I found this in my drafts and never posted it.

That is my favorite face in the world.  Those are my favorite eyes.  My favorite nose sits right in the middle.  And that smile - that is the smile that I live for.  I think that is an absolute perfect face.

My daughter, Zoe, is 10 1/2 years old and if you told her she was pretty, she would disagree with you.  And mean it.  She thinks people give her compliments because they feel sorry for her since she's in a wheelchair.  How do you convince her otherwise?

Zoe was in tears yesterday as we pulled up to the house after a quick run to grab some lunch.  Her friends were playing outside and I could tell something was wrong with Zoe.  She didn't roll down to the end of the driveway and shout "Hey!"  Instead she quickly moved to the front door and asked to go inside.  I grabbed our food, opened the door, and she sped into the house.

Immediately I asked her what was wrong?  She looked up at me and burst into tears.  

"What is it?  Do you want to go outside and play?"

"No.  I'm embarrassed," she said softly.

"Why?" I asked as I gave her a kiss on the forehead and moved her hair from her face.

"I didn't want anyone to see I was eating fast food."

My heart sunk.  I knew what was coming next as she wailed, "I'm fat!"

10 years old.  Are we going to do this now?  It's too early.  

"Zoe," I started firmly, "You are not fat.  You're body is different than other kids.  Your belly is round because you breathe from your belly.  I'd rather you have a round belly and be able to breath than be super tiny and not breathe.  Don't you think?"

Zoe nodded as I wiped the tears from her face.  "But, Mom, my face is fat.  It's too round.  And I have all this ugly extra fat under it."

"Baby, I have a double chin too.  It's a family thing.  You can't fight it.  And you have a beautiful face."

"No.  My cheeks are fat.  My face is too big.  It's ugly."  She wasn't looking at me.

"Zoe, you have smiling cheeks.  They're gorgeous.  And your face isn't too big, it's perfect.  You have beautiful eyes and a perfect nose.  Everyone always tells me how beautiful you are.  And they're right.  You are."  I started to panic because we've had similar conversations and I thought I had gotten through to her.  Here she was, so embarrassed about something she can't change and shouldn't be embarrassed about.  I knew where we were heading...

"Mommy, I hate SMA!  I hate it!  My friends have little bodies and flat bellies.  And I just want to look like them.  The girls on TV are all skinny.  I just want to look... normal."

Cue Mommy's heart breaking.  

Normal.  Fuck that word.  Fuck normal.  No one is normal.  I wish I could kick normal's ass right now.

Instead, I said "Zoe, everyone has something about their body that they wish they could change.  But everyone can't look exactly the same. Everyone is different.  It's okay.  It's a good thing."

Zoe mumbled, "I don't want to be different."

And there you have it.  Of course she doesn't.  But what Zoe doesn't understand is that even though she knows other SMA kids who are very tiny, she is very healthy.  And although she weighs 95 pounds, that weight is what has gotten her through 12 spinal surgeries.  She is not fat.  She has a round belly that helps her breathe because her muscles don't work well or at all in some cases.  Her body works twice as hard, if not harder, than the other kids in her class JUST TO BREATHE.  Her body is pretty fuckin' amazing if you ask me.  It's beaten more odds than I can count.

All I can do is tell Zoe I love her.  That she's perfect.  That being smart is more important than being beautiful.  That being funny, a good friend, kind, caring, and loyal are much better qualities that looks.  I told her that when everyone turns 75, we're all wrinkled and ugly looking.  The pretty girls look just like everyone else.  But the smart girls stand out because they don't lose their brains.  Looks fade though.

This wasn't really good enough for my 10 year old who doesn't want to look into the future.  She wants to look at herself in the mirror and feel good TODAY.  I wish with everything in me that we didn't reward people for being good looking.  I wish that the girls on the covers of magazines were teachers, doctors, scientists, humanitarians, and so many other things than just rich and pretty.

I wish I could take the Kardashians, the Snooki's and JWow's of the world completely out of the spotlight.  I wish we had healthier images for our daughters to look up to.  And I wish that I could change 35 years of the same thinking inside my head and look in the mirror and feel beautiful, too.

I have some serious thinking to do in order to find ways to combat this.  It cannot continue.

