A Spouse's Quiet Life....as disrupted by the USAF

The Birds & The Bees...and the Gardener

2012-02-07T21:28:00.001-10:00

Ah, the joy of hired help! The image that came to mind when we hired our gardener was that we now had someone who would help me determine which plants were best for our new home, how much water our yard really needed, and how and when to trim back the plants that were there. That was what came with having a gardener, right??? Uh, no... Not quite.

Arif was a kind, gentle, soft spoken man. He arrived with the rising sun and was often the last to leave base when it was time for the hired labor to leave. I liked him. He had a family that he loved and children he was proud of. While his English wasn't the best, he was a patient teacher as I worked hard to learn his language. After all, I was a guest in his country so I should, naturally, learn his mother tongue.

It didn't take long for me to learn that while Arif worked very hard and was completely trustworthy, he really didn't know anything about horticulture.

At first, I thought that my flooded yard was simply a result of his maintaining several yards at the same time. However, after months of coming home to a swamp instead of a lawn, I very carefully explained that more water would kill the grass, not make it grow better. There is really nothing quite like being a western woman trying to carefully explain things to a muslim man in a rural area. After a while, I just knew that I would have to keep an eye on the water myself if I wanted any lawn left at all.

The kicker came when my cucumber plants grew into gorgeous vines....with no fruit. I had noticed a serious lack of bees in the area. After talking to a friend who was also having issues with her garden, we both came to the conclusion that our problem was lack of pollination.

One day, while I was outside, weeding my fruitless but beautiful beds, Arif came up and worked next to me.

"Missy, Bad plants."

Stopping, I looked at him, "What do you mean?"

His hand touching the vines, "Bad Plants. No fruit. Pull out!"

Carefully, so as to not offend, "No, Arif. Not bad plants. No bees"

"No. Not no bees. Bad plants. Seeds no good. Different seeds."

"Arif, have you seen any bees or flying bugs?"

I remember how he stopped, thought a minute, and said "Hayir..." (no)

"Arif, we need bugs. Bees, butterflies...anything...to make the plants bear fruit."

Seriously puzzled, he stared at me. Taking a deep breath, I said, "Bees go into this flower, get dusty, and fly to another flower...and fruit happens...like babies!"

Turning bright red, he looked from one flower to another and then back at me. Quietly standing, he said simply, "no bees....no plant babies"...and left.

The Commissary - End of the Supply Chain

2012-02-07T15:08:00.000-10:00

Timeline: The Orient

At this point in my military life, we had been assigned to two armpit bases in a row. What classifies a base as an armpit, you may ask. One key element that makes a base the armpit of its Major Command is being at the end of the supply chain. Our Commissary in the Orient was just that.

After being in the Great White North, I was kind of used to the commissary lacking in many regards. Produce looked like it had traveled too far and milk was put on the shelves just days before its expiration date. Yes, I had come to think that was normal. "Yes folks, expired food and empty shelves is how we roll!" My idea of military normal continued to be supported by our beloved commissary in the Orient. Honestly, I really could not understand why on earth people glorified the commissary when Whole Foods was out there, beyond my reach, to be savored and enjoyed. Beautiful produce vs. carrots that limped from side to side?? What's not to love??

Our Orient Commissary was the first time where I saw mothers load their carts down with indefinite shelf life milk in cartons and cans. Having grown up on a farm, the idea of milk that a: didn't need to be refrigerated and b: didn't go bad seemed really, really wrong. I remember standing in the dairy section, debating between expired milk and that stuff in boxes that chafed against everything I knew about milk. Instead of choosing the lesser of two evils, we crossed over to Soy.

I have to give it to our commissary manager. He was given an almost impossible task. It wasn't his fault that everything flew through Europe first. I really got to know him when I discovered that I could actually special order certain things two weeks in advance. So, instead of praying that they MIGHT have the meat or produce that I needed for a meal, I would craft our menu two weeks in advance and place an order. Sadly, I didn't learn this little trick until AFTER our first holiday season there.

It was just before Thanksgiving. I learned a very, very valuable lesson. If you see something you may need, BUY IT WHEN YOU SEE IT! I had gone to the commissary to pick up just a few things. Strolling through the produce section, I was thrilled to see Cranberries. Making a mental note that I can pick them up the next day (when I was planning on doing my Thanksgiving Shopping), I hurried to get the "must haves" that I had come for. Boy did I kick myself for that.

The next day, coming equipped to haul a large shopping trip home on my bike, my heart sank when I saw that each and every bag of Cranberries was gone! There wasn't one left in the store. The produce manager, who knew me, apologized and told me that one lady came in and bought every bag they had. Shocked, I asked "WHY??" as I looked forlornly at the bare shelf. He shrugged and told me that she must have been scared there wasn't going to be any left for her. It was then that he told me that I could special order items and they would be held in the back for me. Thanking him for his time, I found the manager and placed an order for Christmas.

When I stated that our commissary manager had an impossible job, I was serious. Our meat and dairy products were flown in while everything else was driven by truck from Germany. Perishables were flown in because they were already on the verge of going bad after having been shipped from the US to Germany. One day, when I was shopping I noticed that he was very on edge. I finally asked him what the problem was.

Turning to me, he stated that the flight that brought in our most recent, and much needed, dairy and meat had left everything on the tarmac instead of calling to have it picked up. Running my hands through my hair, I shrugged and suggested they hang a sign that said, "Vegetarian Week" on the front doors with a brief explanation of what had happened. While there would be the crazy bats who would hit the fan, people were bound to at least TRY to understand why we had no meat or milk???

Some of you may be asking why we didn't simply go onto the economy to purchase what we could not obtain at the commissary. There are several locations where I do that with a huge smile. However, this location was NOT the place to do that. There were very different standards of food handling that did not crossover, culturally or hygienically. The location had an honestly earned reputation for gastro-intestinal illnesses. The "Ts" (Trots) were a painfully common ailment. While I ADORED their food, I only ate things that had been cooked at high temperatures or were covered with yogurt. Upon arriving, we had been informed at our newcomers briefing that, while some things are good to purchase off base, food items had to be approached with much care and caution. Raw meats and dairy were COMPLETELY off limits...unless you enjoyed being on meds for a bacteria you had never heard of before and enjoyed sitting on the commode.

Honestly, when stationed at a remote location, your normal changes a little bit. "Needs" often shift to being "wants," and you find that you really need very little. So, you have to get really good at substituting and rewriting recipes. Those aren't bad skills to have. With a little creativity, an end of the line commissary has everything you really need.

You LOST My Husband???

2012-02-07T10:47:00.002-10:00

Note: This post is coming out of nowhere. It is just something that I have been thinking about a lot lately. As I am gearing up for a possible vacation in the sand, past experiences are at the forefront of my mind right now.

