When they decided on the word "dependent," they were being literal as hell.

Seriously.

I'm in the stage now where I'm considering a future without MAJ Dick. And as I'm a practical person, I can't help but think about the money/insurance/nitty gritty details. That's just how I roll - I want all the information I can get before I make a decision. Emotions matter but it's logic and planning that get you round the bend, you know?

But man, the Army don't make it easy. I ask a lot of questions and most often hear "your sponsor needs to..." or "your sponsor can..." Well, er, I'm asking because my sponsor may not be in the picture any longer - so "my sponsor needs to" isn't exactly a comfort.

I gave up a good, solid career to be a military wife and mother. I'd like to say that I can walk away from this marriage and not have to ask for a thing. Since I'm a fairly prideful person, in my dreams, that's exactly how it works. But unfortunately, that's not an option - mostly because I have a child I need to provide for. And the idea of relying on a man who can't even remember to put the seat down to take care of us after I've committed what, in his eyes, is the biggest act of betrayal ever scares the crap out of me.

I can see why so many women stay in really bad military marriages. If you thought inprocessing into the military system was a mystery, just try to ask a few questions about getting out of it. It boggles the mind...

What a difference a year makes...

Or not.

First of all, I was touched by all the responses to my last post. I'm amazed that anyone even realized this blog was still standing - and I was touched to know you were wondering about me. I've been thinking about you all, too. And I started to write some posts at different points over the last year and I realized I wasn't sure what to say. So I remained quiet. I told myself I was reflecting but the truth is I'm just a big chicken.

So now what I've been avoiding: the update. And unfortunately, the news is not very different from last year.

What's changed? Well, MAJ Dick returned from deployment. He immediately moved into the guest room. And there he's remained since (though he's left his dresser and most of his crap in the master bedroom, mostly to annoy me, I'd imagine). It was hard going for a long while. Not a crier by any stretch of the imagine, I sobbed like a little girl every day for longer than I care to admit. We were about as ugly as two people can be to each other and still remain speaking.

I believe we've gotten through most of the ugliness. The accusations of not caring, of deliberate sabotage and infidelity. I think we've put aside most of the blaming. I don't know if that's maturation or just plain exhaustion. At this point, I'm not sure I need to know the answer. As ever, we try to be careful around our son and make sure our problems never affect him. And we've made some attempts at marriage counseling, when we can get an appointment (that's a whole 'nother rant right there).

I wish I could say different but we are more strangers than partners. We orbit each other from different universes, only crossing paths for that shared satellite, our son. We are civil - and we work hard to be - and we both say we want to try to work out this marriage if we can. I think we even both mean it. But we never touch, we rarely laugh and share only our son. I know that marriage is often more about enduring than enjoying, that you have to fight through tough times, but I just don't know if it's enough. As obnoxious as it may sound, I'd like to have sex again before I turn 40.

Our time in Germany is almost up. Once the orders come, depending on where MAJ Dick ends up, I plan to make a decision one way or the other, end this limbo. I don't know what that will be yet but I hope it's one we can all live with. I keep waiting for a sign but I think what's really needed is for me to try to shake off some of the fear and just finally act.

And with that incredibly depressing update, it's probably time to get back to the snarkiness. That's what the world needs more of. I just know it.

Maintaining radio silence.

First, thanks to all of you who left comments or sent me messages. I very much appreciate them. The support has been overwhelming. My wee little Grinch heart may have even grown a size or two from all of it.

So what's happening now? That has been the gist of most of the messages I've been receiving in the past week or two. So, an update. For the most part, I've spent the last few weeks wondering what I have to say about being a military spouse. But a friend convinced me that perhaps there was also some value in talking about the process of becoming not-a-military-spouse. If that is, indeed, what I am doing.

For the record, I haven't made any hard decisions yet. My gut tells me that things are done but I keep reminding myself about the old adage about guts and shit. Unfortunately, MAJ Dick (oh yeah, he got promoted) refuses to discuss any of it but it's hard for me to blame him. He's thousands of miles away. As he told me in a rare moment of kindness and honesty on the telephone the other week, he can't think of anything he might do to fix things from Baghdad. If I'm honest, I don't know that I can think of anything either.