Flight Risk

Today I was super excited when I saw a tweet that one of my favorite bands had posted a new demo.  I clicked on the link, overjoyed with the thought of new music for my ear holes from Framing Hanley.  I don't know what I was expecting but I was not expecting what I got.

The lead singer, Nixon, lost his dad to cancer and the song is a result of his regrets, his love, and his pain.  This song hit me like a freakin' train.  Torturing myself, I played it several times in a row feeling every single word and note like a knife to my chest.  My heart is aching with old wounds that I buried a long time ago.

My dad was diagnosed with cancer when I was 22.  I had just checked in to my new unit in Germany when I got the call to come home.  Terrified, I crossed the Atlantic not knowing what I was going to find.  Still selfish and completely self centered, I wasn't quite able to grasp what was happening.

My mom married my dad when I was 6.  He's the only dad I've ever known as I never had a relationship with my biological father before he passed away.  My dad was this force in my life that I loved and feared.  He never laid a hand on me but his presence was just so overwhelming when I was a kid.  My dad was the biggest, strongest man I'd ever known.  He was from Samoa and so very different from anything I had ever known.  At six years old, he reminded me of a giant.  A gentle giant, but a giant nonetheless.

Growing up, I just wanted my dad's approval.  He wasn't emotional and didn't show his love the way my mom did with hugs, kisses, and attention.  My dad always loved me, I knew that.  And he was proud of me for sure. We bonded over football, the WWF, music, and of course my eventual turn to the military.  When I joined the Marine Corps at 18, my dad was the only person who supported my decision.  Through my first rough year, he was there to guide me and tell me exactly what I needed to hear.

So there I was on a plane, heading back home to who knows what.  I had packed my dress blue uniform in preparation of a funeral.  I didn't know what I was going to find.  All I know is that I wanted to be going anywhere on that plane except El Paso, Texas.  I did not want to face what was waiting for me.

My dad surprised everyone by coming out of surgery and getting up and walking soon after.  There was time in a rehab facility and of course radiation to follow.  But there he was, smiling at me and happy to see me.  His eyes still had their sparkle and I felt at ease.  I had considered the option of being reassigned to El Paso but my dad refused and wouldn't let me give up the opportunity I had in Germany.  So I went back and fell into a life that had absolutely nothing to do with what was going on back home.

Over the next three years, my life changed drastically.  I'd call home and my dad would be there alone and sad.  He was going through extensive chemo and couldn't work anymore.  I can't imagine how this made him feel after working his whole life.  We'd chat about football, my career, and what was on TV.  I hate to admit it, but I started dreading talking to him because he was so far from the man I'd known my whole life.  He didn't sound the same at all.  So I'd avoid calling home unless my mom was there and then I'd say I couldn't talk long.  I threw myself into my life, ignoring every single reality that was waiting back home.

A visit home a year and a half after my first trip back revealed exactly what I feared.  My dad had lost himself.  The cancer was winning.  He was weak, but stubborn.  I sat with him through a chemo session and it took every ounce of energy I had not to run out of there screaming.  I was terrified at what I saw before me.  Who was this pale, frail person and what had he done with my dad???

That was it.  I knew I couldn't face that again.  So I didn't go home again.  I told myself it was because I had career obligations and couldn't.  I told myself my dad wanted me to go on living my life.  I told myself a lot of things to make it right in my head.  But my heart knew where I belonged.

In the winter of 2000, a lot of things happened very quickly.  I was in Norway and I was in love.  I met the man I knew I was going to share my life with.  We just found out we were expecting a baby.  I was terrified and happy all at once.  The pregnancy kicked my butt and in December I found myself in the hospital at 98 pounds unable to keep down a glass of water.  And that's when my world spiraled out of control.

After a phone call from my 17 year old brother instructing me to get home fast, I convinced the doctor to let me fly home.  I passed a kidney stone on the plane but I was determined to get there.  By the time I got to the hospital, my dad wasn't talking anymore.  When he did open his eyes, the sparkle I had always seen was gone.  He was empty.  He'd utter words but they were all in Samoan and I didn't understand.  I think he knew I was there, but I will never be sure.

When they took him off life support, leaving him only with the morphine for the pain my heart shattered with regret.  I had missed it.  I had missed out on the last 3 years of his life and I would never get them back.  My dad wasn't going to see his granddaughter, he was never going to meet my husband, and I would never get back any of that wasted time.  Not a minute of it.

