Where'd You Go?

There is one story that keeps repeating itself like a broken record amongst military spouses.

You have a life.  You marry into the military.  You try to continue your life.  You move.  Incubate a couple kids.  Move.  Give up on work.  Volunteer.  Do all the "right" things.  And then...

You look at yourself in the mirror and wonder where you are.  Not geographically, although after a while it is a tad difficult to remember just what state or country you are in, but where did you, as a person, go.

In order to not dig too deep and end up miserable the rest of the day, I make jokes to myself.  I ask how I've been, was sabbatical nice, why did I not write to me, was the food good because the constant chicken nuggets and pizza while hubby was deployed sucked, learn anything new because the ole gal could stand to pocket a few new tricks, and if I was going to leave me for so long, the least I could have done was get some sleep...the bags under my eyes are terr-i-ble.

I don't think military spouses are alone in this.  I do, however, think that our constant moving can either be a detriment or an aid in our personal development.  Partaker of the glass half empty?  You have to start ALL...OVER...AGAIN.  It is so hard, why bother when you are just going to move again in two years? On the glass half full side of things, with every move we have the opportunity reinvent ourselves.

This is not only true for after a move, but if you are facing a house without nap time, an empty nest, the outgoing squadron commander's spouse, the women who lose a role or job they have finally gotten a handle on...all abrupt changes where you are a bit adrift, floating out into the distant pity party for one.

Personal growth in the military life can be easily marked by time frames.  Example: During two years at Hanscom, both boys began school full time, I began substitute teaching, and I finally joined the Spouse Club because it was the first time they didn't seem to be a bunch of self absorbed biotches. That base was the base where I began to remember me.  And then we moved.

With each chapter ending in life, I have a mini pity party and only I am invited.  When my baby began kindergarten, I balled my eyeballs out.  For the past 7 years, my main identifier was 'mom'.  Now I was free!  I could do what I want! and watch whatever I want! and eat whatever I want! and use the bathroom without a little fist knocking at my door!  And I was miserable.

I could have continued falling fallen into a pit of despair and self-loathing.  I could have become a naggy harpy wife who made damn sure everyone under our roof was as miserable as I was.  Could have. Many many times.

It has taken some years, but have learned when I am presented with a change to my life that I should grieve...take time to mourn the loss of that world I was comfortable in and the routine that accompanied it.  Then I put on my big girl panties, step outside my comfort zone with a volunteer or part-time job, start taking long silent walks/jogs with my dog, and a begin something new, like weekly coffee with other moms or a blog.  I become a different Heidi.  A better more well rounded Heidi.  A Heidi more equipped to deal with the uncertainties of military life.

The key is understanding that while my physical role as mom decreases, their emotional need for me is really just now warming up.  I have to be mentally capable to deal with all the crap they bring home with them from outside our home.  So I better take the time while they are in school to fill whatever tank needs filling, whether it is household duties or getting my gab on so I don't chatter my husband's ear off the minute he walks through the door.  My hours for the role of  'mom' : 6-8am and 3-8pm.  The between time is for 'me' to decide.  How nice.

With each move, the process repeats.  Can't help it.   I read once that the average person changes careers an average of five times during their life.  Chances are I will surpass that average within the next ten years, if you consider stay-at-home-mom and over-volunteering career choices.

The good news is that I know it will happen and that I will get over it.  The bad news is trying to figure out just what am I going to do different next time around.

Sporty vs. Athletic

It is hard to live on a military installation and not see athletes.

Staying physically fit is part of the job. Our house is located on part of prime running route and I am often found in the morning with my coffee, some kind of fiber bar, watching the parade of runners from inside the cozy confines of my house.  I watch to see if anyone huffs and puffs like I do when climbing the hill that leads to my cul-de-sac.  So far, I am the only one looking like death.  Everyone else looks like they could run all day.  They are seasoned runners, athletes, and that incline is a molehill to my mountain.

There are many spouses who are athletes, too.  They have the drive, the discipline, and the desire to get off their fannies and run.  I had a neighbor in Boston who was religious about working out.  Her Army husband was the definition of sinewy; he was a small wisp of a man but crazy strong and without a lick of fat on him.  Upon giving her a compliment on her dedication to the gym, she replied, "Heidi...you've seen my husband.  If I didn't work out, I would crush him."

I do my best to live an active life for two reasons:

1. I like to eat.  I like to eat whatever I want.  And in whatever portion I want. 
2. I think clearer and more rationally when I have exercised.  

But don't confuse my active lifestyle with my being an athlete.  Someone once called me an athlete.  I had to correct them.  Let me tell you why......