So for now, I'm just left pondering -- what do I do next? Do we try to cram a year's worth of drudgery in two weeks and try to hash it all out in an 18 day R&R? Do we just pretend it's not happening until after the deployment and its consequent hoopla? Or is it better to make a decision now, call it a day and just let the chips fall where they may? It would seem that deployment offers yet another negative consequence to a marriage. Our marriage is frozen in time, in many ways, back to the days before he left. Just as it takes two to end a marriage, two are preferable for the process of ending one. And I don't have that luxury.

In the meantime, I'm keeping on. Doing pretty much what I did when we were happy -- doing my work, taking care of Munchkin, traveling and even volunteering here and there for the unit. What else is there?

Alive and...Well, I'm alive.

First off, Merry, merry and all that. Munchkin and I are back in the states, hyped up on chocolate and too much family time. Makes me homesick for Europe.

I wish I could say that is the reason I haven't written. But it wouldn't be honest. In the past four weeks, I've sat down to type out a post countless times and closed the browser before clicking 'save' each and every time. I just wasn't sure what to say without being honest. And being honest and talking about what is going on with me makes it all feel all too real. I don't want it to be.

But in the spirit of the season, and trying to find my way for the coming year, I find that I just can't keep this inside any longer. That honesty is really my only option.

And so, dear readers, I'm going to take you into my confidence. Why have I been so quiet? The truth of the matter is, it is difficult to discuss the ins and outs of being a military wife because I'm just not sure that I want to be one anymore. And unfortunately, I'm not being all existential. I simply don't know if my marriage will survive this deployment. As each day passes, I become more and more convinced that it won't. I've tried to find a way around this truth, to find some hope that CPT Dick and I might weather this storm, but I fear that there is little to be spared.

As for the where's and why's, at the end of the day, the details don't matter so much. It's no one's fault, exactly. It's not necessarily that I'm not Army spouse material (if I ever, indeed, was to begin with). And it's not even the war, the deployment op tempo or the craziness that comes with being a Commander's wife. It's just two people who have grown apart over time and can't seem to find a way to bridge the gap.

Some have told me that this is just par for the course. As one friend told me the other day, "My husband and I talk about getting divorced each and every deployment. You'll find yourself back on track when he comes home." It's possible, I suppose. But this isn't a heated argument during a 30 minute morale call or a disagreement about $300 in Eagle Cash. This is been a slow, gradual and, for lack of a better word, organic process that was going on even before CPT Dick left. And despite my best efforts, I'm not sure if it can be contained.

I know that's a lot to throw on you. I'm sure most of you will decide I'm either (a) overwhelmed at the holidays and will be back to my normal misanthropic semi-happily married self by February or (b) a frickin' quitter who should go whine to someone who actually gives a crap. I wouldn't blame you. Until very recently, I was vacillating between the two myself.

But as we all move towards January 1st, and our resolutions for the new year, I hope that you all remember that it isn't an easy road we've chosen. As that stupid military forward email I made fun of all those months ago said, we "chose the man, not the life." But it didn't address what to do when we are no longer so sure of that man -- or, ourselves.

Merry Christmas, friends. I'm thinking of you all and wishing you all the best in the coming year.

Give me a sick kid any day.

A few weeks ago, Munchkin had a stomach flu. He came, he saw, he puked on just about every surface in the house. But he was generally pretty happy and remembered to say "please" when asking for juice.

But yesterday, my husband had his wisdom teeth removed. Since then, he has lain around in a stupor and made it a point to tell me how miserable he is when I walk by. You know, right after he asks me to get him something, clean up something or fluff his goddamn pillow.

A few hours ago, I had to run out the door to get Munchkin to his therapy appointment. And so I asked my ailing husband to change the laundry. You would have thought I was asking him to run the Boston Marathon. He pouted, he whined, he reminded me of how much pain he was in.

I frickin' did the laundry a few days after I gave birth. I have no pity for him at all.

God, it's great being married.