I kissed my dad goodbye and told him that I loved him.  I told him that I would miss him every single day.  But he was already gone.  I didn't get to say it in time.  I know in my heart he knew it.  But that selfish little brat I had been wasted so much and let him slip right out my arms.  I was forever changed in that hospital room.

Two months later, Mark and I stood in front of a judge and took our vows.  I refused to have a wedding without my dad to walk me down the aisle.  I was starting a new life and I knew it wouldn't be the one I dreamed of without my dad.

It's been 11 years.  I am a different person today.  I'm a mom and a wife.  I have a daughter who is my entire universe.  I still need my dad though.  And I miss him so much.  And here I sit, listening to this song wishing I could have one more day.  I've learned to celebrate my dad's life with happy memories, music, and great food.  I personally don't believe in an afterlife, so he lives in my heart and in the stories I tell my daughter.  Her grandpa would have been wrapped around her little finger.  He would have adored her.

My dad was only 48 when cancer ripped him from our lives.  We were cheated.  And there is nothing I can do about it.  This song brings up so much for me.  I love it and hate it at the same time.  I was the biggest flight risk there ever was.  I'll never be able to change that.

http://soundcloud.com/framing-hanley/flight-risk 

Evil Thoughts

I'm a bad person.  Yesterday evening was beautiful - instead of crappy winter weather we had crisp fall-like weather and it was absolutely divine.  I took Zoe to an early dinner to celebrate her straight A report card.  As we pulled into our driveway, I noticed a dad a few houses down teaching his daughter how to ride a bicycle and they were heading our way.

The little girl was grinning ear to ear and shining so brightly that you could see it a mile away.  She and her dad were laughing loudly, her little girl squeals of joy echoed on our empty street.  It was a sweet moment.  And I hated them for it.

I quickly ushered Zoe into the house so I wouldn't have to be there as they came closer to our house.  The little girl was wobbling and her dad had his hand on the back of her seat, but she was making clear progress.  As I closed the front door behind us, a stroke of evil genius swept over me...

What if I let Lucy out?  She would go tearing out of the house in her four legged excitement to be free.  She would quickly see the girl on her bike with her dad.  In Lucy's joyful everyone-loves-me way she would have greeted them and no doubt, the girl would have fallen.  Maybe a knee would have been scraped.  It would have ruined their father/daughter moment and probably freaked the kid out enough not to want to ride a bike for a while.  Or at least definitely not want to come anywhere near my house again.

I didn't do it.  I may have evil thoughts, but I'm not that horrible.  But I did consider it long enough to warrant a blog about it.

So why such a hurtful thought, you ask?  Because I hated them in that moment.  I was jealous.  And spiteful.  And just down right ugly about it.  I see kids doing things all the time that makes me think they're little assholes. And it's not what you expect.  Sure I think they're assholes when they're screaming in a store like everyone else.  But I see a kid stoop down to tie his shoes and I think he's an asshole.  I see a kid reach up and grab a box of cereal from the store shelf to hand to her mom and yep, she's an asshole.  Don't get me started on the kids who run, play on the swing set, play kick ball, use a slip and slide in the summer, climb a tree, go to dance class... hell even the kids who can brush their own teeth.  Assholes.  All of them.

Okay, not really all of them and not really every moment.  But more often than I'd care to admit.  You see, my ten year old can't even lift her arm high enough to push a piece of hair out of her eyes.  She never got to learn to ride a bike.  Or jump into the swimming pool.  Or run through a sprinkler or roll down a grassy hill.  Or any of the million magical moments a kid is supposed to have.  And it pisses me off sometimes.  

Sure, she is AMAZING.  She is WONDERFUL.  She is so much more awesome than all those kids on their stupid bikes.  But I wish with all my heart that she didn't have to be so understanding.  That she didn't have to learn how to accept things she can't do - the very things that other people take for granted.

So, look at that kid of yours right now.  The one who just got his greasy hand prints all over your walls?  Or maybe the one who tried to pour their own juice and spilled it all over the floor you just washed.  Or even that one who wakes up screaming and running and doesn't stop until they pass out from exhaustion.  Those kids?  They may drive you nuts.  But man, do those little assholes have a good life.  And so do you.  Enjoy those firsts and all those "norms."  Because we don't all get them.

