bit more, chasing his tail a lot, and sitting by the door waiting for something (or someone). Most of Jon's family is at summer camp this week, so I'm hoping Duke's excitement to have them home next week will snap him out of it for a little while longer.

We miss our puppy every day. Our house feels weirdly quiet (and clean) without him. My walks are a little lonelier. But I'm 100% convinced that this is the best for him. Jon's family is loving on him something crazy, and he's getting lots of love, affection, discipline, and exercise up there. Things that would have been worn thin down here. So all in all, he's doing well. We're doing okay. But let me just tell you, that reunion is going to be so much fun. I can't wait.

This week we talked about our dreams. It was quite possibly my favorite topic so far. It's so much fun to just whisk yourself away in your own head, isn't it? What do you dream about? Attainable, unattainable, or anywhere in between. I love hearing about other peoples dreams... and encouraging them to GO FOR IT. So you. Yes, you. Tell me your dream, and I'll encourage the heck out of you.

And here is the weekly roundup of links we need to share.

• a super sweet duo, the kids of a Canadian photographer I adore.
• something to remember while we spend our days dreaming.
• I totally want to make one of these for Amy to thank her for encouraging my dreams this week.
• what Jonathan gets to look forward to when he gets home.
• my all time favorite picture of my boys.
• Amy's doctor gave her a headache of a potential diagnosis yesterday, so after rushing home to research gluten and gluten-free recipes and the difference between Celiac's Disease and Non-Celiac Gluten Sensitivity [NCGS] she discovered this gem. 
•  Amy is in the middle of reading Jessica Alba's book The Honest Life and it's scaring her! So she did us the favor and checked out one of Alba's favorite and oft-touted websites No More Dirty Looks. From Amy's curly head to yours, please do yourself the favor and gaze upon the website's natural beauty magic. 
•  Amy's back to reviewing books on her blog. Check out her recent "must read" list here.

Have a great weekend everyone! And pipe in with your dreams.

XO Mallory

My quirky dogs.

Dear Mallory,

In full disclosure, I had a panic attack Monday night. It was finance + baby related [we're not expecting] and Aaron was sleeping after a long day in Seattle celebrating our 5th wedding anniversary at the aquarium and then a science + music museum and our favorite restaurant and WOW. Such a long day. And I could feel it coming. The anxiety and the vice around my heart and the claustrophobic feeling around my eyes and I was blinking back tears and just feeling very unsafe and scared. And I didn't want to wake Aaron up because he was so tired [silly, I know]. So, while staring at the wall, I noticed out of the corner of my suffocated eye that Chuck had a steady, quizzical gaze on me from her kennel. I crawled down the bed, onto the rug, unlocked her kennel, and let the attack come on. And, girl, that Chuck lady knew just what to do. She burrowed forcefully, yet gently, into my abdomen, wrapping her neck around my side. And as the attack subsided, ebbed away, she relaxed her body, licking my face every few minutes. It was truly miraculous. The one dog in the world that, 8 months after welcoming her into our family, still hasn't learned what "Come" means or "Down," who jumps and tears through the backyard like she has a hot poker on her rear, has an innate sense to calm the weak? Girl, shut up.

Sorry if that was a bit heavy. But, truly, that is a story that I will tell on repeat until the day comes that we have to say good-bye to Chuckie. I was just in awe.

Alright, something lighter. Hurley. Hurley is the sweetest gentleman that I have ever had the chance to familiarize myself with. I could tell you some really heart breaking stories about him. Once, at the dog park, someone punched him in the face because they were afraid of him. Another time, he was attacked by a chihuahua. He's afraid of balloons. He was rescued from a couple who bred him for party money. No one wanted to adopt him because he was so incredibly docile; he sat in a corner silently, observing everyone who entered the trashed apartment.

But I'll stop. Because I have a great story for you. When we were living in California, aside from job hunting, all I did was train Hurley. Sit. Stay. Come. Stay out of the kitchen. Move. Blah blah blah. One day, while in the midst of some intense leash training, we rounded a corner. It was all good. Ninety degrees out. Wind whipping through my hair. Adventure on Hurley's mind. But as we winded our way down this sidewalk, I felt Hurley tense on the leash. Something was ahead of us and. He. Was. Ready. And all of a sudden. I. Was. Ready. Too.

