Bad day 271--I'm still standing.

The fact that I am still on my feet after this weekend is surprising. Artemis says it's a triumph and I agree with her. Child 1 says I'm not on my feet because at the moment I am in my pajamas and sitting in bed. So technically, she is correct. (But she's also eating Thin Mints in front of me, so I'm a little miffed with her at the moment.) Still, I made it through today and I didn't fall apart once. In public, that is. In private, in my bedroom, I was a mess. Husband's Niece 2 is in town with her high school orchestra and we picked her up and took her to see her great-grandfather's grave in Arlington Cemetery and I didn't cry once, which for me is a record because I cry every single time I go to Arlington Cemetery ever since my first trip in 8th grade. Whoever doesn't get emotional at the sight of this has no soul, and I have mentioned before that I am rather patriotic (you know I have a rhinestone flag pin, so it gets me every time.

As a consequence, we don't go there very often. But today, I held it together until we got home and then I skyped with Husband and sobbed and sobbed. Thankfully, the girls were at a park in the warm, sunny weather, so they didn't see what a wreck I was. This has probably been the worst week I have ever had, and that includes the one when I lost the baby, and the one where I almost died from e-coli, and the ones when the stupid doctors in China told me I had cancer when I didn't. And the one when Husband left for Afghanistan the first time. That was an awful week, but this one was much, much worse. So if you ask me how I'm doing and I say I'm still alive, then I think that's pretty optimistic of me considering I would rather have e-coli again that go through another week like this one. And that e-coli thing was pretty nasty and I was in a third world country with really terrible health care, so that is saying a whole lot.

Brother is having a worse day than me. I know this because it is his birthday and he is somewhere dying in a ditch, unable to call for help. He must be because his birthday is a whole month after mine which he completely forgot to recognize in any way shape or form. So if he weren't lying in a ditch somewhere or lost in the jungle, or stranded on a deserted island because his plane went down and the island is enchanted and can jump through time and there is a polar bear there, then I would wish him a happy birthday. But since he is unable to communicate with the rest of the world, I am very sad for him. (Sister 1 contributed to this post, Brother. She says you haven't called her in years. Years!) But if for some reason you are able to communicate and feel very, very, awfully terrible that you forgot my birthday last month, and apology e-mail will do, or just a post on my blog. I still love you, Mr. Birthday Forgetter, and I am grateful that you are my brother.

Bad Day 270--Enough already!

Even Husband said today was a bad, bad day. I had to turn off facebook because I kept getting status updates about all the horror. But thank you to everyone who checked in with me and especially Artemis who managed to make me laugh, after I stopped crying, of course.

 Everyone in the Department is devastated by the loss of a wonderful young Foreign Service Officer who had her whole life ahead of her and was killed while trying to deliver school supplies to help children in need. We lost five other Americans today, and another FSO was gravely injured. For their families, today is the worst day; the day that changes everything after which nothing will ever be the same. I can only imagine what it is like for them because I don't know, and I won't pretend that I do. But my heart hurts for them and my thoughts and prayers are with them.

I can't be funny today. I am too stressed and too scared and too sad. May tomorrow be a better day for us all. Now I'm going to go watch The Muppet Movie with the children because I need something light and cheerful and full of rainbows.

Bad Day 269--Cue the crazy!

OK. I must be feeling better because I am ready to rant. I'm not going to apologize in advance for offending anybody, because honestly, if you recognize yourself in any of these people, you should go immediately and apologize to the person you said it to because I promise they realized exactly how idiotic it was the moment you said it.

Here are some things you should not say to someone whose husband narrowly missed being blown up by the Taliban:

• I know how you feel. (Really, your Husband was in a battle in Afghanistan, too? You should not say this unless he actually was.)
• It's just like that time my brother was in a car accident. (Unless that car was an MRAP and it was during a battle in a country that begins with A or I and we fought a war there, then no, it's not just like that time. This is an MRAP, in case you were wondering.)

• It could be worse. (Yes, I know that. Please stop reminding me because that is exactly why I am freaking out because I keep thinking of how close it was to being worse.)
• It's all part of God's plan. (That might actually be true, but since I don't know for certain what God's plan is, this does not help me stop freaking out.)
• It will all be OK. (You see that woman standing there blinking at you? She's not agreeing with you, she's trying to think of a good reason not to punch you in the mouth.)

See, the thing is, no one knows if it really is going to be OK, so no one should say that. Except Husband, I will allow him that bit of optimism, because it feels better to hear him say that and I so want to believe that he is right. And really, the only person who might know how I feel is my sweet Mother-in-law who when she called me sounded as shell-shocked as I felt. Husband didn't ask her if going to Afghanistan was a good idea, either.

So if you are at a loss for words at what to say to me, or women like me who are waiting with baited breath for their loved ones to return from a war zone, here are some ideas.