That Day

We all remember that day.  I went out quickly to the small PX in Norway with my 2month old daughter in tow.  I remember being so happy and proud that day - everyone cooed over her.  I came in the front door smiling with the baby and a few groceries to find my husband staring at the television.

The scene that unfolded was terrifying.  We watched, helpless as the second plane hit the tower.  I remember saying, "We're being attacked.  This is unreal."  We held each other close as the news of the Pentagon came.  Time stood still.  It felt like a nightmare.  There was nothing we could do as our fellow Americans jumped from the towers.  There was no way to find comfort in such a brutal massacre.  I looked down at our beautiful baby girl and worried that I would be recalled to active duty.  I knew it was inevitable that my husband would be called away.  I knew war was on the forefront. 

While personally I didn't lose anyone that day, my life was forever changed.  I just had no idea how much that day would define so very much of my life.  It's been ten years.  And while a lot of people have only been affected by longer screenings at airports or having to have their bags checked at big events, our entire marriage has been spent during a war.  My daughter has grown up with no memory of a life without war.  It may not be happening in our backyard, but we feel it every day.

Every time I've kissed him goodbye, I've felt the effects of that fateful day.  The first year he deployed I spent hours staring at the news ticker hoping not to see another American casualty and sighing in relief when the casualties weren't his unit.  I spent every hour waiting for a phone call or letter.  And then the years went on and deployments became routine.  Saying goodbye is never easy, but it's what we do.

Mark has spent over half our marriage deployed or training somewhere else in support of the war on terrorism.  He's missed more of Zoe's birthdays than he has seen her blow out the candles for.  She is a child of 9-11 even though she didn't lose a parent that day.  She has lived most of her life without her dad and knowing that he is in a war zone.  It has been exhausting and there were many times when I thought I couldn't make it through another day.  I felt many times it was a thankless life we live, where we sacrifice and no one cares one bit.

And then I remember that day.  I remember why it all started.  And on this 10th anniversary I can't help but put myself in check.  It isn't about me.  It isn't even about us.  It's about that day.  Thousands of lives lost, even more changed forever.  It's about that kid who was ten that day and lost his dad.  That kid is why we do what we do.  For him and for Zoe and for every other American boy and girl out there.  We live this life to make sure that another day like that will never happen.

That day, those moments, changed everything.  We can't go back.  We're here.  And it's been a long road.  We've been lucky enough to welcome Mark home every time he's gone away.  We haven't always been physically together, but we're a family.  Our family doesn't get the dinners every night or even every Christmas morning together, but we are a family.  We're strong and supportive and loving.  We are a result of that day, this war, and we are so much more.

I will forever hold in my heart that day.  I'll be seventy years old and still cry when I see footage or talk about it.  We all will.

Lesson 3 - Losing It

I was perfectly sane before I became an Army Wife.  Well, mostly sane anyway.  But ten years of constant stress has definitely tipped the scales in the favor of crazy. 

I spend most of my time alone.  It's cool.  I genuinely like being alone because I'm set in my ways and kinda grumpy.  Of course I don't mean I want to be away from my husband.  I just mean that if I HAVE to be away from him, I can handle it.  But like everyone else, I have my moments.  Even the strongest of us has breakdowns.  Anyone who says otherwise is a liar.

I've handled a lot of crap and usually all at once.  There are times when I have so many stress factors coming at me from so many different directions, I'm not sure what problem to tackle first.  I've sat in the hospital looking at my child struggling to breathe while on the phone yelling at base housing for not taking care of the mold and mildew situation that caused her lung to collapse.  I worked full time while fitting in a full physical and occupational therapy schedule for my daughter in the middle of fighting with the insurance company to pay for something she needed.  I've dealt with every car and house emergency with no problems.  I've bought and sold vehicles by myself.  I even bought and moved into a house.  Funny enough, all those big things aren't what breaks me down.

