No Holiday Cheer for the Neighbors This Year

Growing up in Virginia, my mom baked pies for the neighbors every year for Christmas. She'd bake pies, and my sister and I would be sent off with our little red wagon to deliver them. We knew just about everyone in the neighborhood, so she must have baked a lot of pies.

She would also bake pies or cookies to welcome new families to our street. I loved that she did that. Nothing says "home" more than fresh baked goods, right? Especially if they're made from scratch. It shows you put some time and thought into welcoming new neighbors.

Since we're living in a house for the first time this year, I decided it was time to begin that tradition myself. After all, I'm an adult now, right?

So when neighbors on three sides of us moved out a few months ago, I looked forward to meeting the people who would be moving in. When the first house was rented, Steve and I decided to take them over some cookies one Sunday.

Unfortunately, Steve was called into work that afternoon. I had already made the cookie dough, and the oven was already preheating. So I decided that I would just take the cookies over by myself, and I'd introduce Steve another time.

I naively rushed over with my plate of cookies, eager to make new acquaintances and hoping for new friends. Unfortunately, as I found out quickly and to my chagrin, the house had been rented by three single military guys in their twenties. The guys were really confused about why a married woman they didn't know was bringing them food--alone.

I'm sorry to say that there are some military wives who make it a point to meet young military guys while their husbands are away. Let me just take the opportunity to say that I am most certainly NOT one of them.

But these guys didn't know that.  I could see them wondering why I was really there, so I tried to mention Steve as much as I could in the brief conversation I had with my three new neighbors. It was painfully awkward. I left as quickly as possible.

Needless to say, when new people moved in next to them a few weeks ago, I didn't go to meet them. I don't know who lives there--they drive up in their cars, park in the garage and shut the garage door behind them. And the guys across the street are rarely outside if they're home, so I haven't spoken to them since. Steve still hasn't met them.

Maybe next year we'll know our neighbors. I hope we do. But I'm not quite ready to go delivering Christmas pies to unknown neighbors yet.

Maybe when we have kids, I'll send them over to deliver the pies.

Massacre at Fort Hood

I'm sure most everyone out there has heard the reports about the shootings at Fort Hood, Texas last Thursday, November 5, but in case you are out of the country or haven't turned on the news and haven't gotten on the internet lately, you can read about the tragedy that occurred in Texas last week here.

Our prayers are with the families of all the victims, as well as the injured. What a horrific event, and one that really hits home for the Army community. When you're sending a soldier off to war, you understand the risks of deployment, and the last days before the soldiers deploy are so precious. This massacre was carried out at a processing center, where soldiers were getting their papers in order to prepare to leave for Afghanistan or Iraq. I can't imagine the suffering of the families of those who expected to have several more days with their loved ones.

We were very grateful to learn that though we know people at Fort Hood, they are all safe and sound.

The Upside

I've already talked at some length about the crazy, ever-changing schedules my Army husband has, but it's only fair to talk about the upside of his schedule, too.

The other day, Steve told me he wouldn't be home until after 10pm since he had to complete a "night jump." (Yes, that's right—where he has to jump out of a plane in the dark while trying to avoid trees and the like.)

So I had planned on a quiet day at home, but when I got home from the gym and running errands around noon, his truck was in the driveway. He'd been given the middle of the day off, and we would be able to spend the afternoon together, since he didn't have to be back for his jump until 5:30.

Unfortunately, our afternoon was cut short when Steve found out the road up to camp would be closed for a few hours, beginning at 2:30pm. (The Air Force conducts bombing runs in the open areas near the Ranger camp, and they close the roads leading into camp during these tests.) He would need to drive back up to camp before they closed the road in order to be back to work on time.

So our afternoon together turned into having lunch and me watching him pack up to leave again, but that wasn't the Army's fault—they tried. This time it was the Air Force's fault!

Still, the Army let Steve sleep in until 7:30 the next morning, and we did get to have that unexpected lunch together, so I can't complain. Sometimes there are disappointments and sometimes there are unforeseen gifts; you can never tell what's going to happen in Army life.

Michelle Obama at Eglin AFB

Supposedly, Michelle Obama is here in the Florida Panhandle at the moment, giving an address only a few miles away. At least that's what I've heard—I wasn't invited to listen to her speak.

The first lady has made it her mission to serve military families. Every first lady has had her pet project: Laura Bush was passionate about education and women's issues; as first lady, Hillary Clinton advocated for health care reform (and she's still working on that one).

I'm interested to see what First Lady Michelle Obama will do for our military families. So far I haven't felt the effects of her good will, but I'd sure give her a $1.4 million award for good intentions.

Seriously, though, I do want to hear how she plans to offer more support to families of servicemen and women. I appreciate her recognition that military families shoulder a lot of burdens, with changing family structures (when parents deploy) as well as financial hardships. I'm not exactly sure how she'll be able to remedy either of those situations, since her husband has approved sending more troops to the Middle East and appears to have completely drained our government of funds for many generations to come.

