Samuel L Jackson would say it better. But. Fo realz. Stay home. Also, wash your hands. But do a good job. Don’t wash your hands like my son tries to get away with the first time. Use soap. Use warm water. Use time. If you’re going to do it, do a good job.

This has been your CORONA VIRUS 2020 PSA.

I’ve had a lot of time to reflect about this “season” of my life. And let me tell you, the rumination period has allowed for every emotion under the sun and several of them more than once. I have found myself in that time where I want to feel what I think is righteous indignation and I’m not even sure what this means. You should know that if at any time you see the word “season” or “mom bullying” or anything that has a hashtag, it’s sarcastic. I hate all of those things. I was asked to wait to publish this, and enough time has gone by that I feel ok in putting this out here. Everything here happened. It is presented from my point of view and the points of view from the other victims. There is of course, a completely opposite side to this coin that offers a separate view point. Meaning that someone else see’s herself as the victim. I no longer live in this neighborhood and neither do many of the people involved.

In October 2016, I felt like an anomaly. I thought that this certainly could not be someone’s pattern. In the last few weeks, I have learned that my desire to believe something did not necessarily make it so.  My husband is convinced that if I wanted to I could just stop letting this bother me, which has not been a strengthener for our marriage. Like at all. I have said to him, “as a husband, you have not been there for me.” And he will admit that I am right, but mostly because he doesn’t know how to fix this so he’s only comfortable wishing it away for me. Nothing he can do can fix this. In truth, theses are not his dents to repair. I do not expect him to hoist me onto a lift. This isn’t something for him to take on.

In 2016, we were living at our first Active Duty base. As an Active Guard family, this was an awesome opportunity to experience an Active Duty Air Force life. This was something we wouldn’t have been able to know if we had stayed safe at home. Instead, we packed up our house and our kids and did like pioneers had done before us. We headed West.

One of the first groups that I found on base was a MOPS group. I had left behind a few very intimate friends and a large net of  arms length friends. Leaving my MOPS mamas had been an emotional good-bye. I was fortunate enough to share a bit of fellowship with those mothers about how I had foolishly misjudged them, thought I did not need them, and was then wondering how on earth I would find anything close to them. Once we set our flag in the ground I got on the google and found a seat at a MOPS table. A year and half later I was handed the Coordinator binder and began to prepare the group for it’s year. I was also really blessed to begin making other friends.

Late July:

It happened through an email. Basically, a drastic life experience started with that damned technology known as email. I don’t know how much back-story to give without overdoing the details. How much information is necessary to completely convey the absolute absurdity of something and doesn’t take some completely unnecessary turns. In any MOPS group, there are people many volunteers who make the meeting possible. All of the leadership are volunteers, the space is hopefully donated, and breakfast only happens because someone brings it to the table. Money is always tight and is usually because of gifts and fundraising.

On a leadership team, there are table leaders. The only reason these ladies are table leaders is because they have volunteered to do so. Nothing about them makes them an ideal mom, a stronger Christian, a better person in general. They volunteer to sit at a table during every MOPS meeting. They take attendance and prevent a table from dissolving into a chat-fest when attention somewhere specific is requested, additionally, they may send a birthday card or start a food chain. Once in a while, in an emergency, they will come to your house in the middle of the night and stay with your three year old so you can go into labor 8 weeks early.

So, now we’re back to the email. Or, here, a few weeks before the email, moms began “registering” for our upcoming year. Moms were assigned to tables in the order that they registered. 1st mom goes to table 1, 2nd to table 2, 5th to table 1, and so on and so on for about 40 moms. The rest would trickle in during the first few meetings or as they arrived at that point in their lives. Our table leaders, were Becky, 22 with a 2 year old and a new born (PS, I’ve altered names, approximated ages of moms and kids for a reason), Lindsey a mom of 2 in her mid-30’s, Beth (who will be mentioned in passing later), a homeschooling mom in her mid-thirties and Renae, in her early 20’s with a 2 year old. The table leaders were encouraged to reach out to their registered moms a few days before the meetings kicked off. Becky’s letter was outstanding. She introduced herself a little, mentioned that her husband was in his first few years of military life, that they were almost newly-weds, and the was a breast-feeding, cloth diaper collecting, baby wearing mom of two kiddos who were super close in age. In response to her out-reach, Becky was given something she didn’t know how to respond to and I, being the coordinator, was asked how to address the email.

Becky’s email was something along the lines of

“Dear Becky,

I’m sure you are very nice and it is amazing that you have such a fantastic life, however, your age, lack of mothering experience, and being so early in your marriage surely could not allow you and I to relate. Further, I have experienced much trauma and I need a table with only moms who can related to my specific trauma. I doubt such a table exists, but I’d like you to do your best to seat me at that table. No offense,

Stefunie”

 

Becky sent me the email and I read it. I read it to myself, and then mentioned to my friend who had been over for dinner the unusual spelling of a very common name, not one that you’d normally see spelled differently. I also mentioned that she had a hyphenated last name. I always find hyphenated names curious. I don’t know the order, or what the conversation is like to decide to hyphenate. My husband and I both just assumed that I would take his name, and I did. My brother is hyphenated, and it seems that their hyphenation is backwards. It turns out that my friend lived just three houses down from Stefunie Smith-Johnson and was relieved to not sit at the same table as her. There was a neighborhood dispute between Stefunie and a few neighbors, my friend included. I say this to give you full disclosure that I had heard of Stefunie before the first meeting, but what I knew about her was very little. Reading the email to Becky gave me just a little more information. Becky’s response far exceeded the grace I had the ability to extend. It went something like this:

Stefunie,

Thanks for reaching out and sharing your concerns. I understand your hesitation to join my table, but I’m looking forward to meeting you. Hopefully, you’re able to be a resource for other moms at our table, and no matter who is at the table, I pray they’ll all be a blessing in your life. I’ll be praying or us in the mean time, because I’m nervous too.

Becky

 

Um. Wow. Jesus took the wheel of that keyboard because my response would have been something like-

“Stefunie,

Yes, of course we can design a table completely made up of women who are identical to you. Just yesterday I was wondering what to do with all of the moms who matched your description to a “T” and thanks to your email, I now know what the solution is. No, don’t be ridiculous. You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit. I know this because my kindergartner taught this to my 3 year old. See you Thursday. Or not. Whatever.

Me”

And then, if she showed up, well, she must really want to attend this MOPS group. But, Becky’s email is what went to Stefunie. When Becky mentioned the email at our next leadership meeting, she asked us to pray. Not for Stef, but for her. She was now doubting her abilities. I reminded her that there was nothing different from Becky than any other mom, except that when God asked for a volunteer, Becky raised her hand. And I told her that I had also been a little intimidated by the youth and zest and absolute joy that Becky radiated. Until I realized that what I was actually probably feeling was a little bit of jealousy. And then I realized that I actually really liked Becky. Still do, in fact. It was also during this meeting when Stef’s name was shared with the group, one of the other table leaders, Beth, knew Stef through church. She confided that Stef had befriended both Beth and her husband only to terminate the friendship with Beth and maintain the friendship with her husband. The way this happened made Beth uncomfortable around Steph and if we did end up moving Stef, could we keep that in mind. If Stef was uncomfortable about Becky, she would probably be uncomfortable with Beth, and given the neighborhood relationship, this took Lindsey off the table of tables too. If things didn’t work at Becky’s table, Renae was left, but she was basically what would happen if Becky had been born without a graceful filter. Renea was young, she was confident in herself and her abilities, she owned her own business and would unintentionally hurt feelings and then be completely unaware unless you told her. I know this because I’ve had my feelings hurt by Renae, and her first response was “I had no idea you were that sensitive, I’m sorry”, so, well.