What will get me is a day when I've had little to no sleep because I've had to get up ten times in the middle of the night because my daughter needed me.  Then as I'm sitting and having my first cup of coffee for the day, one of the dogs will take a dump right in front of me on the floor.  I'll clean it up and go to take my shower, look in the mirror and realize I have bags under my eyes.  I'll get a call from my daughter's school while in the shower and have to rush over there to help her with something.  Then as I'm running my errands a wave of loneliness will hit me as I realize that I'm absolutely and completely alone.  I'll come home and have to deal with the crackhead dogs fighting.  Then my daughter will get home and I know it's nothing she can control, but she needs help with everything.  Even when I just go to the bathroom for a minute, she'll call for me and I'll want to scream.  I'll cook our dinner, clean up, put her to bed, and sit in the absolute silence of the house.  And it's those moments when I feel like I just can't do this anymore.  It's not the days when I have something big on my plate that get me to the point of breaking, it's days like I just described that are sure to be my doom.

When I finally hear my husband's voice on the phone after a long and miserable day like that, I lose it.  It comes out in sobs or sometimes as resentment that he doesn't have to deal with these mundane day to day tasks.  It's hard because I don't want to throw everything at him.  I want him to concentrate on his job and coming home alive.  I can't help it though.  One funny story about what happened at the gym that morning and I'm furious.  Because it must be nice to go to the gym to work out, eat a meal without interruption, and then go about your day without having to worry about our daughter.  It's not a fair train of thought at all.  His life and his sacrifices aren't easy either.  But he's around adults (or at least by age they are) and I haven't talked to a real life adult in weeks.  So I'll snap at him.  Or maybe I'll break down and cry out of frustration.  And he'll get quiet on the phone, feeling bad because he can't do anything about it.  Then I'll feel guilty for even throwing that crap on him when I know he has bigger things to worry about.

Sometimes the emotions come through at the most inconvenient times - I start ugly crying while watching a Disney movie with my daughter and can't talk when she asks me a question.  I always laugh and tell her I'm a sap for emotional movies but I know I'm crying because it has been a long and hard ten years.  Or I'll see a family out at dinner when it's just Zoe and me, and I'll have to fight back the tears.  And watching Zoe get an award for some reason always gets me really emotional.  I sit there, trying to smile in the gym full of parents and students but I'm mentally having to talk myself out of crying.  It's ridiculous. 

If I don't have a total emotional moment, I sometimes have extreme moments of rage and anger.  As if I'm the soda bottle that someone has shaken and then released the cap full on.  I almost killed a woman in a Walmart parking lot once.  My hands tingled as I screamed at her, imagining what it would feel like to just repeatedly hit her.  Luckily, I walked away - shaking and violently mad, but I walked away.  I've had moments of road rage that scared me so badly, I now keep easy music in the car to make sure I can calm myself down.  I give myself pep talks every time someone cuts me off or drives like an asshat.  It's not worth it.  I've found myself so irritable that I want to scream at my beautiful and completely innocent child.  I'd be lying if I said I haven't lost my cool with her.  And I'd be lying if I said a little part of didn't die every time I have done so.  I've learned to control that ugly side of me but it didn't happen overnight.  It took a lot of looking in the mirror and forcing myself to face my insanity up front. 

Don't get me wrong.  I don't spend my days wallowing in self pity.  I don't cry every day or even every week or month.  I just feel like I'm holding it together by such a flimsy thread that it could snap at any time and everything would come crashing down.

So to you new Army Wives, just know this.  We all have our moments.  Your moment may come sooner than mine.  I may be able to handle more than you.  It doesn't make your moment any less valid.  I'm not saying I think it's okay to be a complete emotional wreck every time your husband leaves.  You still have bills to pay, kids to raise, dogs to walk, shit to do...  But you will have moments.  Let them go.  Not everyone is going to understand it, but that will be Lesson Number 4.

Lesson 2 - The Real Army Wives

Mark and I got married in Norway, where I had already been serving as an active duty Marine.  When I became simply a wife and dropped the "Sergeant," I was welcomed with open arms and friendly faces.  I was very fortunate to be surrounded by a truly unique group of women who went out of their way to help me out.

The command was joint - all four services represented - and mostly field grade officers.  I quickly found myself in the company of the wives of the Colonels I not to long ago worked for.  With Zoe on the way and Mark in Kosovo, I found my new found friendships incredibly important and comforting.  Everyone was genuine and when Zoe was born, their kindness kept pouring out.  I loved our little community and how it didn't seem to matter that my husband was only an E-5 - I was still invited to coffee and lunch.  With my first baby in my arms, I looked to these women for advice and encouragement.  They were simply amazing.

