Gray hair is taking over my dark brown hair at a rapid pace. It’s an invasion that I fight with all my might, but one that is met with large obstacles, such as the expense of getting to a salon every six weeks to keep the enemy at bay.

I know, I could color my hair at home, but my inability to complete tasks that require precision, rule out the die-your-hair at home option.

I was prepared to go grey in my 30s because all of my relatives on my mother’s side of the family went gray in their 20s, but I believe that in my case genetics is only partially the culprit, and that gray hair drastically increased since my husband’s latest deployment, and because of having five children. Not that I would ever change that, I;d go bold for my girls.

I guess I should be grateful I actually have some hair left.

While I’ve read that there is no scientific correlation between gray hair and stress, I’m convinced that a few days ago a large chunk of gray hair grew on the right side of my head, when I momentarily couldn’t see my 3-year-old daughter in the pool, and was gripped by sheer terror that she drowned.

This past week, while still on our pseudo-vacation, we went to the base pool a few times. There were two very friendly lifeguards who helped me out with the kids on more than one occasion. I felt we were safe and had taken all precautions because my three oldest daughters are very good swimmers and I had the perfect gear for my two youngest ones, pink lifevests and matching duck floaties.

But one afternoon, while in the water with all of my kids, I momentarily left the pool to change my 1 year old. I asked the life guard to keep an eye on my 3-year-old daughter, Livia, who was glued to the side of the pool with her floating gear and refused to move even an inch.

It only took a couple of minutes to change the baby, but when I turned around Livia wasn’t there. I quickly scanned the pool but didn’t see her, so I looked for the life guard who was also gone. Just as I was about to panic, I saw a chubby pink shape and a long slender figure with a red bathing suit near the candy machine. Livia and the lifeguard walked to get a snack. The life guard told me that Livia informed her that while I was changing the baby she could become her best friend if she got her a snack. The girl thought it was funny and decided to get my daughter a small treat.

I was so relieved nothing happened, but my hair carried the effects of this stress in the form of the new patch of gray. Perhaps my theory that deployments and mom stress cause gray hair has some validity.

My big test will be the Chicago trip.

If I get back with a full head of white hair I’ll contact a medical journal to enroll in a study, or maybe I’ll just die my hair platinum blonde.

So we took this second trip.

It was fun and crazy, but most of the times I felt alive, like I could see colors brighter, words clearer - my children full of life. Perhaps it’s my hormones. I don’t know, but I’m happy to enjoy it for a bit.

I laughed, I yelled, and I whispered to my girls. I watched them sleep in the dim light of my Navy lodge room, partially awake from fear that I’d wake up in the morning with brown sheets instead of white because an ant colony moved into our beds.

Military lodging facilities leave something to be desired, and southern climate lots of bugs crawling around.

But we overcame the insects situation and our days were full.

We fought and told each other that we were mean.
We watched Nina take her first steps. We watched Livia being terrified of the water despite the fact that she was wearing a life-vest and floaty. We watched Anna trying to get her level six dismount on the uneven bars. Not yet baby! We saw Luisa and Eva learning trapezes’ skills.

Sometimes I seem to wait for the next thing to come around, bigger paper, more articles, more money.

But I think that this is the next thing, the best time of my life, best because it’s happening right now, with permanently stained shirts, trying to lose 3 pounds – yes, you got that right, 3 stubborn and ridiculous pounds – with my husband deployed and my family living in Italy.

Just life at 102 degrees in our old minivan which always seems to have so many crumbs inside no matter how often I try to clean.

Me and the girls living life the way it comes, one fight, hug and laughter at a time.

This week, I took my six year old daughter Anna to a competitive gymnastics’ camp, 500 miles away from our home. She’s too young to stay overnight so we, myself and her four sisters, had to go with her. My husband and I had originally planned that I would take Anna to the camp with the baby while he took a few days of leave to stay with the other three girls, but because of his unexpected deployment I had to figure out a way to make this trip on my own.

I’ve written before about my frustration with my husband’s intense deployment schedule, which hasn’t slowed down in the least, and as the time for this camp approached and my daughter’s excitement grew, I decided that I wouldn’t let the military change our plans, so we went anyway.

Traveling with five little ones isn’t relaxing, but we made the best of it.

My six year old enjoyed her camp and got to meet some professional gymnasts and Olympic athletes. She was thrilled. Her sisters and I spent time in the pool at our hotel, visited children’s museums, the zoo, the aquarium and a few other fun spots. We even managed to visit a friend and fellow writer and see her super cute children and little baby.

These little outings were often accompanied by meltdowns and some fighting, but overall we made it back unscathed and happy.