Early August:

Fast forward to our first, exciting, overwhelming, crazy, busy, crowded mom meeting. If you have ever been to a MOPS meeting, it’s probably only after gritting your teeth and deciding the reward outweighs the risk, hopefully. And breakfast and coffee while people argue over who is going to rock your baby is your greatest fantasy. For me, MOPS was the first introduction for my 15 month old to daycare and she about had a nervous breakdown during the first two meetings. I was ecstatic when no one brought me a hysterical, sobbing, snotty, sad looking little baby girl who was terrified during the third meeting. People so loosely throw the word “tribe” around, but this group was my tribe. It wasn’t moms in matching suit jackets and pants. It was moms who were in maybe dirty shirts, and whatever pants they had on. Some moms had it together enough to hit the gym before a meeting, some were just there and didn’t remember the car ride. I had always pictured a formal tea when I heard my friend tell me I NEEDED MOPS. I’d roll my eyes and hope that she enjoyed cucumber sandwiches and bland iced tea. And then during my first meeting I had the unusual opportunity to truly connect with actual moms. I learned that I wasn’t struggling any differently than other moms. I couldn’t tell you what the guest speaker said that broke all of our defenses down simultaneously, I can just tell you that in those precious minutes together, we wrapped our arms around two of the mamas at our table and held them like we were the arms of Jesus. We all cried, the ugly kind of cry that uses an entire box of tissue and is the feeling of complete release. And it was after this first meeting, that I understood the MOPS mission statement that MOPS is for every mom.

So there we were in that August heat that only Arizona can gift to you. Many of us had just dropped our oldest off for their first few days of school. I was the welcoming committee for nearly 60 women. Many were brand new to our group. This happens in any group at the beginning of school years, but is more common on military installations because there’s this thing that runs from mid-March to the end of October and it is known in the Active Duty Military communities as PCS season. In regular life, it would be like if every third house on your street got a different family every year. And sometimes you stay, and sometimes, you’re the third house.

At some point, a woman approached the registration table and said “I’m Stefunie and I wanted to move tables, but I was told that didn’t happen.” (or something like that, unlike Stefunie, I can’t tell you exactly what people say in casual situations. I can’t quote you times and dates specifically unless I really think it through). I smiled at Steph and said “Ah, yes, let’s get you situated at Becky’s table. Do me a favor. It’s the first meeting, I’m super busy, but give it the first meeting. Table assignment is random, but if you still  feel uncomfortable after the first meeting, let me know and we’ll see what we can do.” I handed Steph off the Becky and went on about holding our first meeting.

Let’s face it. 99% of moms at MOPS look forward to breakfast the most. It’s the first highlight of what feels like a vacation day. MOPS usually goes, meeting where I see friends, eat, and drink coffee, home where the toddler (or toddlers) nap, pick up the big kid from school, and this is the part of the day where you actually have to do any sort of thing. At this point the day is about 65% over. You’re past the half way point and you’ve done very few actual mom-related tasks. It is usually a very nice day.

We were at our first meeting of the year, moms were catching up, or sitting nervously hoping anyone would say hello (enter table leaders, doing table leader jobs). Some moms were making their way through the breakfast line, doing that balancing thing where you manage silverware, a plate, a napkin, and then stacking objects on top of the plate. Stef was one of those moms. According to Becky, Stef was struggling to balance a plate, a stroller, and moving through the line. Becky offered to help Steph and Steph responded “Let’s connect the dots. I know who you are, you know who I am. And I don’t need your help.”

Becky wandered back to her table. Steph joined them soon after. I had no idea that in a few minutes the table dynamics would shift dramatically. Apparently, my friend Kate moved from her table to the same table as Stef. Kate began sharing her experience of getting her son who has a sensory disorder an Independent Education Program (IEP) at the school on base. Another mom at the table knew that Kate had gone through this process during the previous school year for her son that this other mom was now approaching with the same teacher. Stef also felt compelled to share her similar experience, similar, but different. About 3 minutes later, Stef was shoving a paper plate in my face and announcing her exit.

Plate thrust- “I’m leaving.”

Plate not accepted “Uh, ok. The trash is over there, we’ll see you at our next meeting?”

Plate thrust- “No. I’m leaving. I don’t feel safe here. That woman is slandering me!”

“Oh. Ok, well if you don’t feel comfortable, you’re not obligated to stay. We meet again in two weeks. ”

Stefunie left the meeting in a hurry. I stood at the registration table kind of looking around trying to figure out what happened. And then. Then, Stef came back and headed to her table. She said something about a hostile environment. She pointed to the women at her table and said that they were all slandering the teacher and that a respectful way of handling a dispute was a conversation with the teacher and not about the teacher. Kay and the other women at the table looked confused and watched as Stef left again. I walked towards the door with her. She turned around again and tried to come back into the meeting again. I stood in front of the door with her and tried to find out what was going on. Stef was insistent that she should feel safe to be at this meeting and that no one should be allowed to slander her. Which I agreed with, I wasn’t a fan necessarily of her approach, but I didn’t think she was wrong. So, I told her that I absolutely agreed with her and that she should probably leave, and come back to our next meeting and try again. To be honest, I kind of hoped that she would just leave.

But, she didn’t. Once again, she tried to come back into the meeting. Her solution to the problem wasn’t for her to leave, it was for me to ask the other woman to leave because according to Stef, one of the other women at the table was slandering her and creating a hostile environment. Even with about 60 other women in the room, the only one who felt threatened or noticed anything hostile was Stef. Again, I suggested that she should just leave, but that she was welcome to come back at another time. At that point, I think she realized that her demands weren’t going to be met and that the other women in the meeting were staying and she was leaving. She demanded to speak to a Chaplain. By that I mean, she said

“I demand to speak with a Chaplain!!!”

Now. We were meeting at the chapel on base, however, we were just using the space provided by the chapel. We didn’t report to or benefit from the chapel, other than the use of the chapel space. We did have a sponsoring chaplain who was there to remind us to ill out or room request sheet and not to use the other groups paper plates or coffee filters. Other than that, not much.

I felt silly having this conversation with this woman. I was standing in the hallway of the seasons first MOPS meeting trying to keep someone from yelling her way into a meeting to drag another mom out with her, or in her place. I told Stef that if she wanted to talk to a Chaplain, she was welcome to but she’d need to go across the parking lot to where the Chaplains offices were located. As she stormed out of the building and paraded her stroller across the lot, she yelled over her shoulder

” I’M CALLING THE COPS!!!!”

Uh. Ok. After four hours, even the police who were called didn’t know what they were there for. The Base police force (Security Forces, or SFS) did come. They pulled a few other women out of the meeting and took statements. It was very exciting and then very much a letdown. What we thought was the end happened when Kate and Stef were both asked if they could both agree to ignore each other or get along. They both said they could and then everyone got up to leave and then, Stef said

“But I want a statement in writing that says that Kate was slandering me and everyone saw it.”

At that point, the Security Forces then had to take actual statements from both women and then we were released for the day. So that happened.

Because of the way the meeting ended, and the times that Stef came and went, and the things that she said, and the fact that she called the police, the leadership of our MOPS group sat together to pray and talk about how to go forward from that meeting to the next. Becky, who had been at the table, was especially uncomfortable. She had been wearing her son when the chair sliding began. The fact that Stef kept coming back into the meeting made me uncertain. Another mom mentioned the fact that her father who was a behavioral health professional was concerned about whether or not this woman had access to a weapon. He said what we were all thinking but were afraid to give words to. We asked to meet with the Chaplain to get some guidance. As it stood, we were torn between someone having the worst day of their life and having an emotional break down and someone who could possibly come back and do worse. We also reached out to MOPS International, who as it turns out, did not have an exact road map for our journey. We weren’t on our own but we were pioneers.