Timeline: European Assignment

We, the Military Spouses of the United States of America, are a unique breed. A little off at times (you kind of have to be), but sharp as switchblades and strong as nails. While yes, I readily admit, we have a few that wig out every now and then, all in all, it takes a very strong person to be willing to shoulder the loads that we embrace (though grudgingly at times) and survive to tell the tales of our mis-adventures. We love much, tolerate little from the outside world, and fight like lionesses to protect that which we have claimed as our own. Just as our men and women in uniform are warriors, we left on the home front are nothing to be taken lightly. That being said, I have to share one of my mis-adventures as a mil-spouse during one of our deployments.

My engineer was off living in the sandpit. He had been gone for months when this happened. Life had been crazy, but thanks to sheer stubbornness and my mil-sisters, life was bumping along, one day at a time. At times, my one goal for the day was for everyone to make it to bed that night. I have no idea how many evenings I raised my mug of hot tea to the sky as a toast to a day survived. As any mil-spouse will admit, small victories are, at times, the very best. Living in a foreign land, I had a preschooler and a newborn, my engineer was off playing where things got blown up...life could be much better.

One night, when he was able to call, my engineer let me know that he would be out of range and not to worry. Being a Key Spouse, I knew protocol for if something did happen, and informed him that I would kill him if a group of men in uniform came knocking on my door at 2am. Laughing, we said "I love you" and hung up.

There is no denying the fact that you can't help but worry when you service member is in a career field that actually spends time on the ground and has training that you wish he didn't have. Training = Being where you don't belong. Honestly, I spend my days saying "La, La, La, La" and drowning out the possibilities. I stay insanely busy, read loads of books, and make sure to exhaust myself so that I can collapse into bed at night. What can I say? It works for me.

A couple days after that "I'm outside the wire" call, I get this bizarre phone call at ten o'clock at night. Pulling my groggy self out of bed, I went to get the phone from downstairs. Picking up the phone, I hear the voice of one of the other spouses from my husband's team. Looking at the clock, I hear a distinct edge in her voice.

"Are you sitting down?" says the spouse.

"It is 10pm, I should be sleeping. Why? Should I be sitting down??"

"I just got a serious phone call from 'A' saying that they need your husband to check in when you hear from him. They haven't heard from him and do not know where he is." She continues.

At this point, I am sitting down, on the floor, in the dark, staring at the phone. "What do you mean? They LOST my husband??" At this point, I am working really hard on NOT screaming. My last conversation with my engineer is running through my mind. Was that my ultimate last?? "I have to go" and I hung up the phone.

Sitting there, in the dark, my head sunk to my knees. Over and over, I kept telling myself that if something happened to him, three suits would be coming to my door. I scrolled down the list of numbers in my phone and stared at the commander's number. M had told me to call at any time I needed anything. In the end, I decided to wait out the night. I had a meeting with him in the morning...it could wait til then.

I did not sleep that night. Having a friend recently have to sacrifice her future with the man she loved most in the world, my mind overlaid her life on mine. I paced that night. Around 1am, the phone rang. To my absolute relief, it was my engineer saying that he was back and he would call me at a more reasonable hour. Telling him I loved him, I said good night.

The next day, at my meeting, I was able to speak of the events in past tense. However, I wasn't scared at this point. I was livid! Luckily, he had my back and took care of it from there. My engineer had followed protocol and his command downrange hadn't. They had acted in a way that had caused undue strain on an already stressed situation.

What I am saying is this: Sometimes people make bad decisions. However, instead of holding those to yourself, speak up! Make sure it doesn't happen to someone else. And...if, by chance, you are asked to pass on such a message...DO NOT DO IT!!! You are not the proper channel and should bow out of doing it. While you may feel that you are doing a service, trust me, Honey, when I say you aren't.

Grey Mist Hangs Over Our Military Family

2012-01-27T22:24:00.000-10:00

Note: I apologize for being AWOL these past few weeks. I try to only write when I can see things clearly and speak with clarity. After these past few weeks, I feel that I am now ready to speak with as much understanding as I am able...let the games begin.

Setting - Present Day - Current Events

To say the last decade has been a challenge does not do justice to what our Military Family has faced. The beginning of December greeted us with a report that made my blood run cold. Like jagged shards of ice, it has been coursing through my body for the past month and a half. It came to a full blow this evening when my Engineer revealed something that just tore me apart.

At this moment, this very moment as you are reading this, the Department of Defense has confirmed that our ranks are hit with one suicide every 36 hours. Over the last week, the USAF has had 4 confirmed suicides alone. Our population makes up less than 4% of the total American population, which makes these numbers both numbing and horrific.

The reasons for this have not been stated. As per privacy, nothing is revealed about what is to blame for the loss of these men and women. The Army alone had 164 "potential" suicides with 140 confirmed. Briefings are happening on every military installation around the globe. My head bows as I wonder what real good this will do.

Over the last 10+ years, our troops have stood up, deployed continuously, lost their families through divorce, watched as their brothers and sisters in arms have fallen, been shot at, blown up... A great divide has formed between the military and the civilian population of our beloved country, making us feel an even stronger disconnect. As we watch "the general populace" on TV, the stressors in our lives brought on by the war pace, have increased the number of spouse and child abuse, substance abuse, mental illness, reprimands, and suicide.

Now, as our country is demanding a draw down of forces (which I do not argue with entirely...), we are finding ourselves in a place most did not expect to see 10 years ago. Young men and women who swore to give their lives in service to their country are now finding themselves with a whole lot of baggage brought on by multiple deployments and a boot showing them the door. In the swing of bread and circus politics, political promises have repercussions.

Those of us who live in and beside the uniform completely understand that what is said by politicians has a direct impact on our lives. There is no treading water through an administration. While those out of uniform can lead the majority of their lives ignoring politics, we know that it is by the decisions of a few that our lives are directly affected. My Engineer has forever been an honorable officer. He lives by duty and the oath that he swore when he took his position with the military. I, respectful of the oath that he took and the culture that is now my own, speak carefully. Not out of fear, but out of love for my military family that I am so blessed to call my own.

As the suicide rates increase with the aftermath of war and the impending manpower cuts, my hands feel tied as I long to help. Many of our service members made precarious decisions concerning their careers, such as accepting another deployment or working harder at their assigned positions and letting their studies wait for their next promotion boards. While some do warrant a dismissal, others are facing cuts because they chose to do their jobs to the best of their abilities in the midst of shortages rather than focusing on their "careers" and letting their troops suffer.

Many are finding that really hard work doesn't pay off. It doesn't matter how much blood, sweat and tears have been shed. In the end, it all boils down to numbers on a sheet of paper. I have a saying that I live by. It came to me during a really difficult time while my Engineer was deployed:

A truly strong person is someone who has been broken over and over again. Like a bone, the breaks heal stronger than they were before.

Many have barely started the healing process. The strength that they must have to face the loss of community, military family, stability, and livelihood is not there yet. Often, either they have lost their families or their families are fragile due to the emotional chaos of deployments. Some have never had any intention of doing anything else other than serving their country. It is not simply a job that they are potentially losing, it is their whole life.