Maybe you could work on military health care, Mrs. Obama—ours is already run by the government.

Flu Season, Courtesy of the Army

With Steve's instructor position, his schedule changes all the time. Unfortunately, while class is in session, he rarely gets a chance to go to church, and I usually end up going alone every week. (Which causes some confusion--people inviting me to "singles" small groups or Bible studies for women who want to evangelize to their spouse. I try to explain that he would actually like to be there, but can't.)

This past Sunday was one of the rare weeks that we were going to be able to attend church together, and we were both looking forward to it. Steve was scheduled to work all day on Saturday, and usually when he does that he gets in mid- to late morning the next day. This week, though, he knew he'd be home early, in time to go to church.

When he walked in at 6am Sunday morning, he said hello and even though I was half asleep I could tell something was wrong. He was either sick or hadn't slept all night. I asked him how he felt, and he shook his head. "I feel terrible," he said. 'I'm sick."

Steve hates being sick. He hates admitting he's sick--he always wants to tough it out without medicine or pity. So I knew he was really feeling awful when he allowed me to give him cold medicine.

When I checked on him a few hours later (20 minutes before we were supposed to leave for church), he still had a temperature of 101. Turns out that the Army decided he had to have a flu shot immediately before working for 24 hours straight. Luckily, he did have the rest of Sunday and Monday off, which he spent resting, recovering and not going to church.

As he went off to work this morning, he said he felt better. Not 100 percent, but better. I, on the other hand, woke up sneezing and coughing with a pounding headache.

Thanks a lot, Army.

Cell Phone PTSD

On Saturday, Steve diagnosed me with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD, which is found among people who experienced distressing or traumatic situations. PTSD is often diagnosed in veterans, as wartime events and situations can have lasting psychological effects. Effects of PTSD include depression, fits of anger, insomnia and jumping at loud noises, to name a few. My symptoms are manifested in the obsession I have with my cell phone.

I'm not trying to make light of real PTSD, but I have gotten into quite a neurotic pattern of behavior regarding the phone.

While Steve was deployed, I didn't know when he would be able to call. During the first several months of his deployment, it was often a week or two in between phone calls, and he usually only had a brief window of time in which to talk. He might call while I was at work or asleep, so I had to have the phone nearby. Also, since I didn't live close his Army base (we were only engaged at this time), I had no way of getting information. I would sometimes receive an email that someone from Steve's company had been wounded, but that the family had not been contacted yet, so they wouldn't give out names. At those times all the company families kept their phones close at hand.

During Steve's 15-month deployment, my phone was constantly at my side. I never turned it off. I carried it around the gym with me and left the volume on high if I was in the shower. I was extremely blessed to have understanding employers who allowed me to bring my phone to meetings and take my lunch break at odd hours so that I could talk to Steve if he called. One time I got halfway to work, checked for my phone, and remembered I'd left it on the sink (I kept it where I could see it light up while drying my hair). I knew I'd be late if I went back, but I turned around. I had to have it with me.

Every time the phone rang, I jumped a mile. If it rang, I answered it. I took every call from unknown or restricted numbers, in case it was Steve or someone who might be calling to say he'd been hurt. I would imagine I'd hear it ringing even when it wasn't.

Even though Steve's been home for a year and a half, I'm only beginning to recover from my obsessive cell phone behavior. As we got into the car on Saturday, I bragged to him how I'd left my phone there while cheering him on in the triathlon. He shook his head. "I think you have PTSD," he said, as I checked my phone to make sure I hadn't missed any calls.

"No I don't," I replied, but then leaned over to check if there were any voicemails on his phone.

Let’s get real.

Let's be honest here--I've been terrible about getting blog posts up. And after much soul searching, I've realized why: I've been waiting to write until I have something profound, witty or universal to share. And to be honest (I know this will shock you all), that kind of deep literary eloquence doesn't occur to me on a daily basis. Hence the long periods of silence while I agonize over what to post that will simultaneously appeal to military and civilian folk, men and women, Christians and non-Christians, Tom Clancy and Jane Austen fans.

So, forget it.

I'm just going to write about real life, and leave the pretension for after I've earned it.

New Website for Military Wives!

I'd like to announce the arrival of an informative, social-networking site for military wives, girlfriends and fiancees:

www.ILoveAMilitaryMan.com

There are several regular bloggers (including yours truly) and a forum to ask questions and connect with others who may be in a similar situation to yours, or who've been through it before.

If you're looking for advice on how to deal with deployment, moving or what to send in a care package, check this website for tried and true tips. Or, pass on your wisdom and help others!

Here are the blogs I've written so far:

The Army Wife Mystique

You Know You're an Army Wife When...You're Married, but Still Attend Weddings Alone

While you're there, look for other blog posts on saving money with military discounts and get travel secrets from the pros--long-distance military girlfriends!

Check us out and let me know what you think.