• The only sport I was ever good at was soccer, and that's because I played since I was six. It gave me confidence.  And also three knee surgeries by the age of 21.
• Last week, a spouse passed me while jogging and talking on her phone at the same time.
• My high school volleyball coach announced to everyone during an awards banquet that I could not walk and chew gum at the same time when she first saw me.  
• I lose respect in an aerobics class.  
• I broke my arm first time snowboarding.  
• I run into the corners of tables and the outside of my thigh looks like my husband takes a bat to me.
• My husband is a machine.  The dude can and always has run circles around me.  When we bike around the flight line, he is merrily weaving back and forth, whistling, and even circles back to me while I struggle to stay upright with forward progression against what feels like gale force winds.   
• I am clumsy.  I trip while walking in a straight line.  On a flat surface.
• My boys beat me in a 5K by a good ten minutes.  They are 10 and 8.  

Athletes are good at sports.  I am merely 'sporty'.  Like a Miata.  Not really the athlete of the car world, but sure looks like it could go fast.  I dress the part, talk the part, instruct the part, and have knowledge as to what an athlete should do.  My problem lies in the connection between my brain and my body.

It is hard to be sporty among athletes.  It is even harder to have excuses as to why that athlete isn't me. The best thing I have going for me in that department is that I don't give up.  Call me sporty.  Call me slow.  But don't call me a quitter.

Team

n.  a set of people working together

Team player.  

Taking one for the team.  

There is no "I" in "Team".  

All great sayings centered around working as one.

But sometimes...well sometimes, there should be exceptions.  Take for instance the month of March in the Air Force.  AKA:  Mustache March.  Not a good look yet a tradition that continues to inspire men to forgo their razors (and subsequently carnal knowledge of their wives) and be a team player.  

It is that time of year.  

We can blame thank legendary fighter pilot, retired Brigadier General Robin Olds, for this annual phenomenon.  Olds was known for his decidedly non-regulation mustache he proudly sported during his days in Vietnam.  It was a common among airmen to grow such a stache, but Olds also used his as a mark of individuality ( a concept also decidedly non-regulation).

Olds:  "Generals visiting Vietnam would kind of laugh at the mustache.  I was far away from home.  It was a gesture of defiance.  The kids on base loved it.  Most everybody grew a mustache."

The man, the myth, the mustache.

Upon returning home, he learned that not everyone was a fan of his individuality. When he reported to an interview with Air Force Chief of Staff General John P. McConnell, McConnell walked up to Olds, stuck a finger under his nose and said, "Take it off."  Wisely, Olds replied, "Yes, sir."  Why none of this appears on his official Air Force bio is beyond me.  

Each March, pilots, those deployed, and in certain locations all who want to display their inner Magnum PI, show military solidarity by a symbolic and good natured protest against Air Force facial hair regulations.

Last year our household fell victim to this tradition.  My husband loves a competition and he won "Best Mustache" as voted by his peers.  His plaque read, "With great mustache comes great responsibility". 

Hero to zero in four weeks flat.

He was proud of his ability to grow such an impressive mustache in a short period of time.  

I was nauseated and armed with his razor.  This "thing" was removed from his face immediately after the awards ceremony.  Happily, situations at home returned to normal.  

Wives around base who are currently suffering through this month of madness have kicked around ideas of what would happen, say, if we decided not to shave our armpits in protest of the protest. But we quickly realized that two wrongs would not make a right in this situation, especially since we are in the South and it is already bleeping hot.  Tank tops and shaggy pits don't mix.

We women don't get it and don't think we are supposed to.  The men complain about their mustaches, yet also brag whether their stache rivals Wyatt Earp or John Holmes.  So if you are suffering through this month with a man who is growing a mustache, I hope he wins "Best in Show" and not "Most Disturbing".  Go Team.

Retire

v. To give up your regular work once you reach a certain age

There is a standing joke in our house about retirement.  Back when I was young and naive and a workaholic, I promised my equally young, naive, and hard working husband that he could retire at the 20 year mark and I would take over as the breadwinner.  I'd be his sugar mama.

Foolish, foolish Heidi.  Look at her being all independent.  Wasn't she cute?

That was a blissful time in my life where I was gung-ho about having it all.  Then I had a baby and then another baby and then became CEO of our lives.  I make this family run like the rusty well-oiled machine it is.  I never thought I would say these words, or even admit to saying these words, but I am a kept woman and  I like it.  Don't confuse me for the Real Housewives of Anywhere...I do not spend my days with a personal trainer, getting my hair blown out, and bossing around nannies.  I treat my my stay-at-homeness like a job.

But still.....

I have my master's degree for crying out loud.  I had ideas.  I had plans for my life that did not involve creating menus, removing stains, counseling a ten year old boy on the craziness of ten year old girls, or mandatory fun created by the military.  While I still have plans, they are now focused on the PTO's book fair, what soup I am bringing to church Wednesday night, and why my dog has diarrhea again.