I have no answers for what can be done to prevent this from continuing. Right now, at this very moment, I have only tears. Budget changes HAVE to happen. But that reality doesn't erase the fact that many have fought and bled for their country only to feel betrayed because now they are being shown the door.

If only their breaks could heal a bit more....

Defense Release

RAND Corp. Report

The Bug Chain - Part 2 - The Orient

2011-12-03T20:52:00.000-10:00

When I became a military spouse, I knew, without a doubt, that my normal was forever going to be changed. Moving to weird places, accepting that the military would take a front seat in my marriage, and being an emotional Gumbi so that I could flex with every storm were things that I learned early on that I had to accept in order to thrive.

BUT BUGS?????

Man, was I in for it. I thought the mosquitoes in the Great White North were bad! That was until we moved to the Orient. I had never seen anything quite like my insectal adversary in the Orient before that move. What I learned to live with while in the Orient would have sent me into a panic if they showed up in our home anywhere else.

Roaches.

I mean HUGE roaches! These nasty, disgusting, vile, little creatures were often 2 to 2 1/2 inches longs AND fat. They were everywhere and cocky! The idea that they came out at night was a lie. They would nonchalantly waltz across the floor like they owned the place. After a few months, I decided that I had moved into their home and it wasn't really my own.

To say that my engineer and I were absolutely disgusted with the infestation that we moved into doesn't even touch on the depth of nastiness that we felt concerning our home. We were embarrassed beyond words concerning these repellant creatures that lived in our home. I would dream of them at night, only to wake in a panic insistent on pulling all the blankets off the bed and shaking them. I hated getting up in the night for fear of stepping on something. House shoes became a must. These gut wrenchingly foul things made my skin crawl.

We also had massive spiders...Wolf Spiders. At first, these things were the stuff of nightmares: huge, hairy, and fast! I smashed these invaders with everything I had until I learned from a friend of mine from Italy that they hunted the roaches! From that moment on, I left 2 or 3 of these mammoth arachnids alone since we had a common enemy: the Roach.

Our roaches came into the house through every possible point of entry: drains, vents, cracks in the walls, under both the front and the back doors, and through the closed windows. Like every other spouse on that base, I spent most of my life scrubbing our home. All of our food was stored in the frig and freezer. Ziplock bags and sealing containers were a must for my sanity concerning my family's food. Counters scrubbed, stove wiped down, and oven clean, I really didn't have more that I could do.

There was one weapon that we had that I had NEVER considered....

Nutmeg.

Our Nutmeg LOVED our invaders. With a vengeance, she spent her nights hunting and prowling through the house. After a while, I made sure that EVERY door and cupboard was left open for her to stalk to her hearts desire. I became accustomed to the various body parts that I would find in the morning. Waking early, I tried hard to find them before my Angel could. I was always able to tell what she was up for snacking on. Crunchy or Chewy??? Dismemberment was a hobby of hers that made me eternally thankful that I was bigger than she was. Scary to admit, but I love a sociopath! Spiders, roaches, flying things...they were no match for her. A few times I interrupted her entertainment just put the bug out of its misery!

It is sad to say that we actually got acclimated to our buggy situation. Much like a frog in a pot of progressively heated water, we become numb to it all. Still persisting in scrubbing the home, seeing a critter scurry by in my peripheral vision no longer sent chills down my spine. In a sense, I honestly gave up claiming our home to be our own.

By the time we were to pack up, I was more than happy to get rid of the house filled with bugs. I washed every bit of clothing and linen, bagging and sealing them in the massive Ziplock Storage Bags. Systematically going through everything we owned, I prayed that whatever hitch hiker might try to join us would die in route.

Our Nutmeg???

Well, let's just say that our lovely lady gained a whopping two pounds during our two year in the Orient. Concerned for her health, I had spoken to her vet about what I was supposed to do about it. He smiled and told me that she would lose the extra weight as soon as the "snacks" were no longer in her diet and not to adjust her food. He closed by saying that we were lucky to have been blessed by such a gifted hunter!

Peddling My Butt All Over Base

2011-12-01T22:12:00.000-10:00

As military, when we are faced with an overseas move, there is always the question of whether to ship the car or not. When we were looking at moving to the Orient, we thought about the many miles already on our car and continual repairs that it was demanding. After talking to people who had made the move themselves, we decided to just get rid of it and to use bicycles instead.

Since our HHG (House Hold Goods) were 6 months late, that meant that my own bicycle and trailer didn't arrive until months after we arrived. Being the stubborn sort of person that I am, my Angel and I hoofed it with the umbrella stroller during that time.

Our daily routine was set by the very fact that there was only so much that I could carry home from the commissary. We would set out from the house by 8:15 in the morning. Almost everyday was marked by walks to the commissary to pick up what was needed that I could carry while pushing the stroller. Finishing our shopping, we would walk to the post office and then head home in time for lunch and naps. That, everyone, was our morning.

Rain or shine, we walked to the central point of the base to get what was needed. Honestly, at the time, I dreamt of a day when I could actually buy things for more than 2 days at a time. While packages sent from family were thrilling, they were also paired with a sense of dread at the thought of carrying them AND the backpack, pushing the stroller laden by my Angel and groceries.

With the rather late arrival of our HHG, came my main mode of transportation. With excitement, we put me bike and bike trailer together. Almost gleeful, I remember looking at the trailer and seeing that my Angel could fit in one side of the seat, the soft cooler could fit in the floor, groceries could sit next to her, and groceries could also fit in the boot! No more daily runs to the store! Thus began my life of peddling my butt all over base.

While there weren't daily runs to the store anymore, my Angel and I found reasons to go somewhere almost every single day. Still wanting to beat the heat and humidity of mid day, we would load up in the morning and head to the post office every morning. After a while, new faces became familiar faces. A lot of the base populace used bicycles for their main mode of transportation. So, after a while, much as I would recognize someone's car, I began knowing if people I knew were there by whether or not their bicycles were in the rack.

While you are reading this, you may be having thoughts of how "novel" this was. It is novel until you are pulling a trailer with about 100 pounds in it and the heat index has hit 105F. By the middle of summer, my engineer and I had invested in a Camelbak each, with hopes that using them would fight off heat exhaustion. Late spring, summer, and early fall were marked with sweat soaked clothing and much sprawling on the living room floor after cycling all up hill in order to get home.

We absolutely rode our bikes to death during that tour. While we made routine repairs and fixes when needed, we decided six months before leaving the Orient that the bikes would be staying there. If we had spent a lot of money on them, we probably would have taken them with us and dropped them of at a bicycle repair shop. However, feeling that they had served to their fullest, when we boarded the plane, we bid them goodbye.

The Diabetic Cat

2011-12-01T20:42:00.000-10:00

We had three sets of neighbors during our short two years in the Orient. Neighbors can be very, very fun. Either they ACTUALLY are fun, or they are highly entertaining to watch, much like animals in a zoo or a diorama in a natural history museum. I have had some very entertaining neighbors through the years. Some I have grown to love like family while others? Let's just say it was a good thing entertainment value entered the equation.