In sitting down with the Chaplain, he was hesitant to give us any definite direction. Since we were pretty much renters, as a landlord he wasn’t in the position to tell us what colors we could paint our walls. He could tell us though, that asking Stef to leave might be exclusion, which might go against the actual charter of the chapel, and might then mean that the chapel could be called in to mediate the situation and put us at risk for giving up our chapel space, and then we’d have to move off base, and what fun was that? No fun. One solution we were offered was for the chapel to mediate between Stef and the MOPS group. As the coordinator, that blessing of a task fell to me. As a leadership team we came to an agreement for a comfortable reintroduction to the group.

– Stef was welcome to sit at Becky’s table if she was willing to sit and participate.

-Stef would accept that just like she was welcome, so were other moms, no matter what her personal feelings were.

-The base police would only be called in a normal police calling situation.

With that, the Chaplain reached out to Stef and set up a mediation. I gritted my teeth and waited. In the mean time the morning of our second meeting I was summoned to the Base Chaplain’s office to discuss the events of our first meeting. I assumed (incorrectly as is the case with 96% of all assumptions) that this was just a re-cap of our last meetings events. Uh, not so much. The main topic that the Chaplain wanted to address was the fact that according to Stef she had been physically assaulted. Her assailant, me. Once I recovered from the amount of brain power it took to understand what he was saying, I denied that such an event happened. And no, I didn’t have anyone who could back up my statements that I didn’t push or shove or corner or physically intimidate a woman who had a good 50 pounds more to her than I had to me, since our conversation where I helped her find her way out of the building took place in the hall way, I did point out that at no time during the four hour police visit was any sort of physical intervention a part of her complaint. I don’t think I was even mentioned at all. The Chaplain seemed satisfied with my explanation and with our way forward. That’s a saying that gets used (over used?) in the Military. “The way forward”, “Moving on from here”, “Lessons to take away”, “What’s the big take away here?” and so on.

Meanwhile, down the hall, a chaplain was answering his phone call and relaying a message. To MOPS. From Stef. That she wasn’t going to make the meeting but she’d see us at the next one. And then we asked to rush the mediation.

It was during this time that “things” began to pop up on Stef’s social media. She began using her Instagram, blog and public forum type facebook pages to present her side of events. Not only did she name MOPS as a responsible party, but she blasted me, as the leader, and included the alleged physical assault. She said things like “been instructed by the First Sergeant of Security Forces to call when things like this happen.” She gave detailed accounts of events that never happened. She used dates and times to pinpoint her victimization. Everything she said was public, but not everything she said was true. Unfortunately, she didn’t modify any parts of her statements to reflect the parts that were true from the parts that just did not happen. And yes, I am fully aware at how insane what I am saying sounds. The reason I am writing this is because of how insane this sounds, but this is how it was. Stefunie contacted the Base Private Organization office and inquired about the process of getting a  private organizations status revoked on the grounds that they were discriminating against her and allowing slander against her to happen. She contacted the Base Commander because she didn’t think enough was being done to satisfy her.

When Stef and I sat down, I thought we were on neutral territory, both seeking a way to bring Stef into the group while allowing the 5 or so moms who were currently not comfortable around her to feel safe. After a few minutes I realized that it was probable that the Chaplain and Stef were meeting on an individual basis to try and work through what sounded like some personal anxieties. What I wanted was to present the requests of the group in order to bring Stef back. What Stef wanted was to design a table that would best facilitate her in a group that had excused Kate. Uh. What? First of all, no, but then also, what?

Stef spent the better part of the chapel-assisted mediation outlining the last few years of her life. She walked me through her traumas and life stories that led up till that day. She assured me that there was no table that could meet her needs. There was no one in the group who had had difficulties in getting pregnant, certainly not Jennifer who had adopted her daughter, or Robin who gave birth super early to a baby that came out not breathing. No one in the group had anxieties or PTSD. No one in the group had ever been depressed to the extent that Stef had been. As I listened to Stef tell me about her life, I began to identify women in the group with whom she could relate. I named Jenifer and Robin, and then myself as women who had had similar experiences. I had even gone through an intense out-patient mental health care program similar to the one she was currently in. When I named these women or their situations, Stef felt like I was minimizing her traumas and trying to belittle her experiences.

It was my opinion that maybe a large group of 40-50 women was too much for her to try and jump into. I thought maybe a small group, or a one on one meet up would be better and asked if she’d like to go to coffee with just me. She couldn’t drink coffee because of anxiety. She couldn’t be in a group that wasn’t able to minister to her. Now, the MOPS mission statement is that MOPS is for every mom. I believe this with all of my maternal instinct. I also believe that there are some times in a persons life that what is meant for everyone isn’t meant for everyone at any time. Sometimes we aren’t ready for situations that other people are knee deep into. Every solution I suggested was met with a problem. Some people want to be the ones to solve their own problems, and it comes at sabotaging the solutions that other people come up with.

When Stef and I ended our mediation at the chapel, I left with the understanding that the base MOPS group wasn’t right for Stef. We agreed that it wasn’t something that she thought was a good fit. The spaces at the tables didn’t meet her needs and she didn’t feel safe in the environment. Additionally, it’s not a MOPS practice to ask any mom to leave. Stef wanted the group to ask Kate to leave so that Stef could attend the meetings in what she felt was a safe atmosphere. The leadership of our group didn’t feel safe having Stef make demands of a group she hadn’t been about to attend peacefully. In the end, we seemed to agree to disagree. Stef was going to explore other options, and MOPS would be an option for her the following year.

Two weeks went by and when we showed up to set up for our meeting, the Wing executive Chaplain (assistant manager of chaplains, for the purpose of clarity) called the Security Forces Commander and asked for a favor. He’d heard that Stef was planning on showing up to our MOPS meeting. Just dropping in, basically. The leadership team together felt the kind of alarm that comes with you hear a door close and you’re alone in a room. It was alarming and we didn’t know what to do next to carry on. Security Forces parked in front of the chapel and walked through our meeting a few times. We offered them breakfast as a thank you, but they declined. You know the situation is serious when a large group of men, men in uniform, men in police uniforms, turn down breakfast pastries. We felt legit in our concern.

Early September:

And then…..

Just kidding. Life slowed down for a bit. Meanwhile, life was happening in other places outside of MOPS. My husband was on a six month work tour 7 hours away. And, he was going to school getting his Master’s. And, he was still doing drill weekends one weekend a month. And I had two children in school, one of which required a LOT of parental participation to get us through the week. This meant that the ladies in the office saw me a lot. I went to meetings with my tiny sons teacher a lot. I volunteered in the classrooms. One day the ladies in the office asked if I’d ever thought about being on the PTO. No. I had not. Never in the world had I ever thought, I should be on the PTO. Because I did not have the desire in my heart to be on the PTO. Mainly because for as much as I love my children, I do not share that feeling about most other people’s children.

I hold exception for parents that I love. If I love you, I love your children. If I love your children, I will care for them, nurture them, feed, water and maintain them as though they are my own. But because I love you. I do not love the PTO. So, I hadn’t thought about it. The ladies asked if I’d at least talk to the president because she’d lost half of the PTO recently and they didn’t have enough parents to technically have an actual PTO, it was more like 2 moms doing all the things. I contacted her and went about my way.

After a few days, she and I talked about me joining the PTO. She said that if I wanted to, I could join on paper only. I could carry the binder, I’d go to meetings, I’d help when I wanted to, but if I didn’t want to, that was cool too. I didn’t WANT to want to, but if I was going to volunteer, I’d at least do a good job doing the thing. There was one formality, however, I’d need to be nominated, run, be elected and then I could be on the PTO. The president formally nominated me and all that was left was me showing up to a meeting and becoming elected. Easy.

The day of, I hadn’t even really thought about what my “speech” would be like. I planned on something along the lines of “Hey, my kids go to school here, we’re here, we like this school, schools need PTO’s, PTO’s need members, me.” When I went into the library, I was very surprised to see Stefunie there. I was even more surprised and  close to shocked when it was announced that Stefunie was also running for the same position that I was. The President also looked somewhat surprised. Needless to say, Stefunie had a waaaaayyyy better speech than I did. When she won the election, I almost felt a sense of relief. I didn’t want to be involved in yet another program that she was not participating in but wanted to. As I was leaving the library, the president asked if I’d be the secretary and really, really it would only be on paper. I made the mistake of agreeing.