And I like it.

So sad. Or is it smart?

I love not having the stress of succeeding.  I love not having to fit one more schedule onto our full calendar. I am filling a need and filling it well, in my biased humble opinion.  My husband knows all this and has always left the decision to stay at home up to me.  He is happy with our life, but he would be equally happy if I were bringing home a paycheck.

When our first son was born, it was easy to quit my job because we were also moving.  Perfect!  And then had another baby, another move, a deployment, another move, lots of TDYs, another move and here I am, with no excuses as to why I am not pulling in money except this one:   I...don't...want...to.

We are a joking couple.  We tell each other to shut up (what!), that the other is stupid (gasp!), and rib each other incessantly, all with a kind tone and not an ounce of meanness.  We do this because we know the other is full of poo and won't take our comments seriously.  It works for us.  About once a week, my husband (with a smirk) reminds me of my promise, especially since we are staring at almost 15 years in the military slap in the face.  This week, the conversation went like this:

J:  So....how are those plans coming along for you to be my sugar mama?  


I pretend I don't hear.


J:  Heidi...I know you hear me...we could only have one more move in our future.  How are you going to support me in my years of retirement?


H:  I am waiting for the next million dollar idea.


J:  I'd settle for the next thousand dollar idea.  How about that, hmmm?    

Smartypants.

The beauty of being a military spouse is how darned easy it is to not have a job.  Unless you work from home, have older kids, or in a profession where moving isn't a deterrent, working is a hassle and one I am not willing to put on my plate right now.  I do not need to work outside the home for my sanity or to pay bills...all valid reasons spouses hold down jobs.

We don't live outside our means.  We don't go on expensive vacations, buy our kids everything, or eat out all the time.  We have adjusted our life so one income works and still save for our future.  I am not suffering by my lack of a life outside my home.  I do however, have to suffer through the weekly reminders that my sugar mama role is rapidly approaching.

Which is why I keep hinting to my husband that we should ride this military gravy train as far as it will take us. Maybe by that point, I will have figured out just what I want to do when I grow up.

Or at least the next thousand dollar idea.

Spouse Spotlight: Lindsey Kindt

House hunting did not fare very well.  The houses in Northern Virginia are rascally buggers and while we thought we had one cornered a couple times, none were worth clubbing and calling ours.  We came home empty handed, but still hungry, so looks like more searching for the elusive home is in the future. 

Speaking of houses, this week's Spouse Spotlight selection from commentors is Lindsey Kindt, who was the previous tenant of the house I currently reside and the same house I want to take with me everywhere.  She neglected to tell me about the 40 pound bee hive in the attic, but that is a tale for another day.

Here is the main reason I dig Lindsey.  She was one of the first smiling-happy faces that made me feel welcomed to this base when we PCS'd almost three years ago.  At first I thought it was a farce...no one could be this content, this peaceful, especially with two teenagers.  And then I learned her story.   In April 2005, Lindsey was diagnosed with stage 2 colon cancer, had the 10 cm tumor and 12" of her large intestine removed, and had three rounds of chemo.  Oh, yeah, then she PCS'd, had another nine rounds of chemo, home schooled her kids, and her husband deployed.  Wish that was all, but after another PCS in 2009, she was diagnosed again, had another surgery with a complete removal of her colon and this is what she has to say:

 "...thankfully, no chemo!!  Another perk:  when you don’t have a colon, you can’t have a colonoscopy!  Not EVER!  Boo-yah!!  I do, of course, have to have annual upper-endoscopies and sigmoidoscopies, but those are a breeze.Through it all, GOD rocked – and He surrounded me with an amazing family.  Life is GREAT!"

See what I mean?  The force is stroong with this one. 

But don't feel sorry for Lindsey...that is not her or my MO.  Instead, read about her below and see your glass as half full, with rose colored glasses, and with a silver lining, just like Lindsey. 

__________________________________________________________________________________

Hometown:

Lexington, KYWhat you love about your hometown:

Oh my – what’s not to love about Kentucky?  I’m probably overly sentimental about it, since I left the state for college and really only returned for school holidays before graduating and striking out on my own (in Ohio).  Kentucky is, without a doubt, the one state in America where God would build a house and retire, if He could.  It’s gorgeous.  Forget what you’ve heard about toothless gully girls, and 13-year old brides marrying their cousins – and imagine, if you can, miles upon miles of rolling green hills, each one dotted with the most amazing thoroughbred horses you’ve ever seen.  Industrial production is kept at a minimum in Kentucky because the ensuing air pollution is bad for the horses (no joke!). The sun DOES shine bright on my Old Kentucky Home, and I hope to be able to retire there.  Look for me, on a patch of 10-20 acres of land, sitting on the porch of my house.  I won’t be sippin’ moonshine, but I’m sure you can find some at my neighbor’s if you really get a hankerin’ for a jug.