Too Close for Comfort

Warning: This isn't a lighthearted post...

I just learned that a friend's husband was killed in Afghanistan just a couple of weeks ago. The news has left me reeling; not from personal grief, since I'd never met him, but with vicarious shock and hurt and heartbreak. When one Army wife goes through something like this, it's hard not to identify with her and try to put yourself in her shoes.

I read an article on his life and service and couldn't help compare his Army experience to my husband's. Both Infantry officers, same rank, same training history: IOBC, MCCC, Ranger School and Airborne School. I looked through pictures of him with his wife (my friend) with their daughter, and one of the two of them from an Army event they attended the day Steve and I got married. In the picture, he's wearing the same dress blues that are hanging up on my husband's side of the closet.

I cried for a while, trying to imagine how she's feeling. As scared as we are of that event, I don't know if any Army wife really believes it will happen to her--otherwise, how could we live even somewhat normal lives? It's like having the wind knocked out of you to be reminded that real families receive such tragic news and have to live with its effects.

I marvel at my friend's strength. She still has daily life to deal with--raising a daughter, going to work, updating Facebook. And she's still doing all of those things, which is just amazing to me. Living with the reality that this could happen is difficult, and even sometimes debilitating; living with the reality that it has happened is infinitely worse. And I am fully aware that that doesn't even come close to describing it.

I'd like to ask everyone who reads this to say a prayer for my friend and her daughter today. I am including a link to the American Widow Project website, a non-military resource for military wives who've lost their hero husbands.

First Anniversary

Yesterday's Fourth of July post was a little corny, I know – but today's might not be any better, because it's our first anniversary!

Being married for a year certainly does not mean I know everything about being an Army wife. Very, very far from it. But here is a list of things I believe Army Wives should be told immediately upon marrying the military:

1. Learn your Army acronyms - or at least learn to nod along when someone is telling a story and uses five you don't know. You can look them up later, but the story probably won't make sense to you at the time, so look for clues from the speaker. If he or she laughs at the end, do the same.
   
2. Being shy won't win you any friends. As someone who moved in the middle of high school, I can tell you that the same principles apply. You need to be aggressive and outgoing! Assume everyone else in your new unit has been there for a while and has already established their "regular crowd." You have to find one to join, because they probably won't come looking for you.
   
3. Prepare to spend a good, long time job hunting. Unfortunately, most Army bases are not next to big cities or metropolitan job meccas. If you're looking for a salaried nine-to-five, you may have to get creative about finding work, especially in this economic climate. One hint is to find out if any big corporations are headquartered in your area and check their website for jobs. Otherwise you could go blind looking through pages of Monster.com's "Part-time roofers needed" employment opportunities. Military One Source does have some good links on spouse employment. (Check my links.) If you're a teacher or nurse, you can disregard this one.
   
4. Become a great emailer. If you want to keep friends once you've made them, email them regularly if you can't see them often. Find a time to send a personal note – mass updates are great for information dispersal, but when you're long distance, friendship fades without real connections.
   
5. Keep track of your friends. You never know who you'll run into again. Moving around every couple of years doesn't necessarily mean you have to make new friends each time. Keep track of your old ones and chances are that you'll end up assigned together sometime in the future! Along with this, I suggest getting a virtual address book. Any book of handwritten addresses will become filled with cross-outs and arrows to new addresses. It'll just be a mess.
   
6. Always find out from your husband (or another AW) what the appropriate dress is for each occasion. It can vary greatly, and being too casual or too dressy for an evening can be really awkward and uncomfortable.
   
7. When you move somewhere new, find out where all the important landmarks are as soon as you can. This list will include hospital, vet, mechanic, doctor's office, dentist, closest Olive Garden, etc. Trust me; waiting until you really need to get there is not helpful for your stress level.
   
8. You will end up doing things you never thought you'd need to learn. If you don't know how to fix a toilet, change a tire, mow the lawn, grill, caulk, cook, iron or do your taxes, have him show you before he deploys.
   
9. Memorize his social security number. You need it for everything.
   
10. Your attitude is vital. I won't lie; it's easy to get bummed out as an Army wife. He's in the field for three days, training for three weeks or deploying for a year, and you're upset. You can't join your family for vacation, because that week doesn't fall during block leave. Or maybe you just found out you're moving to Kansas. There are a lot of disappointments that come with the territory. While you should be honest with your soldier, your reactions make all the difference in the world to him. I've noticed that my attitude either lightens his load or makes his job 10 times more difficult. And while your commitment to the Army may not be lifelong, your commitment to each other is.

Celebration of Freedom

Last Sunday I attended a "Celebration of Freedom" at a church in Maryland and was completely blown away by the incredible thought, effort and energy that they put into the service. Complete with an orchestra and confetti cannons, an inspiring sermon and musical salute to the Army, Navy, Air Force, Coast Guard, and Marine songs, it was a touching blend of the Church being grateful for the protection of the State and recalling how the State was shaped by the Church at its conception. I blinked back tears as veterans and active duty servicemen and women were honored. I also thought how ironic it was that Steve was working that morning and wasn't able to attend.