Later in the day there was a group text message sent to the entire PTO welcoming both Stef and myself and asking both of us to meet up with the president at some point to gather our materials and responsibilities (it is at this point that I am still physically uncomfortable with the events that happened after this point. Until that day, I thought honestly that Stefunie and I had the understanding that the MOPS issue wasn’t personal, that I was acting on behalf of a large group and that it truly was in her best interest to wait until a large gathering didn’t cause her to have an anxiety attack or trigger an episode of PTSD. Again, I would be mistaken. But I wouldn’t find this out in private, instead, Stefunie chose a public forum to announce her discomfort.

In a group text between her, myself, the other members of the PTO and the school president, Stefunie announced that after conversations between her and the school principal, she would like to be removed from any group texts that contained me. Stefunie went further to explain that the presence of someone new caused her and the principal “concern” for her physical and mental well being. Uh- what? At that point several conversations began to try and figure out what happened that lead to the texts that everyone was receiving. It seemed unlikely that Stefunie (only now, though, does it? Looking back, I can’t say for sure it was me she was talking about, but I was pretty sure unless she was involved in a similar type of conflict with someone else.) that Stefunie was making these statements about anyone other that me. I stepped down from the PTO.

I was still active at the school. I volunteered in the classroom from time to time and I dropped my kids off and picked them up every school day. On Tuesday’s, my daughter had after school choir practice with her Bestest friend in the whole world. On Tuesday’s I’d pick both of them up and take her bestest friend home. Often choir practice ended in the middle of time when her bestest friend’s little sister took her afternoon nap. Also, my daughter’s bestest friend belonged to my friend Kate. The same Kate from the MOPS meeting. We had begun spending large amounts of time on each others couches and in each others kitchens. Both of our husbands were gone. She’s one of the few people who has the exact amount of sarcasm to match my own.

When I pulled into her driveway her neighbor stopped me. Joshua was familiar with Stefunie in the same way that Kate was. They’d both had the base Police called on them several times and they’d both had their lives posted about on social media. Joshua was also a member of the Base Security Forces Squadron. And, he was leaving. He’d gotten orders to somewhere else and was on his way out the door when he saw my name and Kate’s name float in through the dispatch, but he wasn’t able to get any information from anyone. He asked if I was me and if my last name had a bunch of letters in it (it does). He then told me that I might want to give the desk a call and see if I could get any other information. And also Kate too.

When I called and gave the dispatcher my name he laughed. A little. But the kind of laugh that’s for someone you feel sorry for. Like “hehe… sucks to be you.” He didn’t say that. Instead he told me that someone was trying to have me served with an order of no contact, or a PPO, or a restraining order. And Kate too. He then asked if I was familiar with the process, which, I WAS NOT. Because that’s not the life I have. I’ve never been arrested. I’ve never been “served”. I’ve been to traffic court only. And just to admit guilt and pay my fine. His speech went something like this:

“At this time, Security Forces has been made aware that a process server has made an attempt to access the base in order to serve you with an order of no contact. This person has been denied entry to the base due to lack of proper identification and/or sponsorship by and eligible member. You are under no obligation to sponsor this person on base, nor are you required or expected to meet this person at the gate in order to allow them access to the base. If you do not know someone, you should not sponsor that person. Within the next 24-48 hours you should expect a phone call from someone attempting to serve you with this order of no contact.  If you do not recognize the number, you should not answer your phone. ”

And then the conversation was pretty much done with. What the dispatch told me was helpful. It also made me begin to shake an made me feel a sort of panic like when you think someone is following you. I tried to get in touch with my husband but he was in class. Or at work. Or out of service. Or in the bathroom. I rounded up my kids from the base wide Bar-B-Q and scurried on home to lock us in.

The next morning I went to the only place I could think of for help. I headed to the chapel. Not for Jesus. For the chaplain. When I told him what happened, he stormed away mumbling loudly and I’m pretty sure he said something about being “pissed off”. A few minutes later he and I were off to the JAG office to try and figure out the rest of my life.

Since it wasn’t my appointment I was crashing, and I wasn’t active Duty, and my husband wasn’t part of the Command of the chaplain, he could only hear me out and then give me some options. His first advice was to “get served” and then bring the PPO back to him. Without it, we didn’t know what was being asked of me or what areas were off limits. His next advice was to avoid Stef. Which I was already doing, but when someone uses the law to ask that you leave them alone upon threat of jail, people just automatically assume that instead of avoiding that person, you’re most likely following them around hurling insults and/or rocks. I’d like to remind my audience that I had physically encountered Stef 3 times and had only 2 conversations with her. I didn’t talk to her at all about the PTO election and I didn’t respond to any of the text string. I couldn’t be more committed to leaving her alone.

*Can I just- for a minute- say a thing? I write this now with a sense of sarcasm. I joke because some of this is just plain silly. During these few months when all of this was happening, I was hysterical. I felt like I was being followed. I was afraid.

Writing this now gives me a similar physical reaction. I’m uncomfortable. I’m afraid to be caught saying these words. I changed the names of my friends to protect them. But I feel like I need to get these thoughts out before they devour my freedom entirely. The anxiety and depression I spent a good ten years getting on top of to the point where I was almost off of all medications came back and brought new and different anxieties. I have panic attacks at the thought of a police officer in front of my house. I feel like I can’t breathe. I didn’t tell my friends the last time I was in town because I didn’t want her finding out. I let my kids go out and play at the park but them immediately called them back in because I knew if she saw them she would report them as being neglected and in danger. I see her vehicle. I see her in lines and crowds. She lives 2500 miles away. *

As I left the chapel after thanking the now angry chaplain profusely, my phone rang. It was Kate. She was breathless and sounded silly.

“So whaadareyoudoing?” She asked.

“Leaving JAG. What’s her face’s car is here. Creepy. Why, what’s up?”

“Wanna come over?”

“I was on my way over anyway, I just got done talking to JAG. We should get served.”

“K good because there’s a police officer in my front yard. He doesn’t have your address.”

“I’ll be right there.”

That’s how that happens. It’s really that simple. You just go and get served.

When I got to Kate’s house there was a Tucson Police Department (TPD) SUV parked in front. The lights were on. On her porch was the most police officer-looking law enforcement personnel they could find. He had the shorts and the boots and the aviator sun glasses and the mustache. And also a Taser and a gun. He had one foot propped on a rock and a hand on his hip. (I made that last part up probably, I honestly don’t remember). He was very calm and friendly. I was at the point at 10AM where I was ready to have a few beers and go to bed. Kate was hysterical, which is what I thought I should have been but couldn’t get there. Kate was trying to get in touch with her husband who was deployed and on his way home maybe. That’s always a big question. On the way, almost on the way, on the way to on the way, stuck halfway are all possibilities. She was trying to find her drivers license which was in her purse/wallet/car/pocket/somewhere. She was sobbing. Big gulpy sobs. Her little girl Etta who is my favorite baby ever was a mess.

The police officer was the nicest person. He gave us both of our orders of no contact. He read them over with us and asked if we understood. We had some discussion  about what was required in order to have this granted in the first place, which in reading it, he didn’t think she had done, and yet. There we were, weren’t we? he told us that this wasn’t on our records yet and how to get them quashed. To date, that word is the most dumb of all of the words in the English language. It means dismissed. He offered to serve her if we could get the address of her new house. We had an idea of where she was near. Base housing isn’t exactly large. He went through the places we weren’t allowed in the next few days until our quashing court date. the school where my kids, Kate’s kids and I guess Stefunie’s kids all went was there. The police officer was pretty sure that wasn’t legal, but since it was on there we had to call the TPD and inform them that we were intentionally violating our order of no contact when we dropped off, when we picked up and then again after we had dropped off and picked up. If we were lucky, we wouldn’t be arrested.