The hardest part thing about the trip was the actual eight hour drive to and from the camp. I didn’t want to get tired or sleepy, and kept drinking caffeinated beverages which required bathroom stops and having to unbuckle and get everyone back in the car with lots of complaints and the kids’ most favorite sentence, “Are we there yet?” The kids fought incessantly while cooped up in our van.

They argued about anything that came to their minds, including the fact that while watching Max and Ruby on our small car TV only one of them could pretend to be Max while the others all had to be Ruby.

Our actual stay was without many problems. We were able to book a room at a base hotel, which was fairly close to my daughter’s camp. It was nice to be around military people, use the commissary and the base pool with lots of kids around.

The thought of wanting my husband around more than one or two months out of every year came to my mind as I carried our luggage up three flights of stairs in our hotel, which didn’t have an elevator. I thought about my better half again when I couldn’t open the crib because it was stuck and required far more strength that I could muster - the nice gentleman working at the hotel reception opened it for me.

On this trip my youngest daughter also took her first steps and as I tried to capture her wobbly walk on my video camera and in pictures, I thought about how much I really wished I could have shared this moment with my husband.
I have two more trips this summer one to Chicago and another one to Dallas. I’m sure we’ll make it all right, but I’ll still miss my husband every mile of our journey.

My 6 year old daughter Anna rolled on the ground screaming and clutching her stomach as my other children pulled on my arm, covered their eyes and cried. She screamed that the pain in her tummy was too much to take. I tried to touch her, she rolled away, threw up and passed out.

I called 911 and while on the phone Anna came back a little bit, but the dispatcher told me not to take her by car but wait for the ambulance.

My next thought was whether I should take my other four kids in the ambulance, and could they even ride in it? Quick note: my neighbors aren’t quite on the deployed wife bandwagon. Whenever my husband deploys, they just tell me I need to mow my lawn more often. I tried a few other friends, but no one was around on the weekend. Finally, I sucked it up and called our $15 per hour baby-sitter, who fortunately was able to come.

When the ambulance came, they put Anna on a stretcher, and one of the EMT’s told me to ride in the front, while the other stayed with Anna in back.

As I was leaving I reassured my kids with a confident smile, and told them that most of the time people who are taken to the hospital by ambulance are just fine (really?), and that I’d call them as soon as we got there. My oldest daughter’s eyes were filled with tears and I hugged her, and whispered that Anna would be fine.
I stared at my kids watching the big ambulance go, feeling so small. I clutched my purse with my hands and turned to look at the driver thinking that maybe I should make small talk. He was looking straight ahead and when I asked him which hospital we were going to, he answered in a curt voice, signaling he didn’t want to chat.
I rummaged in my purse, unrealistically looking for strength, but found none. I was scared, and I was angry. I saw cars in my neighborhood with bumper stickers that said ‘we support our troops’ and was upset that I didn’t feel this support in the least bit. I truly wanted to talk to my deployed husband.

My thoughts cleared only when the doctor looked at Anna and said she was fine. Her blood pressure had dropped quickly and he hypothesized that her stomach may have twisted – that’s what he said – and gotten back to place on its own.
The doctor was kind, and the nurses compassionate. I wanted to get a drink of water but didn’t want to leave Anna who was scared of the needles that hid behind every corner of the hospital, so one of the nurses gave m e Gatorade out of the staff’s fridge. She squeezed my hand and told me how grateful she was for all that my husband was doing and that a Gatorade was a small gesture compared to our sacrifices.

And that made all the difference in the world to me. Whatever anger was left dissipated and my eyes welled with tears. That Grape flavored Gatorade (not even one of my favorites) meant more to me than any yellow ribbon magnet. I don’t expect my neighbors and friends to take care of me just because my husband’s gone, they’ve got lives and problems of their own. But little gestures of kindness can go beyond big slogans, and make a real difference.

And sometimes, that’s all the help I need.

A few days ago a friend of mine invited me to her church — a large, spectacular and impressive conglomerate of buildings and fun. From the moment the usher opened the door, the churchgoers welcomed us with friendly smiles and open arms. The place was impressive, with a coffee shop, (Starbucks coffee people!), a bookstore, a large playground, amazing children’s programs and great music.

Everyone was dressed casually and we felt comfortable. My kids were excited to go to their classes and the music in the sanctuary was very good. I enjoyed clapping my hands along to the tunes, I can’t sing so I didn’t even try. Everything seemed to be ok until the message started.

The pastor started by telling the congregation what an awful place the world has become. He then stressed that Americans are the greatest people in the world, and we’re unjustly persecuted. Then, he alerted us to the many lost souls around us — Catholics, Muslims, Homosexuals and those who don’t know Jesus. He also asked us to pray about the president, who is so very lost. And some of the lost, he continued, were in the church at that very moment — I waited for him to stare right at me when he said this.

I began to wonder if the preacher and I were living in parallel worlds because my world doesn’t look like his. At all.