I'm pretty sure that I'd never sung the second, third, or fourth verses of "My Country, 'tis of Thee" before. In case you haven't, either, here are the words:

1.    My country, 'tis of thee,

    Sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing;

    Land where my fathers died,

    Land of the pilgrims' pride,

    From every mountainside let freedom ring!

 

2.    My native country, thee,

    Land of the noble free, thy name I love;

    I love thy rocks and rills,

    Thy woods and templed hills;

    My heart with rapture thrills, like that above.

 

3.    Let music swell the breeze,

    And ring from all the trees sweet freedom's song;

    Let mortal tongues awake;

    Let all that breathe partake;

    Let rocks their silence break, the sound prolong.

 

4.    Our fathers' God, to thee,

    Author of liberty, to thee we sing;

    Long may our land be bright

    With freedom's holy light;

    Protect us by thy might, great God, our King.

 

I was amazed at how well God and country are fused in the lyrics, and I thought the same of the church service.

Tonight, though, Steve is off duty and we just returned home from celebrating Independence Day at a friend's house. I'm so grateful that he was able to enjoy this holiday that honors our country, him, and the many men and women who've given up their holidays with family. I know that if Steve is here at home, it means that someone else's husband is deployed and doesn't get to watch his kids play with sparklers or drink a cold beer with his friends. My heart goes out to everyone who's celebrating without a military family member tonight, and my prayers are with everyone who's deployed and those whose loved ones sacrificed all for our United States. God bless America.

All Dressed Up and No Place to Dance

Many girls dream of going to a ball - I know I used to daydream about the dress, the music and the dancing.

Unfortunately, most girls never have the opportunity to attend a real ball. Apparently they aren't very common - unless you're a military wife or one of the Bennett daughters.

I have now been to three military balls, and sadly, the shine has really come off of the events for me. Before my first one, I had a lot of romantic notions about balls - mainly derived from reading Jane Austen novels, I'm sure.

It turns out that they're really about listening to speeches, handing out awards and drinking. That's fine, but it clashes with my Pride and Prejudice-esque fantasies.

At a military ball, there's always a line at the bar. At our last event, the first hour was open bar, and the line was so long that people were having trouble getting through the front doors because the queue was blocking the entrance.

One of the highlights of the night is the mixing of the grog. Several different beverages are poured into a huge bowl - usually different kinds of liquor and wine, each signifying a different battle or event in the unit's history. For example, if the unit invaded France on D-Day, they might add a French wine to the mixture. Coffee, juice, Kahlua...it's all fair game. Spouses aren't required to drink, and I'll admit that I've never tried it. It's fun watching everything go in the bowl though, and then watching everyone's reactions after they've tasted it.

At my first ball I sat dutifully through the grog-making, dinner, awards and speeches, and was excited for what I expected to be the climax of the night - dancing. I was mistaken. When the formal portion of the night was over and a tiny dance floor opened up, most of the guests left immediately. There was a major snowstorm going on outside, however, and we rushed for the door like everyone else, wanting to get across town and inside before it was too dangerous to drive. I was a little disappointed, but blamed the lack of dancing on inclement weather.

At the second ball I attended, the weather was even worse - a tornado warning was announced just as the last speaker wrapped up. We headed home to the sound of screaming tornado sirens. We didn't know it then, but the tornado actually followed us home along the same route we took, just a few minutes behind us. It ended up doing millions of dollars of damage to Kansas State University just four blocks from our apartment. Again, the weather had interfered with the dancing.

However, just a few weeks ago Steve and I attended our first ball here in Florida, and the weather was gorgeous. Considering our track record, I was expecting a freak hurricane to blow through, but it remained clear and beautiful the whole evening. And at the end of the event, the music came on and a table was pushed aside to reveal a dance floor large enough for two or even three couples.

We stuck around for another 45 minutes or so, discussing where to go for more drinks with friends, and I watched the dance floor. A few people crossed it to get to the bathroom on the other side, and one girl twirled around by herself while her date laughed. Everyone else pretended it didn't exist.

Despite the presence of officers in uniform, the days of the Netherfield ball are gone. The upside: I'd choose Steve over Colin Firth any day.

Social Regression

These days I've found myself increasingly socialphobic, shopping at the grocery store first thing in the morning while moms are still dropping their kids off at school or going to the gym after nine when most everyone else has left for work. I suppose it's the consequence of spending every other day completely alone; most days, the only human interaction I have (besides the checkout cashier) is mumbling goodbye to Steve when he leaves for work at five am, and I know I'm incoherent at the time.

It seems to be a vicious cycle: I spend most of my time alone, which weakens my social skills, so I feel more awkward around people, thus making me want to avoid situations where I might need to use those rusty abilities. Case in point: We've lived here for two and a half months, and the only women I've met live in my neighborhood. Both of them.