All that being said, I genuinely liked our first set of neighbors. They were a vibrant couple with multiple children, a dog, and a diabetic cat. While I was amazed at the chaotic menagerie that lived next door, I was most taken by their poor, decrepit, diabetic cat.

Oh, this cat was a daily fixture in my life. She was white & fluffy, with fur that told of her ill health. I have a feeling that she was once a medium, robust cat when she was in her prime. But by the time I met her, she had dwindled down to fur and bones.

One day, I had made the major mistake of petting her. If I had known what that would bring in the following 12 months, I wouldn't have done it. It was almost as if, in her own addled mind, I became one of her "parents."

Every day, after that first "introduction," she would hang out in our front yard and in our carport. At first I thought she was honestly exploring. But then I saw that every single day, she would be waiting for me by our front door. To say that our Nutmeg was jumping around the front window like a monkey in a cage is putting it lightly. If our Nutmeg could talk, she would have been saying, "Just let me at her!! I could take her down! Just let me do it!"

Because of Nutmeg's strong desire to kill this interloper, I had a serious battle every time I wanted to enter my own house. My Angel would be wanting to make a break for it, my arms would be laden by groceries, the poor delusional cat would be trying to get in, while my Nutmeg would be fighting to get out to kill her. This daily battle got really old, really fast.

Things got worse when our neighbor's spouse got into a doctoral program in the States. Since he was ERDing (early return of dependents) his wife and children back to the States, he had to move to a smaller home located in our little portion of the street. With that came absolute confusion to this already perplexed cat.

Now, since no one at all answered her old door, and she couldn't find her new one, she was convinced that our door was her only option. Some of you are probably asking why we didn't just take her in. Honestly, I wasn't up for paying out the nose for her medication and giving her shots twice a day on top of that. Nutmeg we loved and this poor thing had a family...she just couldn't remember where she put them.

I have no idea how many time I picked up her frail little frame and carefully took her back to her home. While she may have been a bit baffling at the time, she is a firm fixture in our memories swirling around the Orient. I will never forget the concern I felt when I noticed, one day months after first meeting her, that she wasn't at our door. Keeping my eyes open for her, I never saw her again. One day, walking through the front door after a long day at work, my engineer told me that her "dad" had gone ahead and put her to sleep. A sense of peace was there as I said, "while she won't be meeting me at the door anymore, she is much better now."

Old Geezers & Cat Fights - The Orient Way

2011-11-29T10:02:00.000-10:00

Some things just stay with you. First impressions always linger, even if they are proven wrong later on. When first arriving in a new culture, there are SO MANY first impressions that it is often impossible to forget them. That is certainly the case with my very first visit to the village market.

My first trip to the market was a desperate move on my part to get OUT of the house. We hadn't received our household goods yet and I was desperately needing to escape the continuous reminder that everything we owned was gone. Loading up the stroller, my Angel and I set out to find this outdoor market that I had heard about.

The walk to the front gate from our house was a good half hour. Knowing that markets are best visited in the morning, we headed out around 07:00 in the morning. I was a bit nervous. We were new to base and it was going to be my first time stepping out of the gates on my own. Squaring my shoulders, extending both my military ID and my Orient Gate Pass to the heavily armed guard at the gate, we stepped into the rural village streets.

Everything was silent! There were no cars, no people, no anything. Shops were closed. A bit unnerved, we walked along vacant shops in the general direction of where people had said the market was located. Honestly, it was very, very eery.

During this walk, I could have sworn that my Angel and I were the only ones alive. Stray dogs and chickens were the only form of life that I could see. Because of the unevenness of the walk, there were many times when I had to lift the stroller and carry it. It was during one of these moments when I saw something I had NEVER seen before.

In an alley way, at 08:30 in the morning, I heard scuffling. Not too sure as to what it could be, I put my finger to my lips to tell my Angel to be quiet. Walking softly to the corner of the building, I carefully looked into the alleyway.

There, in front of me, were two aged men, rolling in the dirt, hitting and pulling each other's hair! Honestly, it reminded me a lot of the old cartoons where kids would be fighting and they looked like a crazy ball of dirt. I don't know how long I stood there and watched before it dawned on me that maybe I should make a quiet exit.

Covering my mouth so as to not laugh out loud, I tiptoed to the stroller and turned around, to head back to where we came from. You see, I would have had to cross the alley way with my daughter, disrupting the battle that those two were having. Seriously NOT wanting to draw attention to myself or my little girl, I thought that maybe, just maybe, it would be better to try the market on a less volatile day.

The Hired Help

2011-11-28T13:14:00.000-10:00

Culturally, I was having quite a time getting used to our new home. No, it had nothing to do with the religious and social customs of the people of the land we found ourselves in. Yes, everything was completely foreign. The food, clothing, etiquette, religion, and language were totally new to me. However different it was, I was quite able to embrace the "Different." Unfortunately, what I had the hardest time with was the "abrasive" way in which our two cultures tried to merge.

Not long after moving into our home, I started getting knocks at our door. No, none of them were neighbors stopping by to introduce themselves. I could understand that. New face on the street??? Swing by and say hello! No. There were no knocks from neighbors. However, there were more than plenty of knocks from nannies and gardeners looking for work.

I was a bit taken aback by this. Having grown up in an "average" home, the thought of HIRING someone to do my work for me chaffed...and more than just a little bit. While we toiled with the idea of a gardener, a nannie or maid was out of the question for me. My engineer had a considerable amount of work on his plate with his new position, and I had a 20 month old to care for. It didn't take long for us to decide to go ahead and hire a gardener.

The first thing that struck me was how little the going rate for domestic services actually was. Here was this man with a family to care for, taking care of my yard every day for $20 a week. After talking to some friends who had lived in the country for over two decades, I got a little solace from discovering that they paid their gardener a sizable bonus during the religious holidays. Unfortunately, that didn't lift the feeling that we were taking advantage of him.

The longer we lived in the Orient, the more I saw how different people functioned as "employers." While some were thoughtful and responsible, others appeared to feel that it was cheap labor to be had, so take it while you can! I am not condemning those who hired help around the house. However, I cannot deny the fact that, in some cases, it was abused.

In a male centric society, do you really want someone else raising your child? I will never forget the day when my Angel and I were coming home from the commissary and I saw something that made my blood absolutely boil. She and I were walking into housing when I saw a little girl who couldn't have been three years old yet, toddling in the street, no adult around. Naturally, I hurried to her. Standing there, with my angel in the stroller and this little one holding my hand, I looked up and down the street, trying to figure out where she came from. During that frantic search, I spotted, 3 blocks away, a nannie pushing a stroller, turning down a side street. Picking up the little one and pushing my own stroller, I raced to catch up to her. Calling out to her, half way down the next street, I failed to get her attention. Running, I finally caught up with her. Turning around, she saw her charge in my arms. Instead of being ashamed of the fact that she had, indeed, lost this child, she grabbed the little girl and scolded her. Looking in the stroller, I saw a baby boy, fast asleep. Outraged, I stepped between this howling woman and the little girl. To say that I gave her a piece of my mind doesn't describe what happened in the least. Intent on finding out who that little girl's mother was, I followed that nanny. She must have circled housing 4 times before I had to go home because of my groceries. To this day, I wish, with all my heart that I had been able to find the mother of that poor child.