College and degrees obtained:

Denison University (Ohio) – B.A. in Psychology

Bowling Green State University (Ohio) – M.Ed. in School Psychology

What did you do in your past life (pre-military spouse):

All psychology, all the time.  I worked in a chlidren’s psychiatric hospital for a couple of years, and then went on to grad school to become a school psychologist.  After doing that for a couple of years, I became pregnant and we went into the Air Force – at which point my career objective changed.

Years married:

22 years as of this coming May – to the keeper of my heart, Mike J

Years as a military spouse:

Almost 19.  Mike did his internship with the USAF back in 1992, and owed 3 years of service after that.  Our plan was to BAIL as soon as those three years were up.  Apparently we had a change of plans, because we’re still here!

Kids and how many:

Our daughter is 18 and, against every beat of my heart, is leaving for college in the fall – and our son is 15.  They’re both incredible kids…

How they react to moving:Probably like most military kids.  They get excited when they hear about a new duty station, and then reality kicks in and they get sad about having to separate from their friends.  And then they get anxious about meeting new kids, but excited about moving into a new house and exploring new areas.  It’s such a mixed bag with these military kids – but they have always known that, regardless of their surroundings, there will always be one, dependable constant:  their family.  We are a very tight-knit community of 4, and we’ve always aimed for providing a soft landing spot for one another.

Number of moves:

Counting pre-military moves, I’ve lived in 15 different towns (only 6 with the USAF)

Deployments:

Only one – can you believe that!?

Dream retirement location:

Shall I sing ALL the lyrics to “My Old Kentucky Home”?  Honestly, I’d be thrilled to end up in Kentucky, but as long as we can have some land somewhere, with some hills and (preferably) a creek, then I’d be perfectly content.

Current job:

Wife and Mother extraordinaire!!  It’s the greatest job in the WORLD!!

Hobbies:

Shopping, eating, making rosaries, making jewelry, going to Mass, shopping, visiting with friends (while eating), shopping with friends, and taking naps (sorry, friends can’t join me on this one).

Your strengths and weaknesses:I’ll get the weaknesses out of the way first:  I tend to be judgmental of others, and that’s something I hate.  I’m trying to be better, but it’s a hard habit to break.  I’m so grateful that God is patient with me – goodness knows I need it.  As far as strengths, I think I’m an emotionally strong person.  I’ve dealt with some pretty horrible crap in my life, and I really don’t feel any worse for wear.  In fact, I feel even stronger.  I rely on my faith a LOT, and lean heavily on my family and friends.  With God, family and friends in my corner, I can kick anything square in the face and win J

Have you ever gone cow tipping?

You’d think that, growing up in Kentucky, I’d be able to say “yes” to this one…but sadly, the answer is “no”.  Maybe Vicki will take me someday?

The moving van just caught on fire…what three things would you want to save:

Save my photographs, the kids’ baby boxes, and my wedding album!  Everything else can burn, baby, burn.

Are you superstitious and if yes, how so:

Not at all.  Bring on all the black cats you can find, and parade them up and down my sidewalk.  I’ll break a mirror while opening my umbrella INSIDE my house as I head outdoors to feed all the kitties.

Favorite quote:

Hands down favorite quote EVER:  “Be the change you wish to see in the world” – Ghandi.  Doesn’t that just speak volumes?  If you want to see something changed for the better, get up and get busy!  We can’t wait for others to change things for us if we aren’t willing to get our hands dirty in the process.

Biggest regret:

When I was in college I had the opportunity to spend a semester studying voice at the Mozart Teum in Salzburg, Austria – and I chickened out because it was “too far from home”.  Such a pansy move!  If I had known then that I would spend the majority of my adult years living SO far away from family, I would’ve packed my bags and my throat lozenges and headed straight for the airport.

Five most important things in your life:

Faith (God rocks!) – Marriage (my husband truly completes me) – Job (I totally LOVE being a wife and mom!) – Health (dang – worked pretty hard for this one!)  - Freedom (without it, I wouldn’t be able to cherish and enjoy the first four).

Where you were on 9/11:

At “Tuesday Morning” in Wichita Falls, Texas.  I was aware that something was going on, because the clerks were all gasping and talking and huddling together, and all I could think was that it was pretty unprofessional for them to be acting like that at work.  They didn’t say anything to the customers at all – and I left with my purchases and started heading home.  Listening to the radio in my van, someone called in and said something about “where the World Trade Center USED to be” – and I thought that the guy was a total nut job.  When I got to the base, the Security Police were frantically waving people AWAY from the base, and I remember rolling down my window and saying “But I LIVE here” (‘cause that was going to make a big difference, right?) – and he waved me away anyways.  I just drove and drove and drove – listening to the radio – and finally ended up at the kids’ school.  I watched the news in the school library for a while, then went to a friend’s house to watch more, then ended up at our church for a prayer service.  When we were finally able to get onto the base, and into our house, we tried to keep the news off for the sake of the kids.  That night, as TAPS played at it’s usual time, I stood on the back porch and cried.