I heard a few more warnings and loud amens and the message was finally over. I definitely needed some fresh air. I went to pick up my children, and have to say, that they really enjoyed their time in the church classes.

I know that my friend invited me to be nice and to share something she believes in, maybe because she was hoping she could help me to be ’saved’ but I appreciated were her feelings were coming from.

I respect that and appreciate her efforts.

But while I don’t wish to disrespect anyone’s views, I found the preacher’s rhetoric and his worldview disappointing. For a place so filled with love and camaraderie, I was saddened that he asked his congregation to focus on God by telling them who was outside the fold. I’m not saying he doesn’t have the right to say which ideas are right and wrong – that’s part of his interpretation of what his faith is.

But I’m uncomfortable with anyone who can preach with such confidence that “we’re morally superior, they’re morally astray.”

I’ve met very religious people before who didn’t make me feel this way.

And it’s not only extremely conservative groups who alienate “outsiders.” Uber liberals do the same thing, without ever seeing the irony in accusing everyone else of being intolerant and, after all, lost.

I guess I can’t tolerate someone who preaches love when they can’t tolerate so many other human beings for their choices.

I’ll always be friends with the woman who invited me to church, but I won’t be going back, despite the nice buildings and the great coffee.

Dear you,
I was so disappointed I missed you on line yesterday.

It’s ironic, the one night I’m not on the computer for a couple of hours and you were able to get on.
The girls and I watched Bride Wars but don’t worry, I checked, it was PG and I fast-forwarded on anything that you’d have found inappropriate.

I repeatedly told them what you said: THEY ARE NOT ALLOWED TO DATE UNTIL - NEVER.

Since you left, I’ve tried to do a better job of separating my work and kids time. Seems to be working well, I kind of enjoyed Bride Wars. You would have hated it more than the desert, I think.

I miss you terribly, most often when the girls are asleep and I think about one of your little annoying habits, or about our bed that’s become way too big since you left, the sheets cold and pulled compulsively tight around the sides of the matress.

You said in your email that you’re lonely and miss the kids, especially rubbing Bubu’s soft belly. I’m sorry. We miss you too.

I can’t believe the plastic around your glasses melted! I mean how hot does it have to be for that?

I tried to picture you in the desert in what I imagine your quarters, or common area, but I have no idea what it really looks like. It’s so far from us.

I don’t even know if you can access my blog – you probably can’t – but I thought I’d try it anyway just in case you can get on a computer and see that sometimes I do write nice things about you.

I love you and can’t wait for you to be home. That day seems so far away but I will be counting down till we can hug you again.

Love
Your crazy, but most fun Italian wife

Daniel Hauser is at the center of a heated controversy that pits his parents against the state of Minnesota in a question of life, death and freedom. Hauser, a 13 year old boy from Sleepy Eye, Minn. was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma, a form of cancer, this past January. His parents, Anthony and Colleen Hauser, decided to stop chemotherapy and radiation after one session, explaining that these treatments go against their religious beliefs. After being reported for medical neglect by Hauser’s doctors, his parents started a long legal battle to be allowed to stop chemotherapy and instead pursue alternative care, including herbs and vitamins.

The state concluded that Hauser should instead continue to receive chemotherapy, and a court agreed. But when Hauser and his mother failed to appear in court, a judge held Colleen Hauser in contempt and authorities issued a search warrant for both the mother and son, who may have gone to Mexico.

Doctors estimated that Hauser has a 90% chance of survival with chemotherapy, and a very high likelihood that without it he will die within five years.

Despite these statistics, if Hauser were an adult and chose to stop chemotherapy his freedom of choice would trump any medical opinion and he would be free to pursue alternative treatments.

But he isn’t an adult. He’s a minor whose parents follow the Nemenhah Band, a religion inspired by Native American practices. They explained that the boy himself has refused chemotherapy and that he’s aware of the pros and cons of pursuing alternative medicine.

Columnist Jon Tevlin of the Minnesota’s Star Tribune, pointed out that Hauser could neither read “nor understand the affidavit he signed saying he preferred ‘native’ treatments over chemotherapy for his Hodgkin’s lymphoma” adding that when Daniel, who is homeschooled, was tested for entrance into a charter school, he couldn’t identify the word “the.”

Most parents would do anything to save their children and I believe the Hauser’s are doing what they believe is best for their child, even if this decision may stem from incomplete information or beliefs not grounded on scientific evidence.

At the same time, can the state allow parents to make a choice that will almost surely lead to a child’s death?

I truly feel for the Hauser’s, for their distress, their decisions and the fact that they are caught in a media frenzy. But I also cringe at the thought that the state can decide what’s best for its citizens, because that’s a slippery slope. I realize that at some point the wellbeing of the child has to be preserved, but it’s complicated when the state intervenes, even if the intrusion is warranted.