The first palce we went was the school because one of the items listed included the fact that Kate’s daughter and Stefunie’s daughter had once been in the same class but Stefunie had recently changed classes. Kate wanted a letter from the school saying that she had nothing to do with that. The school would not write that note, or any note. They stood on the fact that this was an issue between parents and not an issue for the school to become involved in even though the location was listed as an area not to be at at the same time, and even though there had been no at school confrontations. I asked for a letter stating that I was not on the PTO and had voluntarily stepped down. They denied that and instructed the PTO president not to get involved, stating again that this was an issue between families and not a school issue. It didn’t matter that me having Sefunie remo999999ved from the PTO was a reason for the request for the order and was not true. The school was not getting involved. Period. And they didn’t. Ever.

When Kate and I got to the school that morning, the Principal had already seen and forwarded the PPO to the district superintendent. They weren’t surprised that we arrived, but they were concerned that we were there given the address of the school was one listed as a no go for the two of us. The district had already sent someone to the school. She would arrive while we were still there. The police officer had assured us that the school wasn’t somewhere that could be listed. Not only was it our right to take our children to school, but it was against the law for us to not take them (Truancy? Yeah, that’s a thing).

While the Principal and the super intendants office representative did sit down with us and hear us out, they refused to give any statements in our favor. They refused to give us anything in writing. They would not even physically acknowledge that there had been zero issues on the school grounds. They would not state verbally that no altercations or threats or anything had ever happened on school grounds. They would not write a statement that they believed it to be safe for all three of us to pick up and drop our children off at the start and end of each day.

If I sound bitter, I am. The school not only permitted bullying and defamation of character, but they provided a conduit for it by not taking a stand. It was my belief that the moment the school administration accepted a copy of the PPC it became a school issue. The moment the PPO was forwarded and accepted by the district and a meeting was called (that we happened to stumble into) this became a district issue. I hold the school as responsible for allowing this to take place as I do the Command of this person’s husband. It is about at this point in all of these events that I start to become angry and frustrated that no one seems to be doing anything to stop this from continuing. It is a frustration that has become more mild with time and distance, but the need hasn’t gone away.

Kate and I took the officer’s advice and headed to have the order quashed. Our first stop was a brief visit to the police station. We were fueled with rage and fear and confusion when we walked up to various windows until someone told us we were entirely in the wrong place. The police station did not issue orders of no contact. We had to go to the court house. We found our way to the right place at the court house where we went before judges and were granted our own orders of no contact against Stef. This was the best and recommended way to handle the orders until they were either quashed or granted. By us having one against her, it prevented her from following us around and having us arrested. It stopped all contact.

When we went back on base, we stopped at a friends house. Neither of us were functioning at even 50%. Kate’s husband was still not really in contact, he was still on his way home from deployment. My husband was 7 hours away. We would be picking up our kids from school in a few minutes less than a block from this friends house. This friend also happened to live in the same cul-de-sac that Stefunie had moved into less than a week earlier. At that time, we did not know where Stefunie was living. And then. As Kate and I were taking some stuff out of my car and into this friends house (our daughters are one size apart. She was the benefactor of hand-me-downs) we saw several Base Security Forces vehicles park in front of another persons house. We watched and hen they came to talk to us. They were actually there because Stefunie called them to say we were violating the PPO.

They left. They didn’t take us with them. It was pretty scary, but at the same time, we hadn’t violated the order. Not only did we not know where she was living, her home address wasn’t listed as a place to avoid. We could not have even predicted the police showing up because of where we were. We did not think we were in violation of the order. Base Security Forces left us with this. Stop calling. They are there as a service for Military members. They serve as a means to provide security and protection for Military members. Not only is it not their responsibility to police Dependents, they can’t enforce an outside police entities demands. In other words, the PPO was the business and responsibility of the TPD. Lastly, the base was small, it’s not illegal for us to drive on base and we all had to be ok with that.

Stefunie was dissatisfied with the decision of the Base Security Forces Officers. She called the Tucson Police Department. And since it wasn’t illegal for us to be parked in another persons driveway, she told them that I had blocked her driveway with my vehicle, that I was yelling profanities and threats at her house, and that she had video evidence.  We headed to our homes. I got a six pack of hard cider and headed to  Lindsey’s house to brief her. Lindsey had started the Mops year as the assistant coordinator. She was quickly becoming a very close friend and someone that I could talk to without fearing it would get back to Stefunie or become part of a gossip chain. We had bonded over the absolute ridiculousness of the situation that the Mops group had become knitted into. When I felt horribly responsible, Lindsey reminded me that this was something that someone else had created out of completely imaginary situations that did not actually exist in real life. She was also one of the few people that saw a physical threat in the things that Stefunie was doing. To Lindsey, Stefunie was a possible physical threat. Lindsey was either going to resign from her position to prevent the same life events or she was going to take over if Mops International decided that I needed to be done. They didn’t. Mops has always stood by the groups decision of how we handled Stefunie. We were empowered by them to ask her to leave if it came down to that. Mops never once doubted the leadership of our group, our intentions or our abilities. When Stefunie called Mops International, they deferred her to us. When she was dissatisfied, they backed our decisions.

Kate and I thought the Base Security Forces responding to Stefunie, being served a restraining order, being banned from the school, going to court, were enough incidents to get us through a day. Stefunie, not one to let good enough be good enough, didn’t feel the same. When the Base Security Forces didn’t do anything about me near the approximate vicinity of her house, she elevated it in pure Stefunie style. Kate called me in a full on panic.

“DO NOT COME OVER HERE.”

Now, I didn’t have any plans to go anywhere. I was sitting in Lindsey’s driveway about to get my kids. I needed more information.

“Ok why?”

“Tucson PD is here. They want to know what my plan to do with the kids is if they have to take me to jail tonight. You’re my plan. But they’ll take you too. They need to verify our alibies.”

These were conversations I didn’t have a plan for. Never in my life had I expected that there would be the possibility that anyone would ever need to verify my alibi. I’d never thought to have an alibi for anything. Honestly I can’t even spell it. My spell check keeps correcting it.

At that moment in time, I became the emotional mess that everyone had been patiently waiting for. I fell apart. There was nothing holding me together any more. My thoughts of panic became as follows:

Oh my God

I’m going to jail

I’ve never been arrested.

What will happen to my kids

My husband will leave me

I won’t survive jail

I’ll never get a job

I didn’t do anything

How could someone do this to someone else

I don’t even know her

How could this happen

This cannot be real

I have no reason to live

This, my friends, is what an emotional melt down looks like. It is panic and despair. It’s strange and ugly and human. It is uncomfortable for the person doing it and also Lindsey who happened to open her door while it was happening. This was the first time I’d met Lindsey’s husband.  I was splotchy and red and sobbing. And he said it was nice to meet me. I am a treat.

Lindsey fed me and my kids and we sat on her kitchen floor waiting for my husband to make the drive in from his work. He was on his way anyway, but this might have made him drive faster, if my phone hadn’t been dead. He only had Lindsey’s address and knew that was where the kids were. In case.

And this was life in some way or another for the next ten days. On school days I’d call the TPD and tell them I was violating my order of no contact. And then when I was done. And then again at pick up. And then when I was done. And then we left town for a few days. And then the Friday before our court date, I got a call form Tucson Family Services which isn’t the same type of family services. In other states, Family Services can be the people that put your kids in foster care.

Someone from family services called to find out if I would be willing to participate in mediation rather than go in front of a judge. Uh. Maybe. The man on the phone explained that in some cases a mediation could serve the same purpose of a judge, but instead of a ruling some case ended in an agreement that wasn’t a legal judgement. This case sounded ideal for that type of situation. In some cases the people left the meeting an became great friends as a result of the mediation. Uh. Really though? Because not in this case. Not only did I not know this woman, but I didn’t see the need to get to know her. Because I didn’t know her and she was making my life so difficult. I didn’t want to become friends, I wanted her to go back to her house on the base and go back to being someone I didn’t know. If I saw her at school, I’d do like I did two months ago and walk by her without knowing her.