What makes you proud to be a military spouse:

Oh my – just about everything.  I’m proud of how tough we are, how compassionate we are, how much we strive to mentor new spouses, how we all band together through all kinds of trials, of how flexible we can be – I’m so honored to be friends with such amazing women!!

What makes you sad about being a military spouse:

Knowing that I really must use pencil when writing addresses in my address book.  I wish we could all stay together – in the same town, on the same street – until we are old and gray – but that’s just not meant to be.
__________________________________________________________________

See what I mean?  Thanks, Lindsey!

Remember, comment during the week and you might be immortalized next!

Simile: moving and babies

n.  a comparision of one thing to another


We are currently house hunting for our upcoming move this summer.  Enjoy.

Military moves are like childbirth.

1. Both are due to my husband.
His job as an active duty dude moves us all over the place. I would not choose to do this all on my own, but seeing as how I chose to marry him, I accept the consequences.

While both our boys look remarkably like me, I am not asexual and did not grow them simply by wishing to have two mini-male-mes roaming the planet.

2. Both have an anticipatory time frame.
In October, we knew a move was in our future, so we have been sitting on this info for a good five months.  Then we found out where and much like finding out the sex of a baby, an unknown factor is removed from the equation. Excitement followed by thrill and a sense of relief knowing that the "I don't know where we will be going" or "pink or blue" question is answered.

3. Fear and uncertainty are in direct relation to the impending date.
It is amazing how quickly anxiety rises in proportion to the time frame as the move/birth date approaches. Questions that you were as cool as a cucumber about only weeks before suddenly become the MOST IMPORTANT THING EVER.

Suddenly you realize logistics are a crucial aspect to life. "This baby has to come out of where???" What once seemed a natural part of being a woman takes on a whole different feeling when you realize there is no turning back. The fact that the fetus is putting enormous pressure on your nether regions is a daily reminder that yes, it will indeed come out of there.

Armed only with the knowledge of a move, I was as cool as a cucumber.  Now the list of questions:  buy/rent, neighborhoods, schools, sports, church, traffic....suddenly seemed as urgent and pressing as the 9 and 10 lbs. babies did on my pelvic ligaments. Everywhere I turn I see things that needed to get done in order to make the move less painful. Things would be sooooo much easier if we didn't move. Nope, that's it. We aren't moving.

Denial is a wonderful sedative. While not as tasty as beer, it is one I continue to use often.

4. There is a rush of relief as soon as it is over.
Once things get under way and are completed, there isn't a whole lot you can do. There is the crash from adrenaline that makes everything a-o-kay. I don't know how many times, after both events, I simply said, "Whatever" and meant it.

I could have received a call from the moving line telling me the semi truck carrying all our worldly possessions spontaneously burst into flames and I would have said "whatever". Out of my hands. What is done is done.  Now you can only imagine the damage on the other end. 

Similar to after giving birth. You are stuck there. Not a whole lot you can do about it now but sit back and wait for reason 5.

5. Reality strikes.
note: the word acceptance here could also have been used, but after comparing both words in my dictionary, adaptation seemed a better fit since acceptance usually arrives with contractions and the moving truck
After the initial shock wears off, we human being have the amazing ability to adapt. Change can be good. Keeps us on our toes and broadens our horizons.

I learned soon after childbirth that washing my hair every day was overrated. Same goes for brushing it, too. And was okay with that. I grew to enjoy the peaceful moments with my baby.  Life took on a different pace.  I focused on being a good wife and mother, well, with the exception of being Ursa the unkempt hairy beast.  Instead of the hectic world of earning a paycheck, I entered the chaotic and upredictable world of parenting.


6.  Forgetfulness

Accompanied by migraines, my usual freak-out occurs about a month after a move.  My world is turned upside down with each PCS similar to when a child is born. I have no official role other than tour guide/social director for my family since we are normally living in a hotel and it is difficult continue with my job as domestic engineer.  Hubby has already started work which keeps him gone for long hours learning the ropes. I am stressed out, aimless and restless. Prime breeding ground for a migraine and an irrational Heidi. What the heck am I to do???