CPT Dick has failed yet again to clean up the dinner I made him as a courtesy. I had to go to a ball planning meeting (I've been volun-told that I'll be helping since I'm FRG leader - oh joy!) and he had boy duty. Of course, when I came home and protested, he said that I owed him dinner because he was babysitting and that was that.

Grrr. Umm, not that you should need reminding, honey, but I don't think it's called "babysitting" when you are the father. It's called parenting and does involve quite a bit of tidying. You'd think after a few years, he'd have caught on to that.

More boy crush.

C. emailed me this photo of my boy crush, Joseph Gordon-Levitt with the question about what CPT Dick thinks about my fantasizing over way-too-young men.

He thinks it's funny. Actually, he thinks it's hilarious. One, he's not the jealous type. And two, he's definitely not jealous of some baby-faced actor that I'm never going to meet.

But if I'm honest with myself, I'm guessing CPT Dick is filing my boy crush away for future use. So that when he's off in Iraq and I notice some calendar or poster in his room out of the corner of the webcam (Elisha Cuthbert, perhaps? Or perhaps a younger Catherine Zeta-Jones?), he can ask me how my young friend, Joe, is doing.

Ways you know CPT Dick was watching the boy.

1. When I returned home, everyone was asleep but every light in the house was turned on.
2. The laundry I'd been doing, which was not quite dry, had been yanked from the dryer early so that CPT Dick could do a load of PTs.
3. Munchkin's toys were scattered around the living room, making me somewhat glad the lights were on so I would not risk bodily injury.
4. The bathtub had not been drained from Munchkin's bath.
5. The boy was asleep on the floor in his room surrounded by every single book he owns.
6. Despite 30 degree temperatures, Munchkin was dressed in summer pajamas.
7. The pajamas did not match.
8. The dinner I made for him and Munchkin as a courtesy was not cleaned up. A half-full container of sour cream remained, open, on the counter top. And other taco fixings could be found equally distributed across the counter, in the now scorched frying pan and on the floor.
9. CPT Dick's nasty-ass PT running shoes, which somehow smell of cat piss, were not outside or in the foyer per the rules, but right next to the bed.
10. My husband had managed to cocoon himself into not one, but two comforters on our bed, making it necessary for me to kick him repeatedly to give up some covers.

My husband has passed out cold on the couch.

He's asleep, snoring away, and the only thing I can think of to do is to put make-up on him.

But it would be wrong of me to put mascara on him while he slept, wouldn't it? I mean, even though it would be hilarious to see him scamper around tomorrow not noticing it and then coming back from PT with raccoon eyes, I know it would be wrong. I could not betray his trust in such a manner. Could I?

No, I couldn't. It's wrong. And not just because I just put clean sheets on the bed and he'd probably mascara them all up.

How much is enough?

After my big fight with CPT Dick, I spent the afternoon venting to a few friends. And what I thought would be a one-sided conversation soon turned into a lot of commiseration and a serious discussion.

As military spouses, we're often told that we chose this life. We must accept it. And yes, to a certain extent, that is true. We have to accept our husbands' commitment to their jobs, frequent and long deployments and the laundering of piles and piles of funky brown t-shirts. But what, within a marriage must we accept in the name of supporting our husband?

CPT Dick often reminds me that he's deploying. Usually, when he wants me to do something he doesn't want to do. This is how he got me to take the FRG, among other things. But now he's pushing it. He wants to use it to only go back to see the people he wants to at Christmas. He wants to use it to get out of doing things around the house. And he'll even use it to try to convince me to try for that second baby now. And worse, the pressures of his new job have him treating me like one of his soldiers. Trying to lay down the law with no discussion.

And frankly, I'm getting sick of it.

He chose to PCS here because he wanted a command in combat. I supported that. But I start to wonder why when he uses this job as a reason not to be an active participant in this family. To try to use it to get out of things like obligations to my family or even taking out the trash. And I begin to really resent it when it involves him skipping out on obligations to me like watching our son so I can get some work done.

So what do you think, readers? How much is too much? In exchange for a military career and a long deployment, should we be giving in to all of our spouses' wants and demands, no matter how ridiculous?

I'd really like to hear what you think.