Not all situations were like this. Some domestic help were great and were managed appropriately. I do chuckle when I think of the stories that one maid, in particular, would tell me about her employers. She worked for several families and was much sought after. As a matter of fact, my engineer had hired her with the hopes of giving me a little time off. Though a nice thought, that didn't last very long. Two months after coming once a week, E very quietly told me that she felt bad taking my money since our home was already so clean. Understanding both her morale integrity and her pride, I told her that she could stay with us until she found a suitable replacement for our day. Our replacement turned out to be a doozy for her.

I liked E a lot. She worked hard, cared much, and had the most heartwarming smile I had ever seen. Her eyes had a way a laughing though she carried herself quietly. E went from our house to the Xum Family. While she no longer worked in our home, that does not mean that I didn't see her often. My Angel and I had a habit of going to the park in the evening when the temperatures began to drop. E would join us to visit. As we talked about family, food, and life, naturally, the Xum Family would come up as well. Shaking her head and clucking her tongue, she would go into the misadventures of both taking care of the house AND the kids.

Now, E was a maid...NOT a nanny. While she didn't mind caring for children now and then, her real work was caring for the house. I knew that when we hired her and only went out while my Angel slept. Unfortunately, the Xum Family decided to ignore that memo. Setting her bag down, E would look at my Angel and say that the Xum children were nothing like her. Because of the Xum Family's status in the community, she was a bit scared about leaving them. Understanding her concerns, I would remind her that they would only be there for two years at the most and the time would fly by. Whether that helped her or not, I have no clue. What I do know is that I got an earful from her during the year that followed.

Many people arrived intent on having the complete Orient package. Normally not ones to hire gardeners or maids, they would set out trying to find the best ones that could be had to fulfill their dream of having the "Orient Assignment" experience. While many knew how to balance their "normal" lives with these new elements in the equation, several simply had them to "Keep Up with the Joneses," so to speak. Of all the cultural oddities that I had to adjust to, this was the hardest for me. At the time, I felt that, eventually, I might feel differently about the whole situation. I was wrong.

They WHAT!?!?!

2011-11-23T21:32:00.000-10:00

At first, I was able to patiently wait for our household goods to arrive. Knowing we had sent it early, we were expecting it to be delivered in January, at the latest. Christmas and New Years passed. Our empty home echoed with our voices and our clothing became more and more worn as we lived out of our suitcases. Honestly, wearing the same seven sets of clothes for four months in a row has a way of being a bit difficult on threads. By the time January arrived, I was more than eager for the "ready to deliver" notification. Unfortunately, it never came.

My engineer, knowing that our little family really needed to get settled, approached TMO (Traffic Management Office) concerning our AWOL HHG (household goods) and Unaccompanied Baggage (UB) Shipments. What he was told made our blood run cold.

Now, in the military, we are CONSTANTLY hearing horror stories about things going seriously wrong during moves. However, it often involves a friend of a friend's fourth cousin removed. While I had heard about "the worse case scenario," I had never actually met anyone who had one of those PCS moves from hell.

When my engineer came home from work and told me that the military had LOST everything we owned, I, honestly, thought it must be a joke. No way!! Our things are just stalled out at customs! That is all! I remember wanting to believe this with everything that was in my.

NO, Laura...they have no idea where ANYTHING is! The staff at TMO went through everything trying to find it. There is no record of where it is at all. (Picture a man trying really, really hard to comfort his wife....whose head happens to be spinning like something out of the Exorcist).

Having heard the whole lie about how they track everything from the time it leaves base until it is delivered at our next location, I stood there....stunned. Looking around at our empty house thinking that it might be staying that way, my heart and stomach plummeted. While we didn't own a lot, what little we had was our way of making any house our home. I seriously wanted to lash out at someone, but I didn't know who to pummel.

Months passed. The Furnishings Management Office (FMO) had started nagging my engineer about picking up the loaner furniture in January. Finally, completely fed up, he informed them that they will get their stuff when we got ours. While I know how I felt during this whole mess, I cannot image what he must have been going through.

Being the active duty member in our house, he was the only one authorized to interface with either FMO or TMO. He was the one who had to deal with every nagging phone call from FMO as they pressed to take away the ONLY furniture in our home. It was on my engineer's shoulders to call, call, and call TMO again about status updates concerning our HHG. While I was upset with what was starting to feel like the "theft" of everything we owned, he was having to hear, straight from the horse's mouth, that Blue had simply "misplaced" it and we had to live with it.

Even now, years later, when the HHG Situation comes up, my poor engineer gets this look of absolute disgust. While our little family had to live with the loss of everything, all he got from Blue were shrugs and demands for the return of the loaner furniture. No, Blue did not earn any "points" from this experience. If anything, we got a glimpse into the fact that, with the Military, we had to be prepared to face everything on our own.

It was about the time I had resigned myself to the loss when, in May, we received the phone call that they had, indeed, found our HHG. It had been sent to the opposite side of the world and was about to be claimed by the customs department in the country that it had been sent to. A couple of weeks later, a truck with our four crates and two UB boxes arrived at our front door. Everything was intact and life was good once more.

While that move ended with everything being delivered, it taught us that, with every move, we had to be prepared to lose everything. While I do not like saying this, I am thankful we learned that lesson then fore it prepared us for the moves that followed. Moving with the military is anything but easy. But it is our life, so we learn to shut up and roll with it.

Charlie Brown Christmas

2011-11-18T08:43:00.000-10:00

Heirloom Decorations

Baking Smells that ONLY happen during THAT time of year

Personal Stockings that have always been used

Family

Friends

Home Churches

Comfy Beds

Advent Books laid out in a basket in the living room

These are the things that create Christmas in our home. Or, at least, when we aren't moving during the holiday season. Every time we move, we find ourselves making do over the holidays. The very first Christmas in the Orient was just the beginning.

I think having our daughter made it imperative to have Christmas even though we had nothing. I desperately wanted a tree. I didn't really care what kind of tree. Just any tree was what I was looking for at that point. Being in the land of No Christmas, real trees were out of the question. The faux trees were painfully picked over. Pushing our daughter in the shopping cart at the BX, we desperately looked for ANYTHING that would work. That was when we found it: Our "Charlie Brown Tree."

It was a small table top tree with lights. Horrendously tacky...but oh so perfect at the same time. The fact that it was one of the LAST trees in the store really helped our decision to buy it. At the time, we felt that it was just a stand in for our "real" Christmas tree that was somewhere on a slow boat heading our direction. But that little tree, while our original plan was to donate it to the Airmen's Attic, has stayed with us through multiple moves.