I vividly recall curling up with my first son weeks after he was born on my bed at 4pm every afternoon to watch Oprah. The term watch is used loosely. I could not tell you about a single episode, guest, or discussion that took place on her show. I was too busy weeping. Not bawling, crying, or simpering. But weeping. I was never going to be just me again. I had this little being that just ate, pooped, and puked on me. I lost my identity and my world was upside down. Yikes. What am I going to do???

With childbirth, I pushed for FOUR hours and needed help from a vacuum extractor to get my first son out.  And yet over a year later, I wanted another baby.  Was I mental?  Forgetfulness is a powerful weapon life plays on us.  Did I not remember the hormones, sleepless nights, and always smelling of spoiled milk?

I continue to accept the unavoidable military lifestyle of moving every 2-4 years.  Am I nuts?  Do I not remember how we all turn into head cases for the first two months?  How I hate unpacking?  How I hate having to reidentify myself and find a new happiness each place we move?  Why do we not revolt and set the moving truck on fire ourselves?  Why do we not have a sit in and chant, "Heck no, we won't go!"?

There is a part of the brain missing in moms.  Please, if you know, don't tell what part it is.  That kind of awareness I honestly don't want to possess.  Ignorance is bliss.  Just like forgetfulness for military spouses is an art form that needs no cure.  Ask any military family: sometime around the two-year mark, they get the itch to move.  It is a sickness.  There should be a twelve-step program. 

7. Adaptation

After a baby is in the house, you adapt to new routines all the time because life would be waaaay toooo easy if babies always wanted/needed the same things.  No, they continue to change and grow and you need to adapt with them.  As a mother, if 'flexible' is not one of your character traits, you are in big trouble.  That is a word I have already added to my resume. Not trouble, but flexible.

New moves create new routines. My husband's job differs depending on his assignment and so my roles change, too.  This year he makes the coffee, gets breakfast for the boys, helps with homework, and is around all the stinkin' time.  Next year will be completely different with most domestic duties falling solely on my shoulders once again.  It is all about remaining flexible to differing situations.  I won't may not like it, but I will ADAPT.  And end up liking it, dammit.

Adventures occur with military moves.  So do new friends and experiences.  Same with babies.  We all learn to roll with life's punches, not to sweat the small stuff, and survive with war stories to tell.  And soon forget the pain.


Well, at least until the next move!

Spouse Spotlight: Vicki Downing

Vicki has the honor of the first Spouse Spotlight!  While this was a random selection from those who comment each week, Vicki deserves this as a reward for living next to me and acting as my sounding board on many many many things. 

Plus, pretty much the same things and people that annoy me tend to annoy her.  So we've got that going for us...which is nice.

So, world...meet Vicki.  Vicki...the world and the 12 people that read this.

The floor is yours.

Hometown:  

Nevada, Iowa  (the first A is pronounced with a long A sound...not like the state)...it's in central Iowa...about 8 miles East of Ames (home of ISU); about 30 miles North of Des Moines.

What you love about your hometown:  

(Warning:  This one may get long and extraneous!)  I have great memories of growing up in Nevada.  When I was there it was a town with population of about 5000.  There were 86 people in my graduating class....86 in '86!  We had one of those downtowns that you see in the movies...the drugstore with the soda fountain, the "dime store" (five and dime, Ben Franklin, whatever you call it in your neck of the woods), a great theater with Saturday matinees.  You could walk or ride your bike anywhere...without worry.  All the moms in the neighborhood would just yell for their kids at dinnertime.  At least half of your friends were either in FFA or 4-H....and it was cool and expected to go to the County Fair every summer.  It was a great place to grow up!  When I go back now (my parents still live there), many of those things I grew up with are no longer there.  But, the people are still the same...and I don't mean the same people are there, although many are.  You can still go downtown, park your car and leave the doors unlocked and the windows down.  Neighbors help each other out.  Kids still detassle corn and walk beans for summer jobs (if you don't know what that means, you're not from a farm state!), and they still "scoop the loop".  I must say, these things are not unique to my hometown; the entire state of Iowa is made up of towns and people like I have mentioned.  Any person from Iowa will tell you they are proud to be an Iowan!  

College and degrees obtained:  

Iowa State University of Science and Technology - BS in Liberal Arts and Sciences - Major in Meteorology; minor in Math

 

What did you do in your past life (pre-military spouse):  

Been a military spouse since day one, so I guess I would have to say "student".

Years married: 

21+ (we've actually been together since 15 Oct 1982...my high school freshman year homecoming.)

Years as a military spouse: 

21+ (not including the 4 years as an ROTC date/girlfriend/groupie!)

Kids and how many: 

2 boys - Walker and Texas Ranger :) - soon to be 15 and soon to be 11.  