Girl, there was a coyote on that sidewalk. Taking a nap. I had to restrain myself from yelling, "Are you kidding me?" to the desert gods above. Because, really. We're in the desert. I had encountered 3 foot crows hopping behind me in the parking lot. Aaron had arrived home from work one day talking about a Mojave Green. There was one night Aaron took me on an "adventure" to find an "abandoned insane asylum" and instead we found a million dead bunnies [true story]. A neighbor's chihuahua had been eaten three times by a bobcat [and, clearly, spit back out]. Aaron and I almost hit a mountain lion sleeping in the middle of the highway one night... It goes on. Do you get it? Because it so goes on.

So there's a coyote. Not sleeping, especially after Hurley's lunge at him. Because Hurley was going to make it his mission to befriend that sucker. He was awake and ready and walking silently with this unbreakable stare on my flesh [because I imagine it wanted to kill me]. He didn't make a sound. And I tugged. And slowly walked backwards. And shook. And squeaked. And pulled. And Hurley was on this entirely different planet where dogs and coyotes were friends. And I was like, "Wait until I tell Aaron about this..." and "Trust me, the last thing that coyote wants to do is befriend you, Hurley Bear."

We got away. There's really nothing else to the story. But my baby puppy tried to befriend a coyote. What sort of dog do I have?! Really?! He's afraid of so many things, but a coyote he's all like, "Hey! Yo! Wanna play chase?!" Oy my heart.

Do those help at all? I hope the Chuck story didn't get you down and instead gave you a sense of hope. Because that Duke boy is going to know you when he returns in January. He is not going to resent you and he is going to be astonished to see 1-year old Harry and marvel at the temperate weather and just soak you two up. I know it.

Your understanding friend,
Amy

Duke Chases Tail and Calvin's Vindictive

Dear Amy,

I'm okay. Thank you so much for your kind words. (And thank YOU friends. I had an overwhelmingly supportive response to my Duke post. I love you all.) It's no easier today than it was Monday to be without Duke. I miss him like crazy, but it's becoming a bit easier to see past the pain in my chest and realize he's really well taken care of in Michigan. The first day he was there, he got two walks, hours of frisbee, too many butt scratches, and probably more treats than he'd ever get at home. Our family loves that little puppy.

It's so sad to me that Duke left just as Harry started really loving him. Soon, bud. You'll be home soon.

But let's not be sad. We miss him, yes. But he will be back. Instead, let's talk about funny pet stories. I've got a couple. The first, involves the hero of our story, Mr. Duke.

Duke was a sprite ten month old puppy, living his life in Colorado. Nothing was sweeter than running around the backyard, chasing squirrels in the cool springtime air, except maybe a hike with his mom and dad, or the taste of our roommate Fred's hat (chair, toothbrush, etc.). He had recently discovered a vile creature who had to be taken down by force, and that vile creature just so happened to follow him pretty much everywhere he went. He heard it called "Tail," and Tail needed to be stopped.

So Duke chased Tail. He chased him, and he chased him, and he chased him until he was able to pin Tail under his own butt. Lamps, glasses of water, human feet be damned when Tail was around... there was nothing else to consider. Tail had to be stopped.

Unfortunately, Duke's humanfolk did not understand the importance of stopping the loathsome Tail. If Tail showed his ugly face in the house, Duke was to do nothing about it. Nothing! Just let that no good, obscene creature follow him around. Mocking him. Chasing him. But oh, Duke took care of Tail anytime he was outside and free.

One day, I was cleaning up the kitchen. Tail hadn't shown his face in the house in quite some time. It seemed as though Duke had scared him enough that he didn't dare follow him in the house. I was thinking about how brave my little puppy was, when I heard something. It sounded a little like Tail. Being chased by Duke. But Duke wouldn't do that. He knew to leave Tail alone inside of the house. I went looking to see what the noise was. Neither Duke nor Tail were anywhere to be found, and the noise had stopped. As I started to panic, I walked briskly past the bathroom, and something caught my eye. Turning slowly back (so as not to scare either Tail or Duke, whomever it was, away) I caught the eye of my sweet puppy dog. In the shower. Peeking out from behind the shower curtain.

That was a clean tub.