I said that if Stefunie and Kate wanted to do mediation, I would too. Kate had already been a victim of Stefunie and her police calling ways for almost a year. I was only into my second month of this business. I wanted a resolution, I’m sure Kate wanted it even more. If she was satisfied with a mediation, I’d do that. I’d do whatever scenario allowed all of this to be finished as soon as possible. Between the Family Services guy and the three of us it was decided that rather than going in front of a judge and risking one or more of us being given a permanent record scar, we’d take the mediation and come to an agreement that best suited us all. Ha!! Oh, sweet, useless, hindsight.

At the start of our mediation, the rules were explained and the expectations laid out. On average, mediation lasted anywhere from 45 minutes to 2 hours. Each of us would be given a time to share our perspective of the events that led to the mediation, and then the mediators (3 of them) would walk us through what we felt was a good way to come to an agreement that allowed each of us comfort. Stefunie would start.

She went through each portion of our involvements with each other.  She talked about the times when she felt it necessary to call the base police on her neighbors, and then she talked about the Mops meeting. And then there we were at the PPO. Stefunie talked about how she didn’t feel safe talking to her neighbors even though she’d never actually talked to them, only about them. She explained that she did feel like Kate had spearheaded a neighborhood campaign of isolating Stefunie even though Stefunie had been the one to block all the neighbors on social media and Stefunie had been the one to call the police. Stefunie mentioned how Kate had slandered her even though there was no mention of Stefunie anywhere by Kate. The first time Kate and Stefunie had met in person was at the first Mops meeting. Until that time all of their interactions had been though social media or a response to a complaint via Base Security forces Neither Kate or Stefunie could ever remember a time that Kate had been anything other than either mildly friendly bordering on polite to just downright nice. Kate had time and again gone out of her way to help Stefunie meet friends and market her business. Stefunie and Kate were both in the same line of work, they had husbands who had been in the military for around the same amount of time, they’d been married for the same amount of time, they had the same number of kids who were the same ages. These were all points that Stefunie conceded to be true. There was no evidence of the bullying or slander that Stefunie so passionately preached existed.

When it came to the Mops incident, Stefunie said that she knew she was at a disadvantage because Kate and I had been friends. Even though her first interaction was with Becky, and that had been rather aggressive. Stefunie pointed out that no 23 year old wife of two years could possibly mentor a woman of Stefunie’s achievement, experience and stature. It was at that time that I felt it necessary to explain the point of a “table leader” or “group leader”. Had Stefunie asked or allowed any time before this, she might have felt differently about Becky. A table leader is a function, not a position. It is a person who takes attendance. When someone misses a meeting, the reach out and say “hey, we missed you, are you ok?” During a meeting, the keep the group focused during discussion time. And they mail birthday, anniversary, get well cards. There is zero responsibility on the part of a table leader to mentor. In fact, Mops has mentor moms that actually have that title. And their function is to mentor or guide younger moms using their life experiences having raised children to a point beyond preschool.

Then we talked about the first meeting, the call to the police, the accusations that were made. We talked about how the events seemed to escalate after the meeting from perceived slander to a report to the Base Chaplain of an assault. By me. We talked about her calling the police and trying to have us arrested.

Stefunie made a broad assumption that Kate and I were better friends than we were. Before all of this started, we were friends. I wouldn’t say that we were great friends. We were certainly in that grown up awkward stage of figuring each other out.  We didn’t know everything about each other. Stefunie assumed that before her email to Becky, I already knew about her tendency to call the base police. But I didn’t. As things progressed, I began to learn more about them. The more heightened and frequent my exchanges with people because of Stefunie became, the more in common with Kate I had.

I wouldn’t give Stefunie any credit for the deepened friendship that Kate and I developed. We have since then become very good friends. I now consider Kate to be a life long friend. I’ve paid for plane tickets and uber car ride things and rental cars to go visit her 12 hours away. We talk on the phone usually once a week and we (ok, I) write letters. I am still as comfortable spending time on her couch now that I was then, but at the beginning of all of this, we were just starting to have dinner at each others houses.

During the mediation, Stefunie admitted to a lot. She admitted that she had lied to get the initial PPO. She admitted that the statements she made on the PPO’s were more her perception of things that could happen than they were actual things that happened.

By the end of the mediation, Kate and I were satisfied that we had verbally been vindicated of any wrong doing. Stefunie admitted that her initial calls to the base police were because of what she thought was reckless behavior for parents, and not noise. She thought that people playing games outside passed a certain time was irresponsible. She thought that going into and out of other peoples garages repeatedly was suspicious. She admitted that she didn’t know how to approach her neighbors, that she felt left out and that she didn’t know how to address it, so she blamed Kate.

Stefunie admitted that she told the chaplain that I had assaulted her because she felt assaulted. She didn’t think I was taking her accusations seriously and that I was siding with Kate because we were already friends. I try not to think about how she could have known this because  at the beginning of this, Kate and I were friendly, but our time spent together during this time deepened our friendship. She said that all of the things she said I did were things that she thought I was capable of doing but not things I’d done. She admitted that she told the judge what she thought was necessary in order to get her orders. She said that she called the police the day of our service because she was genuinely afraid. She didn’t know if we would retaliate. She said that she didn’t think that we would actually get arrested but that she wanted us to stay away from her and she thought the police would tell us that. I don’t think she was entirely wrong. These were all things that I could have done. In many cases, I would probably pushed her out of my face. I might have used the stuff that happened at Mops to prevent her from joining the PTO. But I hadn’t.

That was the most infuriating part of all of this for me. These were all things that were believable. They were all possible. They were even things that I might have done in the past. I felt like I was being punished for these things based on my ability to do them. I felt like I was being punished for being a person. The things Stefunie said I had done were perfectly reasonable responses to the behavior that Stefunie had. It’s reasonable to gossip about an irrational person, especially if they walk into a room and demand special treatment while insulting someone you work with. It is reasonable to ask that someone with the reputation that Stefunie had to be excused from an organization that functions at the mercy of goodwill relationships. I think that if I’d wanted to I could have made it so that Stefunie would not have been able to be a part of the PTO.

Lastly, what seemed like the heel to all of this was the constant insistence that Stefunie had been banned from Mops. During the mediation, it was made clear several times that Stefunie had not been banned from any chapel sponsored function, and that she had never been banned from Mops. Mops International does not make it a practice to ban moms. Their very core belief that is the most heavily asserted message is that Mops is for every mom. They take no stance on religious beliefs, on sexual orientation, marital status, none of those things matter when it comes to Mops, which is at it’s heart a religious organization. At no time was Sefunie banned by Mops International or by the Base Mops group. Whether or not the base Chapel had placed regulations on the groups she could attend was between her and the chapel and wasn’t a point of discussion.

Before we left the mediation, Kate and I asked for a letter written and signed by Stefunie and the mediators that addressed the following:

Stephunie had not been the victim of any slander or physical assault

Kate and I were not a danger to our communities

Stefunie presented opinions rather than facts to obtain the initial order of no contact

Kate and I wanted  to move on from this with some sort of agreement that the police wouldn’t be used as a threatening tool  by Stefunie to manipulate situations

We wanted to give this letter to our husbands chain of command who had been notified every time Security Forces was called and during the times when Tucson PD was called. We wanted to give it to the base chapel who had acted on many occasions to try and fix this. We wanted it to go to our children’s school since they had somehow received the initial order of no contact and were then on the text chain that insinuated that there was somehow a threat to Stefunie.

So that didn’t happen.