I know it's getting bad because I'm starting to watch reruns of What Not to Wear. Reruns of House are understandable. Watching What Not to Wear reruns means that TLC has become a little too important in my life. When I began watching that show, we had only been married two months, and even then I could tell my social life was in decline because I'd dress up to go to the grocery store, not having any other reason to relinquish my sweatpants. I can tell how bad it's become now because I don't mind running in without makeup or even once or twice in sweatpants. (Please don't nominate me for What Not to Wear!)

So I've decided to force myself to stop hiding in my house and make some friends. Today I've been pretty successful: I went to a class at the gym, to the BX during lunch hour (for all you Army Wives, an Air Force BX is the equivalent of the PX, the tax-free military Target), walked my dog twice around the neighborhood, met our neighbor on the other side who I'd never talked to before, and chatted with both of the ladies I'd already met. And I still have enough social energy left to RSVP positively to an Officer's Spouses' Club party, even though I don't know anyone else who'll be there.

In fact, my social energy level is the highest it's been in a while, which is interesting, considering I should have exhausted my resources with all the talking I've done today. But surprisingly, that doesn't seem to be how it works. I guess all those social skills need is practice.

Actually, though, I have to run – the season finale of House is on.

Anniversary

Yes, it's tax day, but last year on April 15 taxes were the furthest thing from my mind. It was this time last year - exactly a year ago today - that Steve came home from Iraq.

I arrived in Kansas three or four days before he did, having no idea when he'd actually get in. I was told that I'd get information from the Army a few weeks before he came home, but for some reason there was a miscommunication along the line, and our unit's family members were officially notified the day before. In my case, they called me 13 hours before he actually got off the bus at Fort Riley. Fortunately, I was already in town.

Steve himself ended up being the best resource I had in terms of planning, since he could call from Iraq as they were packing up and give me his best guess as to when they'd be returning. He didn't know anything concrete, and couldn't really tell me the exact dates and times of their flights out of BIAP (Baghdad International Airport) and Kuwait over the phone. But I was able to get a rough, three-day window as to when they'd arrive. I went to Kansas early to set up his apartment, so he'd have a "home" to come home to. I gave it my best effort, but I'm afraid the results weren't the most impressive: Setting up his apartment meant going to Wal-Mart for necessities, buying a few groceries, and moving what I could from his storage unit to his second-floor apartment. Because I had to carry everything in myself, the only furniture he came home to was a barstool and some kitchen chairs.

Still, that kept me busy for a couple of days, until I ran out of "setting up" to do. I went to Panera for coffee and spent a few hours there, endlessly checking my email in case Steve was able to write or the Army was finally sending out specific information. After that, though, I literally could not think of anything else to do besides wait indefinitely. So I spent the next two days watching "The Office" on DVD, which kept my mind off waiting and wondering what to expect. It had been 10 months since I'd last seen Steve in person, and though we were able to talk on the phone regularly, I couldn't help worrying that it might take us some time to get used to being together again. Would we have an awkward reunion?

Around noon on April 14 my phone rang; it was the Army, letting me know that Steve's redeployment ceremony would be held at 0130 on April 15. "0130…0130…" I repeated, confused for a second, and then it struck me. "That's TONIGHT!" I shouted into the phone. "That's one-thirty in the morning – that means it's tonight!" I don't think the guy on the other end of the line was impressed with my deduction skills. But he confirmed that I needed to be at the redeployment ceremony site at 11:30pm that evening.

I really had no idea what to expect at the ceremony, and I had no idea what I was supposed to wear, so I was nervous about that on top of being anxious about seeing my fiancé for the first time in almost a year – not to mention the fact that he was returning from war, an experience I couldn't relate to.

When I arrived, bleachers had been arranged in a semicircle facing two large screens, which were playing "The Little Mermaid" for the kids. Wives were dressed in everything from jeans and grubby t-shirts to dresses and skirts, and I fell somewhere in the middle, so I was able to relax about that. When I got there the prescribed two hours early there were already more than a hundred people waiting. In addition to soldiers' wives there were parents, grandparents, fiancées, girlfriends, siblings and children. There were dozens of crying babies, and I wondered how many of them had never met their fathers before. I alternately sipped coffee and chewed mint gum as I waited for the ceremony to begin.

It finally started and after a few quick speeches, the soldiers began to file in. I had a pretty good view, being on an aisle in the middle of the bleachers, but I started to panic that I wouldn't recognize Steve when he walked in, since everyone seemed to look the same as they organized themselves into rows. I did recognize Steve, however, and waved, but he was soon swallowed up in formation. I stared hard at the guy standing in front of him so I would remember where he was standing. When all of the soldiers were in place the main speaker gave a few words, wrapped up quickly, and dismissed us to find our soldiers. I expected a lot of pushing and running and yelling, but it was surprisingly orderly, and I was able to get to Steve in less than a minute. Standing in front of him for the first time in so long, I suddenly felt shy, but it only lasted for a moment until he pulled me into a huge hug and kissed me. It was a purely joyful reunion – no awkwardness. And just like that, he was home, and the 15 long months of deployment were finally over.