When we transferred to Colorado, I had visions of the same sort of tight knit group.  Especially because our husbands were about to deploy to a real life war.  No more playing Army, this was the real thing.  I thought for sure that living in base housing, I would soon find myself surrounded by a loving and supportive group.

I was wrong.

The first group of women I found myself around was headed by a Queen Bee.  She ruled with a mighty fist and controlled her group like a prison warden.  No one dared disagree with her or say no to her plans.  Well, no one except me.  I was quickly ousted from the group.  It was my fault though.  I kept a clean house which clearly made me stuck up.  I wanted to spend time with my husband before he deployed which translated to me being weak minded and dependent on my husband.  And I was too skinny which clearly meant I was anorexic.  I found one amazing woman in that group and figured I came out ahead.  Everyone else could drop off the planet for all I cared.

Alone in my duplex, I began to think that maybe it was up to me to pass on the legacy that the lovely ladies of Norway had given me.  I pulled out my best china and my phone list and invited a few ladies over.  It didn't go exactly how I planned.  I found that I was the only one who was interested in becoming friends. 

A knock at my door one day restored my hope.  A neighbor with her daughter on her hip had come over to say hello.  She was also formerly active duty and going out of her mind staying home with her baby.  I was thrilled and quickly invited her in.  I'd cook dinner, rent DVDs, and opened up my guest room to her because we were both quite nervous about being alone.  I started noticing that I was doing an awful lot of favors for her.  Soon I found myself alone with her daughter more often than I would like.  I realized I was her babysitter.  She wasn't really very motherly and I can understand needing a break.  But when she was dropping off her child because she couldn't handle her, I had to put my foot down.  My daughter needed me and I didn't have two children. Our friendship ran its course when I noticed the parade of men going in and out of her house.  While I don't care what anyone does, I didn't want my husband to hear in Iraq that I was hanging out with someone who was running around.  I know he trusts me, but I refuse to give him cause to worry when he had bigger things to concentrate on. 

So it was then that I finally opened myself up to the FRG - the Family Readiness Group.  In the beginning it was important because we were all starved for information.  I did find that one or two women would end up running the meeting by complaining about their stupid problems that didn't apply to the group.  I mean, really how hard is it to address that in private?  It quickly turned into a "I have it worse than you" or a "my husband outranks yours" bullshit fest.  As I sat there in my second meeting thinking everyone around me was just a plain idiot, I met two women who seemed like they were exactly on the same page as me.

Woman number one fooled me completely.  We started out as fast friends.  She didn't have kids and she was easy to be around.  She did seem to whine a little much.  But I was lonely, so I didn't mind.  Then the helplessness started.  I found myself driving her all over the place, constantly listening to her complain about missing her husband, and watch her selfishly spend all their money while neglecting to pay the rent.  She didn't seem to care that I was taking my daughter to four doctor appointments a week or dealing with Tricare denying our requests for medical equipment.  She missed the fact that my husband was deployed too and I was just as worried about his safety.  Instead she complained when my daughter broke her leg and my husband was granted mid-tour leave.  She sat on my couch and threatened suicide.  I had the MPs and ambulance come take her crazy ass away.

The other woman I met that day became my rock.  She and her two children were pretty much our family.  We saw each other almost every day, took the kids out, sat around and laughed.  We attempted to barbecue on our own.  Supported each other in the way that friends who have known each other their whole lives do.  I was devastated when she moved away. 

I've come to discover there are several types of Army wives.  There are the ones who do what they have to do without making a big deal over it.  They handle their business and keep busy while their husbands are away.  They raise their children, pay the bills, and fix the problems as they arise.  There are the whiners - the ones who can't do anything without letting everyone know how absolutely hard it is.  They complain constantly.  There are the whores.  Yes, I said it.  They will move men into their homes when their husbands are away at war.  There are the irresponsible ones who won't pay bills but will carry around a $400 purse and get a mani/pedi every week.  Mostly though I think we are all at the point where we know what to expect and how to take care of business.  If you're still married to a soldier after a deployment, you're doing great.  Still married after four or five?  You fuckin' rock.

