Front line cares go up in smoke

March 18, 2007

Every time I think I have a rough day, I remind myself of how much tougher it must be for my husband.

Every time I scrub dried, half-eaten spaghetti off the kitchen floor, walls, chairs and my daughter's hair, I recall to myself that my significant other must be going through some of the worst times of his life.

Every time I have to clean the bathroom rugs and floor beneath them because my

3-year old son has decided to make circles on the carpet with his urine to show me his shapes, I tell myself that my husband would give almost anything to switch places

with me.

Then this month, he started sending me some photos of what his March has been like. The one of him with the nice, bronze tan surrounded by grinning friends made me wistful for warmer weather, mainly because if was five below zero with a wind chill.

That photo was followed by the picture of him surrounded by well-wishers visiting the battalion on a morale visit.

Did I mention the well-wishers were the Buffalo Bills Cheerleaders?

And it reminded me that I still carried around some of the excess baby weight from eight years ago, which is really sad considering I only had my first baby three years ago.

But pictures of him surrounded by scantily clad

gorgeous women aside, I was happy that he was able to find some enjoyment in a war zone.

Really, I was glad these young women were willing and able to visit over 2,500 men to simply bring a smile to their faces. And if I ever meet the blonde who was draping herself over my husband shoulders, she ain't going to be nearly so cute.

But I was truly happy for him. Really.

Then that photo was followed by one of him and his cigar-smoking cronies.

Apparently, a national cigar distributor also yearned to bring a smile to the faces of our deployed soldiers and sent multiple samples of cigars to be distributed amongst the troops.

My husband assured me he preferred the cigars.

He'd better.

These donated cigars had the probable intended effect of making the soldiers very happy and eager to spend their money on more. So the picture I got of my husband definitely explained the debit to said cigar company on our credit card statement later that month.

In the photo, my husband and several soldiers are grinning for camera, cigars in mouth, looking fairly content and self-satisfied - rather like the proverbial cats that ate the canary.

This photo was followed by my husband explaining that he and a friend had started smoking a cigar every night after dinner and playing cribbage. This nightly event morphed into over a dozen soldiers hanging out in together in the evenings, smoking cigars,

playing cards, exchanging

jokes, laughing about stories from home, sometimes watching movies, drinking sodas and as my husband put it, &#8220just mentally escaping for a little while each night.”

Notwithstanding that I can't escape long enough to go to the bathroom alone, I am truly happy for him.

Partly because there are no cheerleaders with perfect

bodies involved, but mostly because I know that he has a group to hang out with, bond with and create an almost alternative family.

This Cigar Smoking Squadron, as I have named it, serves a

purpose beyond just infiltrating our soldier's bodies with poisonous gases and second-hand smoke.

It provides our guys with a place outside of work, outside of daily patrol, almost, but not quite outside of the war.

For a few hours each night, these guys get away from where they are, and from what is

happening to their friends

and comrades.

For a few hours each week, they are just friends hanging out together, enjoying stogies and swapping stories.

They are not soldiers in the war on terror.

They are simply friends.

Tiffany Horvath is the mother of two and the stepmother of one. Her husband, Drew, is deployed to Iraq. She writes every Sunday abut life at home for the wife of a deployed soldier.