What we eventually agreed to was a 14 point document that we all signed where we agreed that this was all one big misunderstanding. Stef wanted to include parts about being nice on social media. We agreed not to block each other. We agreed to try and talk things out when we didn’t agree before contacting police. We agreed to attempt to mediate before calling the police. We agreed to be polite to each other in social situations. We agreed that someone’s emotions might have been a catalyst to all of this. Not naming any names, but.

We all signed it and much to the surprise of just that one mediator, we did not leave as best  friends. And we didn’t go on to develop a friendship. In fact, I went my way and expected to be completely done with Stefunie Smith-Jones. And I felt happy about it.

 

But then….

December 2017.

A copy of my order of no contact appeared on someone’s social media and it wasn’t mine.

Stefunie began posting all over the Internets and other Social Media via hand held devices about her experiences with adult bullying, specifically on the Base, in base organizations. Every October 17th, she posts a picture of my restraining order. I know it’s mine because of the number on top. It’s an anniversary that she likes to commemorate.

The base PO office continued to get inquiries about how an organization on base could be shut down.

I was so angry. I was overcome with anger. I lashed out. I was mad at my husband. I was mad at myself. I talked to a lawyer (it’s no more illegal to talk about your feelings on Instagram or a blog than it is to drive on base). I called Tucson Family Services and asked about what would happen when someone violated the terms of a mediation agreement. And I felt the floor get sucked out from under me. All sense of closure went away. It turns out, out mediation was just an agreement between three people. It wasn’t a contract or binding in any way. It was a complete waste of 4 hours and 16 pieces of paper. It was an agreement that the three of us made and then she decided she didn’t want to agree to it anymore. There’s no punishment for her for that.

And then came springtime, 2018. Someone who used to live on base asked if she could give my name and number to her friend. Her friend (we’ll call her Tracey), was going through something similar to what I had gone through. With the same person. Wouldn’t you know it but Stef had chosen someone else to try and serve a restraining order against. Tracey, who had met Stef and spoken to her a few times, was now ordered not to talk to Stef.

Can I just for a second walk you through a restraining order? It says that one person is not allowed to contact, be near, or be in the same place as someone else. In the case of Stef and I, our children went to the same school. We shopped at the same grocery store. We went to events at the same church. Because we lived in the same very small, very gated, community.

Tracey lived on the same street as Steffunie. Tracey has children who played with Steffunie. Tracey lived on base for less than six months when she fell into the path of Steffunie.

When you are the dependent of someone in the military, any adverse action that you are a part of is reported to your military sponsor. Additionally, when a dependent is involved in an incident on base, the sponsor’s chain of command (BOSS) is notified. Every time.

For me, it amounted to my husband’s commander getting two phone calls. Since my husband was working off base, both his supervisor of the base where we lived and the supervisor of the base where he was working got phone calls. Kay’s husbands chain of Command also got a few phone calls. As did Tracey’s. And, Stef. But. Stef. Her husband’s chain of Command received phone calls in March with the noise complaints, a few other times around the neighborhood for various police phone calls, in August for the MOPS incident, in October when the process server attempted to serve Kay and I, again the following week when the Tucson Police Department came on base to serve Kay and I (one phone for each), a phone call when Stef called the base Security Forces to try and have us arrested for violating the order, a third and then fourth call that day when she notified the Tucson Police Department, a fifth and sixth call, that same day when Kay and I had her served with orders of no contact. Additionally, any time that Tracey was reported to the Base Security Forces, to Child Protective Services, and to the Tucson Police Department, Stef’s husbands Chain of Command was called. Stefunie’s husbands boss has received numerous phone calls for what the military refers to as “failure to maintain control of your dependent.” It’s a thing. Some members have actually had their contracts ended and the Air Force has decided that because of the conduct of a dependent, the military member was asked not to remain in the military. It happens.

In the end, Tracey was granted an order of no contact. Stefunie still lives on base. Sefunie is a volunteer on base in so many organizations. It’s my guess that this means that Tracey cannot participate. Sefunie continues to commemorate the anniversary of my court date, by posting my information on her snapchat, Instagram, facebook and blog. She continues to blog and write Instagram posts that lead people to believe she was bullied out of participating in groups on base. Stefunie’s husband continues to serve in the Air Force.

 

During all of the police involvement, the hours in mediation and appearances before a judge, I have stayed quiet. Neither Kay or I felt it was beneficial to take to the Internet with our side. It’s probably more true to say that we were afraid. We didn’t want to give Stefunie any reason to send the police to our doors. I stepped down from the PTO at school. I avoided her. When she showed up places, I left.

I go over in my head, the fall of 2016. I relive the day that the Tuscon Police Department asked me if I had a plan for my children in the event that they needed to take me to jail. I recall the mediation and the  words coming from Stefunie. I remember her saying that even though these were things that I hadn’t they were things she thought I might have done.

I am occasionally shown screen shots of Stefunie’s posts about me. I read about her claiming to be afraid of me. I hear that she has been bullied by me. Even though I know that these things she says are untrue, they are still being said at my expense. I don’t think Stefunie knows that she’s lying. I don’t think she realizes that my feelings are being hurt too. So now, I am writing about what happened. I’m putting it out somewhere, anywhere, where anyone can see it.

 

Someone asked if I was keeping some sort of track of my monthly challenges. Probably not as good of a job as I could be doing. In any case, here’s a re-cap of June.

My mom challenged me to go see my cousin run the American Ninja Warrior finals in Las Vegas. it sounded awesome. And like 33 hours in the car. It was both of these things.

At first, just the kids and I were going to go. Yes, without my beloved. But we do a lot of stuff without him. He’s gone for work a lot, he works some weekends, and if we didn’t do things without him we would only do one thing ever. Just one. And it would be at the end of the winter.

This was supposed to be a challenge and it was. We left on Friday and drove until we got to San Antonio. Word got out that we were heading West, and our Tucson framily got wind of our impending. We hadn’t planned on stopping in Tucson, but newborns are only tiny for about 4 months and my friend had just had one. We tool a 7 hour side trip and got  to Tucson on Saturday night. We were thrilled to see land. We emerged from the car into the base hotel like we’d been rescued from a mine. We were squinty and funky and exhausted. We were in Tucson for less than 16 hours. Just enough time for dinner, baby holding, half a bottle of wine, two showers and the best ten hours of sleep that could be had by two adults who had just driven a long, long way. The next morning we had brunch at my favorite place in the entire world. They gave me coffee while we waited in the Father’s Day at 8:45am, table for 4 line. My son and I watched a shop-lifting happen and then we headed to my grandma’s house in Havasu.

We spent two days with my mom and my grandma and then headed to Las Vegas. That night at 11:30PM, we watched Nicholas (@moderntarzan) run the course. I can’t tell you what happened. I can tell you this. If he successfully completed the course, he’d run the next night, if he made it through that one, he’d run stage three, and then he would attempt to climb Mount Madoriama if he succeeded in stage three. The course running started at night and the first night there were over 120 competitors.

Our time in Las Vegas was amazing. Let it be known that I have developed some pretty severe anxiety that used to just be average anxiety.   The last three months have taken an emotional toll on me because of some #adultbullying and this being someone’s #seasonofhealing in their #momlife. I say those three hash-tagged statements with 100% mockery and disgust. This one person has spent the last 3 years of her life in some sort of pretend victim status and has dragged many people falsely through the mud. This has stoked a once dormant anxiety. So, large crowds, the fear of a missing child, bright lights, loud noise, these are all not my favorite things normally. It was a challenge.

We had a blast! We got to spend an entire week with my family completely free from most responsibilities. Neither of us worked. We went out to breakfast. We ate and both Chik-fil-a and In and Out. We drove around. We saw Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada, Utah, Colorado, Nebraska and Iowa. Utah and Colorado are beautiful. New Mexico is a treasure trove of microscopic map dots. The desert will always feel like home to me. Texas  and Nebraska compete for my least favorite states to drive through.