Since my first year at a real Army base, I learned that I can be friendly when I have to be to the other wives.  I can smile at family days and I can make light conversation.  But it is rare that I find someone who I can trust or even stand.  I guess I'm just jaded.  I've been taken advantage of much more than this already too long blog entry could ever cover.  I've seen such good in people through my fellow Army wives, yet I have seen the absolute worst in them as well. 

Today I have one seriously close Army wife friend who has been through it all with me.  I can't remember the last time we actually saw each other, but we talk every week.  She is my grip on reality when I feel it slipping away.  And reality will slip away from you.  That will be lesson number 3....

Lesson One in Army Life - The Transition

Getting married is an exciting time in any girl's life.  You're in love and everything is perfect.  The road ahead is bright and is nothing short of the beautiful fairy tale world you dreamed of as a little girl.  The possibilities are endless.  You and your prince charming are going to live happily ever after.

For the newlywed Army wife, there is an asterisk in that happily ever after.  What no one may have told you is that although you didn't sign a contract with the Army, you are now bound by your husband's.  You may not have to wake up every morning and run five miles or spend the day at the range qualifying on your M16, but you may as well have been issued the same "suck it up and get over it" answer that your husband was.

For me, it wasn't too hard of a transition.  I was on active duty and had grown up in the Army life.  Our first duty station as a married couple was already my duty station, so there was no real shock.  My hardest transition was going from being called "Sergeant" to "Mrs." For a woman who has never been around the military, I imagine the transition to be much different.

While civilian husbands go to work and come home at the same time every day, that is not the case for our soldiers.  Weekends off are never a guarantee.  The whole family has the flu?  There's no calling in sick for him.  You'll be stuck cleaning up that vomit in between your trips to the toilet.  There are no "sick days" and don't plan on anyone being too sympathetic to your needs.  And in today's Army, if your husband isn't deployed at least for half of your marriage you are a rare and lucky couple.

Get used to the group mentality.  Just because your husband does his job well and shows up on time, doesn't mean everyone else will.  Prepare yourself for group punishment - one guy messes up and everyone stays late.  Just because your husband doesn't live in the barracks, doesn't mean that what goes on there won't affect him.  It isn't uncommon for everyone to be called in to a midnight formation because some jackass got a DUI.

Time to study up, Ladies.  Army lingo is like a second language.  Learn military time.  Learn the rank structure.  Learn the acronyms (although this is ever changing, ever evolving, and impossible to learn it all).  And figure out how to read an LES (Leave and Earnings Statement aka his pay stub).  

And believe it or not, an Army base has rules that you may not like or even understand.  There are dress codes, codes of conduct, and rules galore.  What you do can and most likely will affect your husband at work.  Don't like your neighbor so you cuss her out every time you see her?  Her husband's First Sergeant makes a phone call to yours and say hello to a rain of shit falling.  You violate a rule in base housing?  Your husband will get yelled at.  Decide that you aren't going to pay that government credit card bill?  You guessed it... your husband will get yelled at and your pay will be docked.

A civilian gets a DUI on his own time and probably never even mentions it to his boss.  Your husband gets one?  He loses rank, pay, time off, and possibly gets kicked out of the Army.  Have a loud fight and the cops get called in the civilian world?  No big deal.  In Army life?  Your husband could get a felony charge, be relieved of his weapon, and you guessed it - demoted, pay taken away, and kicked out.

The only thing you can count on in the Army is not to count on anything.  Don't think your weekend plans won't get cancelled.  Trips will have to be rescheduled.  Anniversaries and holidays and birthdays will be spent apart.  These are facts.  Prepare yourself.

Now, all that being said there are some great things about Army life.  Your husband has a steady job, won't be "laid off," and you get free medical benefits.  You will always have a roof over your head and if you're smart with your money, food on your table.  You will learn slowly to appreciate things like family dinners and the sound of your husband snoring beside you.  And let me tell you right now, there is no other high quite like the high of welcoming your husband home from a deployment.  10 years of marriage and we still act like newlyweds...

Next up in your new Army life?  Your fellow Army wives.  This ain't no t.v. show, Baby.  This is the real world.  And for that, I need another blog entry...