The quest for something pretty to put on our Charlie Brown Tree was comical. Due to its petite size, we had to find ornaments that didn't cause it to fall over. Glass balls were out for the very reason that A- THEY WERE GLASS and B- their size would tip the tree over. Less than a week to Christmas, the ornaments were the poor little rejects that no one wanted. At that point, feeling a little dejected myself, I kind of understood how they must be feeling, left behind on the barren shelves the way they were.

After looking through the "leftovers" for a while, we found them! They were tiny and simple! Very basic wooden ornaments in a pretty and endearingly primitive style, we decided that they were perfect for our Charlie Brown Tree! Honestly, they made me smile. While no one else wanted them, they were finding a home with us. With an odd feeling of accomplishment, we bought them and walked home.

Though we entered a barren home with cement floors, I felt like we had finally brought something personal into it. Because we only had the borrowed dining room table, my engineer and I decided to do Christmas tree decorating the day before Christmas. Even though we knew it wouldn't take long to do, we wanted it to be special none the less. Making hot chocolate (despite the 80F+ weather outside), we set up our little tree and made it pretty with our delightful little wooden rejects.

I remember standing back and looking at that little tree. In so many ways, it represented how I felt at that moment. In a house that I was going to have to work very hard to make a home, living with borrowed household goods, far from anything that was familiar, and not knowing anyone....AT ALL....that humble little tree looked like our life at the moment.

Our Christmas was simple and beautiful that year. Though we didn't have much, we had each other. My Angel didn't know anything was unusual. She had everything she wanted and wanted everything she had. Taking a page out of her book, my engineer and I worked to feel the same.

Our very first Charlie Brown Christmas was actually the beginning of a family tradition for us. Every time we move, we always have Christmas either with nothing or in a hotel room. We have actually gotten pretty creative with it. With every move, I now choose a handful of ornaments to stash in my suitcase. While I do not know what I will be putting them on, it is a little piece of "tradition" that carries over from year to year that brings continuity where there normally wouldn't be any. Our Charlie Brown Christmases have a very special place in my heart. Though we may be "homeless," we have each other...and that is good.

Our AWESOME Home Sweet Home

2011-11-17T08:10:00.000-10:00

There is nothing quite as unsettling as seeing that your new home is worse than your last. Yes, our home was quite unbecoming when we walked up to it. However, being a "Glass Half Full" kind of gal that I am, I decided that they just didn't waste money on outside aesthetics. Unfortunately, opening the ill-sealed front door, I realized that the house was in worse shape than I had ever lived in.

Our home was a two bedroom, one bath. Upon entering the brown painted wooden, front door with NO SEALS, I stepped into a house that was floored with the same cement flooring found in old grocery stores. The tiles were grayish brown and cracked. The baseboards were 4 inch tall brown plastic flexible moulding. The walls were hospital white with multiple poorly patched holes.

Looking into the bedrooms, which didn't take long, I saw that all of our storage was there....in the closets. I remember mumbling something about "it's a good thing we don't have very much." My stomach was still teetering where it was supposed to be until I saw the kitchen.

Honestly, I felt like I had found my place in the world through what I could create in the kitchen. My stomach dropped out of me when I saw that dump. Though "spotless," it had obviously been abused. Not lived in....ABUSED! Standing in the middle, I could rest my right palm on the stove and my left flat on the frig. The stove, cracked enamel and questionable electric ranges, had knobs that came off in my hands. The cabinet doors were painted the same brown as the doors and trim and had never been sanded. They were rough and crooked. Looking down, I saw the floors were a different tile...but also chipped, cracked, and stained.

After our last home and all its hidden flaws, I was scared half to death of the surprises we were going to find in our new, abused home. Honestly, this house was pretty depressing. In the back of my mind, the mantra, "it is just two years...it is just two years" was circling. Gulping, I watched as my engineer took the keys and signed the paperwork.

That night, we slept, one last time, in billeting. My engineer had walked most of our belongings over to our new home. Our loaner furniture was to be delivered "sometime" the next day. If I had known that night was going to be the last night's sleep on a comfortable bed for a very long time, I would have cherished it more. I was young! I didn't know just how bad loaner furniture could be yet. Chuckling, I now think back at just how nice that room in billeting really was! The kitchen was WONDERFUL compared to what I now had to live with. Obviously, to this day, my mind reverts to the kitchen. It left a mark, that is all I can say.

The next day, we had breakfast, made the final haul of stuff to the new house, and my engineer checked us out of billeting. I immediately put our Angel's suitcase of toys in her room. Santa had come to town!! Or, at least, that is what her little mind was thinking. Toys quickly found themselves strewn throughout the house. While she was having a blast "christening" the house as only a toddler can, I was waiting.

It wasn't until afternoon when they finally delivered our loaner furniture. Rock hard couch & chairs, really hard & bumpy beds.... The most comfortable of the lot was a dining room chair. Knowing that it was temporary, I happily directed the movers. Seeing them out, I turned around and looked at our new home.

I remember thinking, as I looked down the hall into the living room, "it will be better when our household goods are delivered....." It is a VERY good thing that I didn't know, at that point, exactly how long that wait would be.

Jet Lag, Having Kids, and Finding Nemo

2011-11-12T09:05:00.003-10:00

Jet Lag.

With that first overseas move, I lived with Jet Lag for two whole weeks. No, I did not just do all the stuff you aren't supposed to do. I immediately forced myself to live on Orient time. I ate when the clock told me to. Forcing myself to rise in the morning, I pushed through life according to what Time thought I should be doing.

Unfortunately, I had a toddler to contend with. She didn't give a rip for what the clock said. Her little body was hungry when it felt hungry. Her body slept and woke when it darn well wanted to. It didn't matter how much manipulation I tried of her sleep schedule. 1am came every morning...like clockwork. You see, 1am in the Orient was 4pm in the Great White North. Her body thought that it was waking up from her afternoon nap.

This is how my life was. My engineer would sleep through the night, grumbling when our Angel woke. Knowing that he had to head to the office, I would get up with her and close off the hall door. She was SO very happy to be up. I, on the other hand...was not. Stumbling and stubbing toes, I would drag a blanket and pillow to the chair. Forlornly, I would look at the clock and see 1:15am in bright blue numbers on the clock face. My life SUCKED!!!

Any of you who have had children or currently do, understand that toddlers get "stuck" on their favorite things. You will sit and read the same book so many times that you discover that you can recite it in your sleep. At times, you may even dream about Snuggle Puppies or abcs following out of some stupid coconut tree. The same toy, the same book....the same movie. Like just about every other parent of small children back then, I spent a whole lot of time looking for Nemo.

I used to LOVE Finding Nemo. It was beautifully done with a wonderful story about friendship and perseverance. However, watching Finding Nemo every morning from 1am to 7am was enough for me to decide that Finding Nemo was the worst thing to happen to parents everywhere. If I tried to put something else in, my girl became anything but an angel. It was like she KNEW it was way too early for anyone to be up, so she threatened to wake the dead if Nemo didn't stay right where she felt he belonged....looping continuously on the TV.