That would be a good place to conclude with "happily ever after," but since I'm still an Army wife and will be for some time, the actual ending is: "…and the 15 long months of deployment were finally over. Until his next tour, that is."

But at least the Army's cut down deployments to no more than 12 months, so next time won't be quite as long.

 

As If I Didn’t Already Have Enough Reasons Not To Work Out…

…I got stuck in the locker room at the Air Force gym today – in a car bomb exercise. The experience felt strangely familiar, like a school tornado drill, except that I had a car parked outside and theoretically I should have been free to leave at any time. In reality, I was made to go sit in the locker room for 45 minutes and do absolutely nothing.

I had made the effort to get to the gym, warm up, and had gotten about 25 minutes or so into my strength routine when one of the trainers calmly came around and told everyone to go to their respective locker rooms. Another trainer, a woman, got on the intercom and announced (a little more forcefully) that women must go to the women's locker room and the men had to report to the men's locker room, immediately. We were not allowed to leave the gym. She also gave us some more information – there was a routine training exercise going on, and the whole base was on lockdown until a (fake) gold Chevy could be located.

I was a little confused. We hadn't had anything like that at Fort Benning, but apparently it's a way of life here in Florida. About three months ago, someone brought a pipe bomb onto the base with plans to set it off, and since then they've held training exercises every few weeks to be prepared in case of another threat. One woman told me that she'd once gotten stuck in the library for five hours. Yikes. As I looked around at the group of women forced into shower stalls to wait indefinitely with only our water bottles for entertainment, however, I began to wish that I were in the library. At least I'd be able to read a book or a magazine.

After I'd spaced out for 15 minutes or so, I came to the logical conclusion to eavesdrop on the conversations going on around me, which were actually pretty interesting: A fitness instructor was reminiscing about similar drills that were a regular occurrence while she and her husband were stationed in Japan, another was discussing her upcoming move to Cairo, and someone else was talking about going back to Germany. The travel bug is helpful in military life; there's no doubt about that – but it's a curse as well as a blessing to have the desire to travel and live overseas and not be able to decide where, when, or even if you'll go, since there are only a limited number of soldiers who get assigned abroad. I started wishing Steve were in the Air Force – it sounded like they have more opportunities for foreign assignments! As soon as I had that thought, though, several people began to talk about being stationed in Little Rock, Arkansas (about half of the women had lived there at some point or another), and just as quickly I decided I was very grateful that Steve is not in the Air Force.

After 30 minutes had elapsed, the trainer got a call from whoever was organizing the drill to inform us that a (fake) suspicious package had been found in a building somewhere on base and as soon as it was checked out we'd be free to go. (Apparently the gold Chevy wasn't important anymore, and we were never told whether or not they found it. Despite the fact that I knew the whole thing was just a "war game," as the instructor kept calling it, it still made me a little nervous to walk outside after it was over and discover that I was parked next to a gold car. Luckily, up close it was a Volkswagen.)

With sleep, television, the internet and all the other excuses and time-wasters trying to steal my motivation for hitting the gym, I hadn't seen this one coming. When the trainer was finally authorized to give the all-clear 15 minutes later, I wasn't the only one lacking motivation to continue exercising. Everyone leaving the locker room was headed toward the parking lot.

Doughnut Runs and Doggie Daycare

On moving day one, Steve was ready first and volunteered to dash out to Krispy Kreme while I finished packing my stuff. Krispy Kreme, Dunkin Donuts, or grocery store muffins – we needed to find something to feed the movers. I'd heard moving horror stories over and over again from military families, and the advice everyone gave us was have something to offer the moving guys when they come to pack and move your stuff. Not that they'd intentionally break anything, but hospitality apparently plays a role in how well they treat your things. We weren't going to take any chances.

When Steve returned with the doughnuts and coffee, I still had piles of clothes, a suitcase, a toiletries bag, the air mattress, sheets, books, and a container of dog food out on our kitchen table as I struggled to get organized. I found it difficult to pack when I had no idea how long I was packing for. It could be a day, or it might be a week or more; we hadn't been given any specifics on when the moving truck would arrive in Florida. When we asked, the answer was essentially, "whenever the driver arrives." Thanks – big help. That left me running around the apartment grabbing anything we might possibly need for the indefinite period of time we'd be without our household goods. I grabbed plates, a pot, a pan, bowls, silverware, and dishwashing soap – everything as I thought of it. Steve had set out a huge pile of things, too – he wanted to move all of his military gear himself.

Speaking of his military gear: The guestroom in our apartment was more commonly known as the "military room," given the fact that 1) half the room was taken up with huge boxes and duffel bags full of Army-issued equipment, and 2) we had few guests in Columbus, Georgia. (Interestingly enough, we already have several people already lined up to visit us in Florida. Hmmm…I wonder why that is?)