I’m looking forward to the possibility of the same trip next year. We had so much fun and it is always so much fun to spend time with all the family. I’m also trying to figure out what July’s challenge will be. I have a few options on my mind. None of them involve giving up caffeine or learning a second language.

Every December 26th or so, I start thinking about the ways I want to improve. This year, it started in mid-December. I had that feeling of longing and regret over all of the things I hadn’t done, and some green shaded envy towards everyone who had gone cliff diving, seen a new state, visited a monument, ran really far, tried a new restaurant. Basically, people who were living their dreams, sharing their dreams with their social media followers and  benefitting from cool experiences. I’m sure some of them felt accomplished, while I felt like I was sitting in a chair behind a screen watching. Which I was.

Our family leads a pretty safe and basic life. Our one major vacation was a cruise. We floated around for 7 days, we saw some really strange things. The most exciting thing we did was zip-lining about 12 miles through a theme part somewhere in Cozumel. It wasn’t life changing, the food was amazing and I might do it again.

In December, my friend challenged me to do something with her. She was supporting a good cause and in an effort to start conversations, part of the cause was supported by us wearing dresses every day in December. I agreed and then realized I owned about 7 dresses total, including 2 bridesmaids dresses, my prom dress and my wedding dress. Also in my collection was a dress two sizes too small that I am going to fit in again.

I enjoyed the challenge of a bitter, Michigan winter in a dress and heels, doing my hair every day, missing pants. I wanted more like this in my life so I decided to challenge myself more. My resolution was to say yes to more invitations, to try things I’ve “always” wanted to do and to join in. My sister and I shared a pretty lengthy text string about the loneliness of adulthood. Relocating twice in the last four years has been an emotional upper and then downer.

These challenges haven’t all been fun. Every 5K is a freaking struggle, I’ve done 3 this year. I’ve stepped out of my comfort zone, once out a really small door and onto a stage. These things that I’m doing though, are mildly to extremely exciting. I’m doing stuff and liking it.

I tried one of those meal things. It was just ok. I’m interested in what the next few weeks will bring to us, as I’ll give a second meal service a try just to compare. We tried the Hello Fresh. It did not inspire me to commit to a lifetime of prepackaged boxed meals. Although, the meals are not the same as the ones that your little mind conjures up when I type prepackaged and boxed.

The food is fresh. The vegetables were raw, the pictures were beautiful, but all said and done, the food didn’t live up to the great hype. It wasn’t horrible, the instructions were more than adequate, even if it had been my first time cooking. Unfortunately, the assumption is made that I own about a gallon and a serious collection of salt and pepper.

 

Next week we try plated.

I probably do a lot of gross stuff. I have limits, for example, I don’t share a spoon with ANYONE ever. That’s too much gross.

I’ve eaten off the floor, as an adult. I don’t usually wash my hands when addressing my contacts. We are pretty neat and tidy as a people. My beloved has a touch of the OCD. I prefer clean linens and clothes. Daily.

Maybe the grossest thing is that I make my bullet coffee in the same cup a few days in a row. Or, the fact that I don’t always wash my hands after I pee. Sorry. I don’t. Because I don’t pee on my hands or use my hands in transporting pee. I don’t touch anything wet when wiping. If I do, then I fo sho wash hands.

Also, I let my cat lick my face sometimes. This appalls Tony.

This is a strange blog topic. Maybe this is the challenging part.

One of my first dates was one I didn’t even realize was a date. We went to the county fair. We rode the Farris wheel. I think it would be fun to go and do that again as an adult with someone I love. I don’t think I’d even mind if it was a family date.

 

Another date, one of those cheesy ones where I put on a LBD and heels and my hair somehow looks fabulous. We would ride in a town car. He would look fancy but not formal. He’d open the door for me and his breath would catch every single time he looked at me. He’d say “you look lovely” at least one time. We’d go to a small nice restaurant and we’d share something. I’d drink champagne. We’d split dessert. When we left dinner, we’d go see a comedian who would be hilarious. Then we’d spend the night in a hotel room somewhere. But a nicer one, not like a motel , but one that smells actually clean and not the kind of clean that covers up a murder or an orgy. We’d get up at 8:00AM feeling awesome because no one woke us up at 6:45 to ask what time it was.

This one is kind of intense, huh? I take it to mean an  ex-lover, not former boss or room-mate. So, in order, I guess starting with the very first in my Freshman year of high school, who will be called number 1, and we will progress from there, here we go.

#1 I’m really glad I outgrew you quickly. Also glad we didn’t live up to your expectation and get married.

#2 Thank you for being so loyal, faithful, patient and for being such an honorable young man. I truly believe if life had gone differently the two of us may have stayed together forever. I still consider you to be a friend and I am grateful for the time we spent as a couple and the time since then as friends. Thanks for that time you said you were my “cousin” so you could take me home for Thanksgiving and I didn’t have to stay in the barracks.

#3 We had some fun. You missed out on some opportunities to be amazing. You broke my heart which was horrible, but at least it ended quickly. If I saw you walking down the street, I’d probably ask you if we could catch up over coffee.

#4 You are a horrible kisser.

#5 You could have ruined me completely if I’d let you. I’ve never been so scarred by another person. I wish I had done things differently after you. Why? Do you remember me? Do you remember me the way I remember you?  Were you sorry? Did you care? Did you think of me? Why? I hated you. I hated me for caring about you. You changed my life.

The last time we were together changed my life. I was ruined and scarred. I was almost destroyed. I am who I am today because of what you did to me. That isn’t a way of saying thank you. If I could go back in time it would be different.

#6 Sorry. You were a rebound.

Ok, so when I was a kid, I had those PJs with the body long zipper and the feet sealed in. As I got older, my sleep attire became less restrictive. A few times I owned a snazzy flannel number that went neck to floor and had those tiny, pointless, non-functioning buttons down the mid-line

Sometimes I slept in a giant t-shirt. Sometimes shorts and a T-shirt. In the Army, I usually wore lined PT shorts and an Army T-shirt. Most of the time also socks and a sports bra. In the winter, the shorts, the T-shirt and then sweat pants, unless it was the night before laundry day. Then just the t-shirt and shorts. But, I had a good reason. See, once you had an acceptably made bed in the Army, you didn’t just go and climb into it at night. Nah… you climbed on top of it, covered yourself with your second blanket and you slept. Usually you were cold, but there weren’t many days in training that comfort was a big concern for you. If you were super comfortable, you were most likely on the verge of getting caught doing something that would soon make you really uncomfortable. In the morning, you could sleep for ten extra minutes when you don’t have a bunk to make. You just tighten it up and go on with your life. You bed has to look fantastic. It’s time consuming. You consistently sleep 3-5 hours a night during the week and 4-5 hours a night on Saturday night. Because that’s a Saturday night.

The exception to this, is laundry eve. On Laundry Eve, you know tomorrow you’ll be stripping your bed and turning in your laundry. You climb under those covers and snuggle in. The best Laundry Eves are the ones that also fell on nights that you did not also have fire watch. Yes. Fire watch is a thing. It’s that thing of which at some point in the night, a time that is scheduled ahead, someone will wake you up, and then you’ll get your actual uniform on and go sit in the hall for an hour and make sure no fire sneaks down the hall and burns the place down. You also have to count people at the beginning and the end of the hour. And then you go down to the Drill Sergeant on duty and tell them how many people there are. And hopefully your numbers are the same or different depending on who went where. And then you go back to bed. So. The best laundry eve is the one that happens on a night when you don’t have fire watch and you get to sleep under the blankets. It’s the best.

Anyway…..

For a while, I slept in a t-shirt. A t-shirt that is celebrating it’s 18th birthday. Happy Birthday to it.

Now, just underpants. I call them that so that you don’t have the illusion that they are fancy or sexy in any way. They are comfortable enough to sleep in. The lacy, sexy ones are changed out of and the sleeping ones are put on. And that’s what I sleep in.