If we didn't have neighbors above, below, and on both sides, I would have just let her scream. With every ounce of my being, I hated giving in when what she really needed was a swift "NO" and her little self in her crib. But after being an unwitting audience to the amorous noises in the room above ours, I knew that I HAD to keep her quiet at all costs...even if it meant that I had to burn multiple brain cells losing and finding Nemo over and over and over again.

My Angel FINALLY got on the right sleep schedule at about the same time we were assigned a house on base. Two weeks. Two very, very LONG weeks. During the pack out for our move from billeting to our new home, I conveniently "lost" Finding Nemo. It was almost two years before he was found again...

Rise and Shine???

2011-11-12T09:05:00.001-10:00

Somethings in life are a truly pleasant surprise. That is just the case with the billeting we were blessed with in the Orient. Upon waking up after that late night arrival, I looked out the window and saw trees and doves. I have no idea what time it was, but seeing sunlight streaming in through the cracks of the curtains was enough to pull me out of bed due to sheer curiosity. The beds were high, and my feet didn't touch the floor when I swung my legs out from underneath the covers.

Finally, looking around at my surroundings, I saw where I was. Sliding down off the side of the bed, I walked to the window and peered out. Gardeners were pruning plants. Looking down, I vaguely remember climbing stairs the night before. Continuing to look out side, I marveled at my new home. It was beautiful, and oh so green! Flowers, trees, grass, bushes... Doves. Their gentle cooing brought a sense of well being to my jet lagged brain.

Turning back to the room, I saw that it was actually a well appointed room. A comfortable bed, real furniture, plenty of closet space, and it was OURS!! My Angel, as sweet as she may be, was not in our room! My engineer was still asleep when I crept out of our room and closed the door.

Nutmeg was there, waiting for me under the side table in the living room. Poor thing. She was definitely holding a grudge...and I didn't blame her one bit. Stooping to pet her, while she didn't purr, she didn't bite me either. Knowing that it was going to take some time to earn her trust back, I let her be. Honestly, if I could have the luxury that she had to hold a grudge and stay in a spot where no one would bother me, I think I would have done the same thing. That move, half way around the world, was a trip straight out of hell.

While the living room wasn't lavish, it was comfortable and clean. Yes, the floor was more comfortable than the couch or chairs. The one thing that stood out to me was the absolute lack of cultural identity of where we were now located. No pictures. Not a hint. Honestly, it could have been a hotel room in the MidWest. Finding the nondescript decor a bit unnerving, I opened the heavy curtains wide and beckoned my new home in.

Naturally, my Angel started stirring and making her presence known. Back down the very neutral hall, I found that her room wasn't that bad. Of course, I couldn't convince her of that at that moment. As soon as I lifted her out of her crib, she was off! Running down the hall, I quickly discovered that the door between the hallway and the main living area was going to be my best friend. I have to tell you that door stayed closed ALL THE TIME!!! Upon the discovery of the bathroom, my Angel vehemently decided that was where she belonged. I, on the other hand, did not agree. As you can guess, our discussions concerning the bathroom were numerous.

By the time my engineer surfaced, I was BEYOND ready to go back to bed. Though it was after 10am local time, my body felt like it belonged in a different place. While I tried hard to adjust, every single fiber in my body rebelled. Chasing our little one brought me to a breaking point. Swapping the wee one with him, I headed to that comfortable bed that I had so enjoyed the night before....praying that I would....EVENTUALLY....be functioning on the right clock some time soon.

My Introduction Through the Windshield

2011-11-12T09:04:00.001-10:00

Luckily, our sponsor had brought my engineer's new MSgt to greet us at the airport...and bring another vehicle. After loading everything up, my Angel and I went with our sponsor and my engineer went with his MSgt. Heading out of the airport, I was introduced to my new home in fast forward!!!

Speeding and weaving through traffic, our sponsor talked a mile a minute as she zipped through crazy traffic patterns that made NO sense to me at all! Discreetly looking over my shoulder, I looked at my Angel in the backseat. Taking a deep breath, I looked out the window at the world that was flying by. My sleep debt was definitely having a hay day with my perception!

I was MESMERIZED by the bright lights and chaos that I saw outside. The world, despite being so late at night, was alive, vibrant, and full of color. Markets were still active and teaming with people. Because the area we were in was both religious and secular, I could see women in western dress shopping shoulder to shoulder with women in tribal dress and veils. The anxiety that I had felt during our planning for the move was lessening as intrigue and fascination took over.

Honestly, I do not remember much of what came out of our sponsor's mouth. I vaguely remember hearing "lodging" and "two bedrooms," but that was about it. All I wanted at that point was to collapse into a bed and let my body melt into the mattress. I was thankful, beyond words, that she was able to procure a "Pet Room" for us. Our Nutmeg would be sleeping with us that night!

Arriving in the village that our new base was named for, I saw shops of all kinds lining the main thoroughfare. Carpet shops were EVERYWHERE!! I saw a few custom furniture shops, a gorgeous crystal shop, restaurants, massage parlors, beauty parlors, clothing shops, numerous bars, and tattoo parlors. Chuckling to myself, I recognized an Airmen Trap when I saw one! A few minutes later, I saw our new home to my left.

Finally arriving at our next duty station, I was surprised to see local national military manning the gates. Honestly, their "Military" foreignness struck a chord with me. At that point, sleepless fog and all that goes with it, I understood. I understood completely. We were guests here. Going through the gates on my engineer's orders, past sandbagged gun emplacements, I gulped and prayed.

Our lodging was FANTASTIC!! Upon stepping foot through the door, we discovered that there was already a litter box set up for Nutmeg along with food and water bowls. Freeing her from her confines, she cautiously set forth to explore her new surroundings. Looking in the frig, we were thrilled to see the basics waiting for us. Calling it a night, we collapsed.

International to Domestic - The Orient

2011-11-12T09:03:00.001-10:00

Arriving in the Orient, there was a feeling of hope that our journey was ALMOST over. We only had one more flight, and after the previous three...that was very, very good news. Smaller countries have smaller international hubs. Walking down the concourse, from our gate from Europe, we looked for the bank of monitors. Though tired, my engineer and I both felt a surge of adrenaline that comes from knowing that a long journey was coming to an end.

I remember standing in front of the bank of four monitors. It was a huge change from the confusing collage of 10 to 12 that we had to find our way through at previous airports. Thinking that we understood what they were telling us, loaded down with our carry ons, we set forth. Turning a corner, we were faced with the customs check point. Orders in hand, we waited in line...for a very long time.

Ahead of us, there were people from various countries talking, arguing, and pleading with the men behind the protective glass. I had packed $50 cash, just in case we had to "buy" a visa to just get through without undue harassment. By the time we got to the window, I had a feeling I had made a very smart decision indeed. Approaching the window, with our Military Passports and my engineer's orders, the little man critically looked at our papers. He excused himself with our documents and disappeared for some time. Upon return, he informed us that my engineer's orders weren't good enough to get into the country...we had to pay him $25 each... Politely asking to speak to his supervisor, he dismissed us with a curt, "I can keep you standing here as long as I feel like it."