The good news is that the Army pays you for the stuff you move yourself by weight and distance, which means we'll be reimbursed for all of the things that we brought with us down to Florida. You have to get your cars weighed empty, and then again loaded down with all of the stuff you'll be moving yourself. Some friends of ours packed up their own stuff (called a full DITY move, meaning you Do IT Yourself) and drove it from Fort Richardson, AK to Fort Benning, GA and made over 20,000 dollars! We won't make anywhere near as much as our friends did, but still. Every little bit helps! So I oversaw most of the cleaning-the-apartment-for-checkout process while Steve got his car weighed twice and signed himself out of Fort Benning.

We had decided that Dixie, our beagle puppy, needed to be out of the way for the moving festivities, so she got to spend two whole days at Paws and Play daycare – I cannot tell you how much having her out of the house helped. I highly recommend it, if you're in the Fort Benning area. I took her over there around 9am, and returned to find the movers at the apartment, already enjoying doughnuts and getting down to work. Steve and I spent most of the morning feeling out-of-place – we couldn't leave, we couldn't really help, and so we stood around awkwardly. After lunch, though, there was plenty for us to do: We had to pack everything the movers wouldn't pack (including all open bottles of liquid, lighters, any alcohol, etc.), plus go around and double-check all of the rooms that were "finished." (Most weren't.) Luckily we caught the drawer full of pot lids, one entire cabinet in each bathroom, some storage shelves, and various other odds and ends that, for some reason or another, hadn't been packed.

Despite that, we had great movers this time around, very friendly and hard-working guys. We provided another round of doughnuts on the second day, as they moved things to the truck. I'm sure they have their own system of loading boxes and furniture, but next time I'll request that when they move things out, they start with one room, get everything out, and then move on to the next. That way I can clean much more efficiently, instead of half-cleaning a room and then waiting to finish it until all the rest of the boxes and furniture are gone. All in all, though, moving day two went pretty well also, and the next morning we were on the road down to Fort Walton Beach, where we're renting a home for the next two years.

Everything arrived at our new house in one piece except a lampshade, which never showed up at all. It's a small price to pay for a move that went so smoothly, however. Now my real work begins: getting all the little details in place, such as: setting up new accounts with the cable, electric and gas companies, getting new library cards, finding a new vet, a new dentist, re-enrolling in Tricare (military healthcare) for a new location and finding new places to shop - while we were waiting for the moving van to show up, we discovered that the nearest Krispy Kreme is 25 minutes away! Fortunately, the guys who unloaded the truck seemed to enjoy their Winn-Dixie muffins.

 

 

On Pride

I can't speak for all AWs, but I'm really tired of listening to Americans who say they're ashamed of their country.

Because Steve and I were just engaged while he was deployed last year, I wasn't living on base in a community of people who understood what I was going through. Though I met many people who were sympathetic to my situation (often they had a nephew in Afghanistan or a friend whose son was going to Iraq), most people felt removed from the whole War on Terror; it was something they saw on the news. Several times last year I found myself in a conversation with someone I'd just met, where they began to rant about the war in Iraq, Bush, how ashamed they were of America, or what a waste it is to be fighting the War on Terror. Some, interestingly enough, even claimed to be speaking for the soldiers, even though they'd admit that no, they didn't know any personally. And they expected me to join in the grumbling!

Instead, I'd let them go through their entire (frequently uneducated) diatribe, most often something they'd heard from an opinionated and probably equally tactless neighbor or coworker. Then I'd casually mention my fiancé, deployed in Iraq, fighting in support of Iraqi Freedom. I've never seen people stammer so much.

Of course, I don't begrudge them their own political views – I just don't need to listen to them belittle what my husband lays his life on the line to defend.

I haven't ever heard anyone besides Americans talk about being ashamed of their country; I have no idea when it became popular to feel this way. Even people from war-torn, poverty-stricken countries who've only barely escaped a corrupt government or lived through extreme persecution are still proud of their national heritage. Yes, they want a new start in a place where their families can be safe or have more opportunities…but they still love their homeland. I won't lie; I think we're doing a lot better than those places!

But we're a nation of imperfect people, led by imperfect leaders (and yes, that includes Obama – though I know that's a huge shock for some people!). We've always had presidents and other elected officials who've made mistakes. I'm not sure why, all of a sudden, people believe that America isn't worth respect.

The U.S. won't be able to always have policies that everyone believes in. We have been severely criticized for not doing anything when faced with major human rights violations such as the genocide in Rwanda, and yet the same critics will blast the U.S. for invading Iraq and removing a cruel dictator who was slaughtering his people – and we even stayed to help Iraq get back on its feet!

Sure, the U.S. has its problems - I'm not denying that. As a country, sometimes we make bad decisions with good intentions and we'll even make good decisions with selfish intentions. Despite these mistakes, I am still proud of my country.