How they react to moving:  

Amazingly enough, my boys are very resilient when it comes to moving.  They usually hate leaving Base X and will talk all about their friends and the house there for 2-3 months after the PCS.  But, they are excited to get into the new house and meet the kids in the neighborhood at Base Y.  They are usually eager to learn about the new location and tell everyone that their dad got an assignment, spewing details about when they're leaving and where to.  Walker is at his 7th different school (and is in the 9th grade); TR is at his 4th (and is in the 5th grade).  The new school bit is always challenging...finding your way around, new rules, getting in the right classes (when you get to the high school years), and of course finding the kids you want to hang out with.  So far, I can't really complain about my boys' attitudes toward moving...knocking on wood here!

Number of moves: 

Including first PCS from college apartment = 10 (that does not include 2 moves from off-base to on-base)  Here's the rundown:

Mather AFB - Sacramento, CA (closed)

Davis-Monthan AFB - Tucson AZ

Little Rock AFB - Jacksonville, AR

Pope AFB - Fayetteville, NC

Scott AFB - Mascoutah, IL

Fort Leavenworth, KS - Leavenworth, KS

Scott AFB - Mascoutah, IL

Maxwell AFB - Montgomery, AL

Pentagon - Arlington, VA

Keesler AFB - Biloxi, MS

Dream retirement location: 

Not sure; this answer keeps changing.  Wherever the Colonel can find a good retirement job!?

Current job:  

Stay-at-home-mom; calendar-keeper; chauffeur; maid; short-order cook; KSC Thrift Shop Advisor; hot trophy wife to be seen at various official functions 

Hobbies:  

I used to:  scrapbook, do taekwondo, and read books....lately, it's been monthly Bunko and Facebook...oh, and reading Heidi's blog!  Sad, but true.

Your strengths and weaknesses:  

Weaknesses first:  

Not always speaking my mind.  (Read more about that under "regrets".)  

Hounding my kids about stupid stuff.  

Can't keep my house clean...ok, it's "clean", but not "tidy".  

I seem to be turning into a procrastinator.  I used to be really good about taking care of business right away, but I think I've started to realize that some things are more important than others and some of that business gets piled up on the counter!

Strengths:  

Realizing that some things are more important than others and letting business get piled up on the counter.  

Being experienced enough to take care of a PCS move, and all that goes with that, by myself.  

Hounding my kids about important stuff with the hope that they'll learn how to distinguish between important and stupid and make the right choices.  

Not always speaking my mind.  Sometimes it's better to just let things go!

Have you ever gone cow tipping?  

Who hasn't?!?

The moving truck just caught on fire…what three things would you want to save:  

Obviously, as with most military spouses, the super-important stuff is moving with me in the car.  But, the moving van probably has my scrapbooks/photo albums (there are just too many to bring with me), the box of Christmas decorations made by the children, and the box of the boys' school memories/awards/art/saved stuff.

Are you superstitious and if yes, how so:  

Not really.

Favorite quote:  

I have three:  

"The world is made for people who aren't cursed with self-awareness." - Annie Savoy (from Bull Durham)

"Don't let the invisible fire burn my friend" - Cal Naughton, Jr. (from Talladega Nights)

"Get on board the Tron train or get the hell out of the way!" - the Colonel (mine, not KFC's)

Biggest regret:  

Being so shy growing up.  It sounds lame, but a shy, quiet personality is not conducive to Air Force life.  I certainly haven't turned into an extrovert, and I don't go out of my way to make a statement, but I've come a long way since high school.  Most of my AF friends wouldn't have any idea of the person I was back in Iowa!

Five most important things in your life:  

Five?  Really?  My Family; my Air Force family; my brain/education.  (I could separate out family members to make it to five, but I'm gonna lump 'em and leave it.  I really feel this is not one of my best answers, but it's all I got right now.)

Where you were on 9/11: 

Living off-base in Shiloh, IL (near Scott AFB); Walker was in kindergarten, Texas Ranger was just a baby.  I was actually home watching the Today show.  I remember wanting to make sure I got a shower while TR was still asleep.  I got out of the shower and whatever news channel was on was talking about the Pentagon and I kept thinking "they need to stop talking about the Pentagon or people are going to think it got hit too!"  It took me a little while to realize what happened.  I tried to call my best friend who was living in DC at the time....little did I know he was on the Metro headed to the airport....needless to say, he didn't go anywhere and had a long walk back home!  The Colonel was TDY to Yuma, AZ...that turned into a giant waiting game to see when he would be able to get a flight back!

What makes you proud to be a military spouse:  

The people:   Active duty, Guard, Reserve, all branches, "dependents", civilians...  It really is a small percentage of the population and a fraternity of sorts.  I'm just proud to be associated with any of them.  As a military spouse, I'm happy to speak positively about the military when there are many who won't.  Military spouses support each other...and their military member...and their military friends...and any military child.  We support our bases and the communities we live in. We are amazingly strong, in every sense of the word!