He quickly disappeared, and I heard the unmistakable sounds of Tail being chased by Duke. Surely, this smart dog wasn't chasing Tail right in front of my face. Ah, if only. You see, Duke believed that he was hidden behind the shower curtain, so he and Tail were having a full out chase in the bathtub. The bathtub I had just cleaned. And Duke thought he had found the secret room, of whose existence I had no idea (the bathtub), where he could chase Tail to his hearts content. Peeking over the shower curtain, I saw a puppy spinning wildly in circles, chasing Tail. And then he knocked his head on the faucet and turned on the water.

I mean, does it get cuter (or more mischievous) than that? Maybe. Here's a story about our equally loved cat Calvin.

This dapper gentleman is Calvin.

Calvin was a scratcher. We adopted him as a slightly overweight five year old, brought him home, and immediately, he went to our stairs and scratched the carpet. That was not going to fly. So to the store we went to buy a water bottle for training purposes.

The training went well, but Calvin developed a fear of the water bottle. The sight of it alone sent him fleeing to the bedroom, to the safety of the spot under the bed only he could fit. I had figured this out whilst training him not to use our stair as a scratching post. Jon figured it out a different way.

We were laying on the couch watching something (probably House Hunters International or ESPN or Father of the Bride) and Jon reached down to pick up the water bottle, in order to move it away from his feet. Calvin, who had been snuggled up next to us on the couch, angrily bolted to the bedroom. I tried to explain to Jon that he had basically just started a war. Calvin took it personally when the water bottle was used (or he perceived the water bottle to be on the verge of being used) if the situation did not warrant use. Jon laughed, and that was that.

Or so we thought. We heard one crash from the bedroom. After a second, I got up to see what it was, and by the time I had reached the bedroom, there had been a third. As I walked into our room, I saw Calvin perched on our dresser, a mess of picture frames behind him. Looking closer at the situation, I started to piece together what had happened. Calvin, the crazy little cat, had run into the bedroom, mad at Jon, and jumped up to the dresser where we had pictures framed from important life moments (like weddings and graduations and Tuesdays). He had walked along the row of pictures and knocked over just the photos that Jon was in. I kid you not. He skipped over the picture of my bridesmaids and I, to  knock over one of Jon and his groomsmen. Only the pictures of Jon were knocked over.

We slept with our door locked that night, per Jon's insistence.

So tell me some good Hurley and Chuck stories. Mend my sad, broken heart. Happy, heartwarming pet stories make things better every time, don't they?

xo, Mallory

I'm "that" dog owner.

Dear Mallory,

I want to be completely truthful with you, so I'm starting this letter by saying: I have no idea what you're going through. None whatsoever. When I was 6-years old, my parents rehomed our crazy black Cocker Spaniel to a family with a farm and grown children and time. Unfortunately, I was happy to see that crazy scoundrel go because she spent most of her time either (a) trying to bite my feet while I watched Full House on the couch or (b) jumping on me in the pool. Also, and I may be remembering this incorrectly, but I believe she tried to join me in the bathtub once.

But I know how much you love Duke. We've spent an embarrassing amount of time discussing our weird obsessions with our dogs. So if I know you and your relationship with your dog like I think I do, I know you're a total mess right now. And I'm so sorry. I'm sorry you had to rehome him. I'm sorry you had to make that decision. I'm sorry the military doesn't have some sort of dog walking service on base that you could have utilized. I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you. I know you wouldn't have wanted to cry in front of me, but I would have insisted on hugging you and comforting you with cookies.

Above: A trip to one of Tacoma's institutions, Frisko Freeze.

Below: Chuck, short for Charlotte, trying to understand the appeal of chairs.

10-month old Mini Bull Terrier-Pit Bull mix.

The idea of being separated from Hurley before fate intervenes [read: I know that he will die someday, but I'm having a really hard time coming to terms with it, so I use elaborate ways of discussing his impending demise. I am that dog owner] makes me feel physically ill. And while my bond with Chuck isn't as strong as it is with Hurley [hello! Hurley and I have cuddled and cried our way through a 7 month deployment together], it's getting there. And I just can't imagine. I don't trust anyone else with my dogs and I honestly think you are so brave to trust someone else with Duke. I know they're family and I know they're exercising him and loving him and feeding him and all of those important things, but the decision to allow them to keep him for 6 months took a lot of guts, Mallory. A lot. And I admire you for it. It really would have been selfish to keep him "with you" during Jon's deployment and your travels. There is a lot put on your plate when a spouse deploys, and I don't blame you at all.

Above: Hurley, the 4-year old wonder, huffing the air. 