In this case the parents’ rights will be violated. The state’s interest in the well being of Daniel Hauser, in preserving his life, trumps the parents’ freedom of choice.

When the state is forced to act as a parent, nobody wins and our liberties suffer. But sometimes, it’s the only choice.

I only hope that even in a case like this, we remember to tread lightly and with regret whenever we take someone’s freedom away.

I know still talking about my husband’s deployment but you know how these things go ….can’t let it go!

The issue is, I never realized how much influence Uncle Sam had over my marriage until a few days ago when we learned about the Surprise Deployment. This summer was supposed to be a time when my husband wouldn’t, even better couldn’t, deploy because he’s back in training. He told me repeatedly that while things are never really sure in the military, the next three months would certainly, even for military standards, have him home.

Then a few days ago my husband came home from work while I was cooking dinner (a rarity in itself) and furtively looked from me, to the stove, to the kitchen counters and back to me without uttering a syllable.

I think he was assessing my mood on my Italian scale — hot, steaming or burning — hot being my steady state. After a few minutes of feeling his eyes on the back of my neck, I told him to go ahead and tell me what was wrong “for crying out loud!”

“I’m deploying in a few days” was his response.

My mood instantly shot up to burning, but I didn’t say anything. After a few minutes of compulsively stirring a saucepan — a giveaway that I wasn’t pleased — I told him that we would manage just fine, we’ve done it so many times. No big deal.

Truthfully, I can manage most practical issues extremely well. I’m efficient and organized and keep everyone busy. I don’t get overwhelmed by the kids or our day-to-day living. However, the one thing suffers the most in these situations is our relationship. My husband and I have been fighting a lot since he told me the news of his upcoming deployment.

It’s not that simple or straightforward. We don’t consciously decide that we’ll be on each other’s nerves or pick fights about insignificant details – it’s just the way stress comes out.

This stress is directly related to deployments and constantly having the rug pulled from under our feet. Like most marriages, we’ve had our ups and downs but when we spend some time together we get along well. With him home since February, we’ve gone on dates, saw a couple of movies, wrote silly cards to each other, and felt like we were actually getting to know each other all over again.

Then the unexpected deployment comes around and the stress mounts again. I start arguing in my usual Italian manner and my husband retreats into an impenetrable emotional fortress.

I don’t like to think that Uncle Sam is such a big presence in my marriage but he clearly is. Deployments create a lot of problems for us, not unsurpassable ones, but real ones nonetheless.

I know, I know … tough it out and stop complaining, we signed up for this, no one forced us, and so on. I also know that my husband is part of special operations which means more intense and unpredictable rotations. But the deployment stress adds one more layer of pressure on the family.

I don’t have any great suggestions for how to fix the volatile nature of military life. Particularly in a time of war, all of us in the military make sacrifices. I guess I’m just blowing off a little steam, in the hope that maybe my Italian mood level might drop back down to being merely “hot,” and my husband and I can enjoy a short, stress-free time before he heads out the door.

My husband and I have been fighting constantly because of his upcoming deployment and his parents.

The two issues aren’t directly related, but because husband is about to leave and in-laws are in town, they become one enormous interconnected series of arguments and shouting matches.

The result of this situation is that tomorrow is my birthday and I don’t feel like celebrating at all.

I don’t feel sorry for myself, I know I have many good things, but I really, really want to vent. Maybe just a little bit, to get all of that crap out of the way before my actual birthday. So here it is:

THE DAY BEFORE MY BIRTHDAY I’M TIRED OF:

My husband telling that I’m too angry every time I say something, and complaining that all of our problems stem from my inability to be a reserved and collected individual such as himself.

Being a military wife. There I said it and it feels great. I can’t stand having Uncle Sam tell me where and when I go next.

My husband’s deployments and the fact that he’s never home. I know, he signed up for it, he’s special ops, and so on, but I’m still pissed off.

Other military wives who tell me to “stop whining”.

My children telling me that I’m not fun and that I should play more when I’m trying to make lunch, or while I’m doing our monstrous laundry.

Looking at my old and gross carpet - we can’t afford to change it because my daughters’ dreams (gymnastics, acting, singing, ceramic) take over my life.

Having to deal with my in-laws and their inability to understand me. Yes, I know, teenage like, but it’s my blog and I can be a teenager if I want to.

Worrying about money and reading other blogs where people are so rich that talking about remodeling a bathroom becomes a matter of life or death. Yeah, I know, I’m jelous, catty and bitter, again it’s my blog. I can be bitter if I want to.

My spider veins. Yeah, I’m shallow.

The ants, roaches, and insects that infest our area, and occasionally our home.

I can make this list much longer, but I should probably stop and go to bed.

Maybe tomorrow I won’t be so tired, and I can start working on a list about what I’m grateful for.