What makes you sad about being a military spouse:  

Losing track of past military friends.  SERBs, RIFs, BRACs that affect friends and families.  Making my children pull up their shallow roots and replant every couple years.  Knowing that we're nearing the end of our active duty military time....

What you would like people to know about military spouses:  

(I've turned this into a "top ten" list.)

1.  We are "spouses" now...not wives.  There are too many male spouses in our midst these days to not include the guys.  Spouse clubs need to remember this and have inclusive events/prizes, not just "jewelry" bingo, candle parties, and flowery gift baskets!

2.  We don't sit around at luncheons wearing white gloves and hats.  

3.  We don't always agree with with the AF (insert your own branch here), but we will support it nonetheless.

4.  We're not all right-wing nutjobs.

5.  We do actually make cookies for new neighbors when they move in.

6.  We didn't know you had to tip the baggers at the commissary when we started this ride.  (Unless you were a military brat.)

7.  Our Christmas card lists are much longer than average.

8.  Senior Leadership spouses need as much support as anyone.  Yes, we've been around longer, but we still have the same issues...and then some.  Our husbands are dealing with so much stuff that people never see.  It takes a toll on them and the household.  People expect us to have all the answers, or expect us to convey your problems to our husbands, which seem of great importance to you, but in the grand scheme of things are not.  We have kids in the public schools too.  Don't think we don't feel your pain there.  We have learned to put on our politically correct, smiling face and present ourselves as the base representatives that we are, but we are still ordinary people with ordinary issues.  Our base house may be a bit bigger, but we have the same bug and maintenance problems!  Hug your senior leadership spouses...or least ask how they're doing occasionally.

9.  We can turn any house into a home with some rugs, curtains, and if we're really daring, a bucket of paint that's not white (for those of you in base housing!).

10.  We love what we do.  If you're a military spouse and you're not loving it, you're not trying hard enough.  You need to get out on your base and in your community and take advantage of what's there.  Go to the local sporting events, go see a movie on base, volunteer at the thrift shop, volunteer at the local animal shelter, knock on your neighbor's door if you need something, get your kids involved in sports or scouts or whatever their "thing" is, do the "mandatory fun" stuff...sometimes it IS fun.  I could really go on and on here, but I'll stop.  

I'll leave you with one last thought:  "Enjoy the ride.  It'll be over before you know it!"  Not everyone gets a chance to ride, so take advantage of the opportunity and spread the word.

Want to be immoralized on my blog?  Start commenting like Vicki and you could be next! 

Roots

• a person's original or true home, environment, and culture 
• the personal relationships, affinity for a locale, habits, and the like, that make a country, region, city, or town one's true home
• personal identification with a culture, religion, etc., seen as promoting the development of the character or the stability of society as a whole

Can the military a hometown? 
Can you establish roots when you move every 2 years?

It is impossible to go anywhere in Central Florida quickly with my best friend. Since grade school she has lived, attended church, played sports, competed in beauty pageants, went to college, worked, got married, earned her master's degree, divorced, worked, remarried, and earned her doctorate's degree all within about 100 square miles.  She has an incredible memory for not only a familiar face, but their name and the personal connection to that person.  Go anywhere with her and I guarantee she will know the guy looking over yogurt choices at Publix.  And has to ask about his parents, sister, and dog.  This annoys amazes me.

Orlando is not a small town.  It once was, but those days are long over.  Yet in Laura's world, Orlando is still the town incorporated in 1875 with 85 inhabitants, not the 4th largest metropolis in the Southeast United States as it is today.  Her world feels small within a county of over 1 million people.  It is truly her hometown.
   

The Air Force is a small world.   If I had a dollar for every time I have heard that said in the past 13 years, well, I wouldn't be sitting here writing this blog but playing first mate to my husband happily captaining our fishing boat in the Keys.  The more assignments we have and the more our friends move, the smaller our Air Force world becomes.  I cannot count how many times in the last year we have Six-Degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon'd our way into discovering mutual acquaintances.
 
Orlando is also my and my husband's hometown, but it no longer feels like it.  Moving with the Air Force every 2-3 years, our boys have never had a geographically defined place to call  home.  They associate home with people, not one city. While we may live like nomads, we have a vested interest and connection with military families who become part of our family's history.  Our roots are in the familiar faces we see everywhere and in the familiar names we hear from people we just met. Our Air Force world keeps getting smaller. 

  

The military can be a hometown.  And yes, if properly planted, roots can grow.  Ask my kids where their hometown is and they will tell you a) where they were born and b) that home is wherever we are. 
 

So for anyone that feels sympathy for military kids for not having roots, don't.  Not only do they have roots too numerous to count, but their roots are the reach of the world.