• I'm so sorry.
• That sucks.
• Are you OK? (Although this one you should only try if you really want to know because the answer might just be no, I'm not OK.)
• Here is a strawberry milkshake. I hope you like extra whipped cream and cherries.
• Let me give you a hug. 
• Do you want to go shoe shopping?

Actually, that last one is a really good idea. I'm going to stop writing and look on Zappos.com.

Anyone who fell for this "beauty" mask around 50 years ago definitely had a worse day than me.

Yes. That's right. Someone sold cellophane bags as face protectors and thought this was a good idea. Apparently, you don't need ski goggles. Just get out your plastic wrap and make your own mask. The fact that it will fog up when you breathe and is a suffocation hazard is OK because you could also use it as an apron or a turban! So thank you, women from the past, for being smart enough to reject a beauty treatment that could kill you. Your courage saved countless generations of women.

Bad Day 268--Breathe in, breathe out, breath in, breathe out, repeat.

You may not know this, but there is no special leave given to people whose husbands narrowly miss getting blown up by the Taliban. I did know, though, so I went to work like normal and spent the day staring at my computer trying to remember what it was that I was supposed to be doing and telling myself to breathe. A navy pilot once told me about a mishap he had coming off a carrier once. The catapult launch malfunctioned and he almost crashed and had to do some tricky flying to avoid hitting the water. After he landed, he called his wife to tell her about it. She asked if he was OK, and he said yes. Then she said they didn't need to worry about it. He was mad that she wasn't more sympathetic but then he realized he had married the right woman because there would be more danger and more near misses and he didn't need her to be hysterical.

I always thought I wanted to be that kind of wife, but I am so not. But see, I didn't marry a navy pilot. I married an English teacher who later became a diplomat--a sweet, mild boy who grew up in a town filled with hunters but doesn't hunt and made me fall in love with him by looking silly. I didn't sign up for this. I was dragged into it kicking and screaming--OK, more like sobbing and yelling, but still, it does not come naturally to me. It's not a role that sits comfortably on my shoulders. I was a pretty good English teacher's wife and I was an awesome diplomat's wife. (I'm not bragging--it's true! I throw a great party and I am an expert at small talk.) But I'm not used to this role, yet, and I don't want to be. It's like when you try on a wool sweater and it turns out to be really itchy and it's tight around your neck and you tug at it like it's choking you and you are gagging and want to shout get it off of me already! I'm not going to buy it! 



So that's how I feel about it, but it's too hard to explain that to people who ask how I am so I just say I'm fine. I feel like I should be fine, but I'm not. But then when I was telling my friend "Carole" about what happened to Husband she kept saying "holy crap!" only she didn't say "crap" and Carole lived in Nepal during the revolution and gave birth to twins so she knows what is scary and if she is rendered speechless, then maybe it really was as bad as I think it is and it is OK if sometimes I stare into space and then burst into tears.

The people who discovered this tarantula in Sri Lanka are having a worse day than me.



It is the size of a human face which is pretty darn big and before yesterday, would have scared me to death. But today, I feel like if I ran into that spider I would just yell get out of my way stupid spider, or I will send you to Afghanistan and let the Taliban blow you up! I've already been scared out of my wits this week, so what could a big spider do that the Taliban hasn't already?

Bad Day 267--A Bad, Bad Day

First, Husband is OK. Every conversation I had today started out with that sentence. Second, I'm having a bad, bad day. Monumentally bad. Epically bad. So bad I actually ate chocolate. This day shall be known forever more as The Day We Don't Talk About. It started at 5:30 am when I checked my facebook which I always do at 5:30 am. (Yes, that was sarcasm. Of course I don't check facebook at 5:30am! Usually I'm walking The Dog instead.) So when I checked my newsfeed, there was a message from Husband's PRT that they were all OK, which I knew was a bad thing and my heart stopped. I stood there paralyzed for what seemed like forever too scared to even breathe. Then Husband called to say really he was OK and that I should get ready and go to work and he would call me there. So I did because I knew I could find out what was really happening. I found out that it was much worse than I had imagined and way worse than Husband originally told me, so I am back to being a mess. I spent the day alternately laughing hysterically or sobbing at my desk. But the good news is I finished my EER because that was the only thing that was painful enough to distract me from the horror that was all over the news and in my in-box, and on my voice mail.

Besides the EER, the other good thing that happened was that friends and family really stepped up. So to those of you who e-mailed or called or facebook messaged me or hugged me in the hall, thank you, thank you. And to those of you who managed to make me laugh in the midst of it all, you are treasures beyond compare.

There are hundreds of people in Afghanistan having a worse day than me because their loved ones didn't come home today. There was no message on facebook and there will be no phone call saying they are OK. My heart and my prayers are with them. I hope yours will be, too.

Bad Day 266--99 bad days in Afghanistan, 99 bad days to go!

It's not really 99 days because we have to include travel time and I actually started counting the day before Husband left and it takes 2 days to get there and he has to be in Afghanistan for a year, not including R&Rs, so really it's somewhere around 103 days, but who's counting? Oh, right. I am counting and it needs to go faster! Somebody teach me how to speed up time like Hiro in "Heroes". That was a great show the first season. Then it got weird.

