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.