I get asked a lot about what Steve and other soldiers think about the war in Iraq. I can't speak for them on their personal political convictions, but no matter what their views on the war, our soldiers aren't ashamed of their country. They may not always agree with the Commander-in-Chief, but they respect his office. They've all experienced too much to have a wide-eyed idealistic patriotism – but they do possess a down-to earth pride in the country they work to protect.

On Social Events

Even though moving doesn't really bother me, there is one aspect of Army life that does: frequently finding myself at uncomfortable social events.

I'm introverted by nature. I like reading and writing. Forced social situations, on the other hand, intimidate me. I like new people…I just don't enjoy meeting them. Inevitably I'll end up sitting silently next to someone I've just met, trying to think of an imaginative question to ask, but eventually I'll settle for a trite one. I really do love getting to know people, but I'm a one-on-one kind of person. I'd prefer meeting at a coffee shop in a more relaxed atmosphere.

Unfortunately, in Army Wife world, I get thrown into the social pool quite a bit. It's a little more than just meeting new people – there's a lot to consider. I don't go to business dinners with my husband; I attend formal military balls. When I meet his boss, I worry about whether or not to call him "sir" like Steve does, even though I'm not required to. I worry about rank and correct etiquette and trying to remember 50 names.

Plus, everyone's speaking some strange Army language that sounds like English but is really like a code for the initiated. I'm not fluent yet, but I have finally gotten to a point where I can understand most of what's going on. ("So, Christie, are you all going to PCS soon?" PCS stands for "permanent change of station;" basically, PCS = move. And yes, we are. See earlier post.)

To be honest, I haven't really found any tricks that help me remember names, and despite having met probably hundreds of people, I'm still uneasy in a room full of mere acquaintances. I would say that I feel shy the first four times I meet someone, and after that, I'll feel pretty relaxed.

Unfortunately, though, it's a difficult cycle: I'll do whatever I can to get out of a social function if I don't know anyone well, which means it takes me even more time to get to know the other women, so I'm uncomfortable for longer. I know these social events will be a way of life for as long as we're in the Army, and while the friends I meet make it worth it, I still don't get excited about them.

On Moving…

Currently, my daily life probably isn't that much different than anyone else's…except for the fact that I'm packing up to move for the third time since Steve and I got married, seven months ago. We've been stationed at Fort Riley, KS (the base Steve was deployed from throughout our engagement and our first married home – for a week); Fort Benning, GA (for Captain's Career Course, a six-month training assignment); and finally, we're headed to Eglin Air Force Base on the Florida panhandle, where Steve will be a Ranger Instructor for the Army's elite Ranger School. (Ranger School is the one you hear all the horror stories about – no food, no sleep, no contact. When I sat in the bleachers at Steve's Ranger School graduation, a somewhat bewildered Army girlfriend, an Army wife told me that Ranger School was harder for her than deployment, because they were able to communicate more while he was in Iraq.) More details about Ranger School later, though. Even though I've never actually been through the course, I could still probably write pages about it.

I know a lot of people aren't like me – I actually enjoy moving. I moved a few times growing up (even once internationally), and though we weren't a military family, it really helped prepare me for being an Army wife. I hated it the first few times, but gradually I started to look forward to new places and new people, which I'm grateful for now. It's still difficult, though, and a lot of wives have trouble with constant moving. It doesn't matter whether you work and have to find a new job, or you're a stay-at-home mom that has to help kids ease into new schools and make new friends while building your own support network. Every situation presents frustrations.

I would say that out of the women I've talked to in this "profession" (well, it definitely feels that way sometimes), location changes seem to inspire the second-most amount of dread, right behind the obvious – deployment. You get a chance to settle in, make some friends, find a church or a gym or a job…and then you're back to where you started, in new place with new challenges. And let's be honest – an Army base's location is very hit-or-miss. You can be stationed in exotic places like Hawaii, Italy, or Germany; beautiful places like Alaska, Seattle, or Colorado Springs…or you can end up in the middle of Kansas, Oklahoma, or Louisiana. No offense to anyone who's from any of those places. It's just that to a girl who grew up in the rolling hills of Virginia, close to the mountains, close to the city, and close to the ocean, being stationed in Manhattan, Kansas (the "Little Apple") sounds pretty depressing.

However, here's what I found out: Fort Riley is beautiful. It has rolling hills. It has a lake and a river. It has a huge country music festival with big-name stars every June. It turned out that, despite my East Coast prejudice towards the "Plain" state, I ended up liking the area. It wasn't perfect – more on the challenges of living in a military town later – but I also knew I wouldn't be there forever, so I was forced to focus on the good things while I had them.

Having that mentality helps. Right now, we love our church here in Georgia, Christ Community Church. We've met wonderful people there, and we feel very at home. I'm not looking forward to leaving, even though Columbus, GA isn't considered an enviable place to be stationed. However, Eglin AFB, our next home, is right on the Emerald Coast of Florida. And I am excited about that!