Below: The one and only time Hurley has ever initiated cuddling with Chuck.

Pit Bull-Boxer-English Bulldog mix.

How are you feeling today? Any better? Same? Worse? I'm virtually hugging you right now. Right now. Have you been able to Skype with him? I know it seems ridiculous, but I would. I think you should. Do you get regular updates? Is someone texting photos to you? How is Jon doing with it all? I know you were worried about Harry becoming afraid of dogs--purely from not being around them every day--do you have a friend with a dog that he'll be able to spend time with?

I admire you, Mallory. I really do. I know you feel like a horrible person right now, but I think you are one of the most selfless people I have ever met [if not the most selfless]. You stay strong, girl. Text me when you need to be reassured of your decision. Lean on Jon when you feel like you're going to crumble. And do not adopt another dog. Just don't. One, along with a cat, is good enough.

Amy

Duke the Dog

Dear Amy,

Duke the puppy

In the summer of 2008, Jon and I, not yet married (or even engaged), began our own little family. Jon, who had always wanted a german shepherd, found the perfect little dude not far from his parents house and talked me into going to see him. A few days later, we had Duke.

Duke was a sweet puppy. His feet were too big for his body, his ears were even bigger than his feet. He used to somersault as an attempt to remove his collar and leash. He was afraid of sprinklers, loved my grandparents golden retriever, Beau, and fell asleep more than once with his back legs on the ground and his front paws and head on a chair.

He was SO teeny!

Shortly (literally, a week) after Duke came home with us, Jon went away for a month long training. I was left with this little puppy and a heart that missed my love. Duke and I bonded big time during that month. He slept at the foot of my bed, he went for lots of walks with me, he even drove to the post office with me every single day, in order to send a letter to Jon.

It's been five years since we brought that spunky little puppy home. He's grown into a ridiculously well behaved dog. Seriously, Harry shoves his hands in Duke's eyes and mouth, and Duke just lays there. Harry drops food right in front of Duke's keen nose, and he leaves it until we tell him to get it. Duke will even stop mid-run while chasing after a squirrel if we tell him to.

These two are seriously the best of friends now.

Yesterday, we sent Duke to Michigan to live with Jon's family for six months. Jon is getting ready to deploy in the next few months, and we knew this would be the best for Duke. While Jon's away, I'll have a full time job, a full time baby, a full time house, two cars, a cat, and a yard to take care of. Not to mention bills, grocery shopping, cleaning, and all the other things that don't seem like that big of a deal until you're the only one doing them. And Duke is never quite right when Jon leaves. He's still a ridiculously sweet and loving dog, but he stresses, and then turns into the work of three Duke's. And aside from all that, I will be traveling a bit while Jon's deployed, and Duke is becoming increasingly turned off to the boarder.

All that to say, we sent our first baby to live in Michigan for six months. Six months. Half a year. Without my sweet boy. Needless to say, today I'm a bit of a mess. It's too quiet in the house. There are bits of fur on my carpet I don't want to vacuum up yet. Little things, like getting ice for my water, or opening the closet to get my shoes, or picking up Harry's toys before we go upstairs are eliciting a full fledge breakdown.

I know in my head, this is the best. Duke needs attention I won't be able to give him. He's got four people up there who absolutely adore him and will treat him better than a prince (shout out to the new HRH the Price of Cambridge). A stable environment. But man does my heart ache. It (that dang heart) is second guessing this decision every minute. It wanted to call the whole thing off a week ago. It only made it up to the landing on the stairs - just out of Duke's sight - before completely breaking down. My heart just isn't sure.

I love all 80lbs of this dog.

It's amazing, isn't it? How much pets really are family. You know how it is with your two pups... they truly are your kin. Sure, Duke drives me crazy when he barks at anything that moves... especially when I'm trying to get Harry to sleep. Or when he chews up a stuffed banana, which just so happens to be Harry's favorite toy. Or when he steps on my foot for the sixtieth time in one day. But man, that dog is loved. The tears which have been streaming down my face all day are proof of that.

Have you ever had to rehome a pet? Even temporarily, it tears you to shreds, doesn't it? How do you deal with something like that? Duke has always been my big, cuddly bear when Jon's gone and I'm sad. How am I going to deal with Jon being gone, feeling sad, AND missing Duke?

Counting down the days until Duke comes home,
xo, Mallory