I am supposed to be working on my EER, but obviously I am not because I am blogging and watching Magnum P.I. instead. I know, I'm setting a terrible example for my children. But actually, it is mostly written, it just needs editing and I am too tired to edit it at the moment. And it is not due tomorrow like every project the children have ever worked on except the ones I find out about and make them start early. Also, I have a cold and I'm sick to my stomach. Apparently, white chocolate is now off limits, too. Honestly, what is the point of dessert if I can't eat chocolate? I miss brownies. Child 2 had one with her dinner on the flight home and I asked her if I could smell it. She said fine and it wasn't very good anyway, but I would almost kill for even a bad brownie--that is, if it didn't kill me first.

Speaking of brownies, tonight for dinner we went to Red Robin because they have gluten-free hamburger buns. I know, you don't get that segue, but keep reading.



Child 3 almost ordered a mint brownie milkshake. I stopped her just in time. When the waitress found out that we were allergic, she had the kitchen make a special mint chocolate shake without the brownies. It wasn't on the menu, so they made it special for Child 3. Apparently, the manager has celiac disease, so he is particularly sympathetic to gluten allergies, but  it was the waitress' idea, so I gave her a nice, big tip. Really, I don't think they could do much more to make us any more loyal. They had me at "we have an allergy menu." It was actually Child 1's idea to have dinner there because she wanted to buy shoes at the shoe store next door. I did not buy any because all I could find were gray heels and I already have 2 pairs, so (Husband, sit down and get ready for a shock) I don't need any. That's right. I don't need any shoes. Or purses. But then, today wasn't that bad of a day so I really didn't need to go shoe shopping. When you can't eat chocolate, shoes are a decent substitute. I know that doesn't explain how I bought so many before I was allergic to chocolate, but it works well as an excuse now!

Our trip to England has made me wonder just how we are going to handle things wherever we live next.  If it's hard to find food to eat in first world countries, I imagine it is going to be even harder in Uganda, or Indonesia, or the Bahamas. I know. We're not going to the Bahamas, but hey, a girl can dream, can't she? Think of all the flip-flops I could buy!

Speaking of food issues, this little boy in NY is having a worse day than me. Adorable, isn't he?



But he has severe food allergies and the protein in most foods makes him so sick that he vomits and goes into shock. He can eat about six things, but anything off the list (which oddly includes peanut butter and milk) sends him to the hospital. So thank you, cute little boy, for reminding me to be grateful that I can still eat caramels, and potato chips, and fritos and that I came to these allergies much later in life. But then, not ever having eaten a brownie, maybe you don't miss them as much as I do.

Bad Day 265--Not how you normally think of Helen Keller

100 days left and they couldn't be over soon enough. Husband and I have Child 3's cold which I didn't think was possible because I thought she got mine. But apparently, this one belonged to the woman who sat next to us on the flight to London and coughed the entire way. I sat between the coughing Russian girl (who showed up way late and held up the plane and still coughed on me) and Child 3, but I didn't get sick first. Husband sounds awful and I feel pretty miserable. The cold medicine along with the jet lag almost made me pull a Husband and fall asleep during a meeting, but I dug my fingernails into my palm to keep myself awake so no one threw anything. Husband probably feels even worse because he doesn't have any of the magic Alleve-D which really does work for 12 hours. I told him to take some to Afghanistan, but no, he said, he never gets sick so he didn't need them. So I am happily using them to keep my symptoms at bay.

So Child 3 finished her report on Helen Keller last night, but she didn't let me see it before she turned it in and it has a very interesting description of life on Vaudeville which apparently included strippers. Yes. You read that right. My child turned in a report that associates Helen Keller, a venerated supporter of rights for the disabled and an amazingly accomplished woman, with strippers. But she really did go on the Vaudeville circuit on which there really were strippers in Vaudeville, so Child 3 wasn't inaccurate. After I stopped crying because I was laughing so hard, I wrote her teacher to warn her. I didn't want her to get in trouble for being, um,  inappropriate. Here is a picture of Helen Keller reading in Braille. Notice the lack of anything burlesque about her.



Someone from the Department who reads this blog wrote me today to remind me that Louisville basketball guard Kevin Ware is having a worse day than me, and she is right. He totally is.



Kevin was playing in the regional championship game against Duke when he came down hard after challenging a 3-pointer and his lower leg just snapped. Everyone was horrified, especially his teammates who were crying and obviously upset for their injured friend. Kevin told them to just go on and win, and they did, but he won't get to play in the Final Four. So thank you, Mr. Ware, for reminding me to be grateful that as many bones as I've broken, none of them have been compound fractures and none were on a basketball court. Your courage and grace under pressure are already legendary, and although I'm not a Louisville fan, I will be routing for them this weekend. Go Cardinals!