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by MICHELLE CUTTHRELL
It had been a long day.
A really long day.
I had no food in the house, my lower back killed, my baby brother and I were fighting and I was craving pineapple I didn't have. The minus 30 degree Fairbanks weather didn't help my pregnancy woes any, either. All I wanted at the end of my day was to come home and just nuzzle under a blanket with my husband, who would let me know that everything would be all right.
But when I got home and checked my e-mail, not only did I not have a husband to snuggle up with, but I only had four messages from a husband who normally sends me five or six.
Being pregnant and emotional and unable to deal with deployment alone any longer, I wrote back something really grounded and down-to-earth, like, "I can't believe you only sent me four e-mails today. I don't feel like a priority in your life anymore. I hate the Army."
You know, something totally reasonable like that.
A long, sweet letter and a single red rose delivered to my door the next day reminded me that maybe, just maybe, I was being the unreasonable one.