Knowing that our connection didn't allow for much of a delay....and being sick and tired of being on the move...we contributed to the bribe network by handing over $50 cash to just get past his desk. With that stupid visa stamp on our passports, we hurried through to our check in. Climbing a tall flight of stairs (cat, bags, kid, stroller, carseat...), we arrived at the check in...only to discover that our bags weren't checked through! They were standing, unclaimed on the international baggage claim area on the lower level.

Almost close to tears, I must have looked like I was completely defeated. Looking around, with everything piled around me, I felt completely vulnerable. My engineer, a note of panic in his voice as we both looked at the check in time for our next flight, asked for directions for the claims area and rushed to bring it back in time to check in. Standing there, with my daughter in her stroller (and everything else), I set off to find a chair close by.

Taking a very deep breath, I was about to start hauling everything when there was a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I came face to face with one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. In broken English, she told me her son would take everything wherever I needed it to go. Giving her a deep nod of "Thanks," I pointed to a seat with a bit of emptiness next to it (the airport was PACKED). The young man graciously took everything and set it there for me, responding with a quiet nod when I told him "Thank you." I have no idea how long I sat there with my Angel and waited...but I wasn't alone.

One after another, older women seemed to come out of the woodwork to coo over my Angel. Having come from a culture that tends to maintain personal space rules, I had to cover my discomfort as these women came and touched, talked to, and pinned stuff to my daughter's clothes. At about the point when my exhaustion was going to over rule my cultural tolerance, my engineer resurfaced from the underworld with all of our checked bags. With relief, I joined him and prepared to finish our journey. Bidding all the adoring women good bye with a smile and a nod, we checked in and prepared to go through the domestic security check......again.

Now, our Nutmeg had done a fantastic job so far. Approaching the check point, the guards told us that her carrier had to go through the scanner. Having sent all of our carry ons through first, followed by my Angel and I, my engineer took Nutmeg out of her carrier...all 12 pounds of her. I will NEVER forget the looks on the guards faces as she, as if in slow motion, was removed from her carrier. She is an armful for my engineer. He asked one of the guards if he wanted to hold her after she went through the metal detector, or if my engineer was to walk through with her. With a look of complete fright and shock, the poor man vigorously shook his head, stepping back with arms up in protest. One of the guards leaned to me and asked if she was a smaller mountain lion. Smiling, I told him she was just a very large cat...and that was it. Shaking his head, he muttered, "looks like a lion cat to me." Loading her back into her carrier (where she went with much relief), we went in search for our gate.

Looking at yet another bank of monitors, we went down another flight of stairs...to wait. It was crowded and claustrophobic. Too many bodies and too much stuff. Looking around, it dawned on me that it looked like we were going to be on yet another hop flight. Groaning inside, I closed my eyes and tried to figure out what I had eaten last, fore I knew I would see it yet again in another form. With a bit of distress, I realized that I had only one roll that day...not enough to calm a stomach. It was about the time my mind wrapped around this that the boarding call for our flight rang out....up stairs!!!

As we were gathering everything up, a burly man stepped forward to help my engineer take everything up stairs. When I reached over to take something, with my daughter on my hip, he said, "No No!! Just Baby!" Wrapping my arms around my Angel, I took her up the stairs. Turning around, I watched as the man pointed to the monitors and said, "LIES!!! ALL LIES!!!" and continued to help lug all of our stuff up from downstairs. When my engineer tried to say "thank you," he was dismissed with a wave of the arms that said, "why are you surprised?? That is what we do!!" Settling things in at the chairs in the correct waiting area, I ran off to find a restroom...it had been a very long time.

Hand sanitizer in hand, I entered the ladies room. What I found made me smile...and smile BIG!! I had a choice! An honest to God choice, right there in front of me! I could use a standard western toilet....or I could use a pit toilet. Having seen a very chic woman walk out of the pit toilet, I decided that was my pick as well! You see, you don't touch ANYTHING when you use a pit toilet. No worries about something nasty on the seat...and you hit the flusher with your foot! Immediately, I decided that pit toilets were the way I was going to roll if I could find them. First day in country, and I was adapting like a charm!

Proud of myself, and walking a bit taller, I returned to find my Angel munching on something. My engineer explained that he had found it at the food kiosk in the corner. Feeling better, having wonderful experience in my new country, I sat down with my little family and waited for our seat numbers to be called...and it didn't take long!

For the last time, we loaded ourselves onto a plane. This one, was indeed, a flying tin can. Taking a deep breath, we loaded up. This flight was definitely a local transporter flight. Small in size and PACKED to the GILLS with people, it was going to prove to be an interesting flight. While only just under 3 hours, it was the warmest, smelliest flight I had ever been on. People had brought hot and cold food with them. Pair that with a strong dislike for deodorant, body heat, and a bumpy ride, my stomach rebelled once again. After filling a couple bags, I closed my eyes, rested my forehead on the seat ahead of me, and prayed for it to end...and end soon.

When our plane touched down and coasted to a stop, I asked the flight attendant if we could be the last to unload. With great understanding written on his face, he granted my wish. Looking out the window, my heart danced with joy as I saw the strong, thick fog that encased everything around us. Knowing how soothing that cool moist air would be on my face and in my lungs, I prepared us to disembark. With my daughter on my hip, I headed to the open door with joy, knowing how good that night air would feel after being trapped in a plane for so many hours. Stepping out the door of the plane onto the outdoor staircase, I received a shock I had not been prepared for.

The thick fog wasn't fog at all. It was coal smoke! Having closed my eyes and taken a deep breath, I was hit by a wall of heat and a chest full of air that made my lungs ache. My eyes flew open in shock. Trying hard to cover my disappointment and pain, I carefully carried my daughter down the steps. Visibility was slim. The smoke was EVERYWHERE!! Finding my engineer and our stuff, we waited for our sponsor...

The Traveling Circus....Moving: Military Style

2011-11-09T22:01:00.000-10:00

I would love to say that our flights were uneventful...and everything was relaxing and enjoyable. Hours spent with a book, card games, sudoku, conversation, meeting people... That would have been so wonderful! Oh how I wish I could say that about our 20 hours in the air. But....I can't.

The first flight out of the Great White North was in a tin can that got shot out by a rubber band. My worst nightmare. Having been plagued with motion sickness ALL my life, I had taken every precaution before the flight. Knowing that I would be in the air for SO LONG, I didn't want to start it puking my guts out. Thanks to winter turbulence, my wish was not granted.

Four Flights! I had to survive and be a functioning mom through four flights! As I turned greener and greener, I realized that it was going to be a very, very long 20+ hours. Our Angel had settled in and was playing happily. She flirted with everyone on the flight. She was the best little traveler you could ask for. While some childless, kid haters glared at us when we boarded the plane, a few of them commented to us at the end of the flight that she was wonderful! Having filled a few barf bags on the flight, all I could do was mumble "thanks" as we disembarked at our next connection.

We were able to check our luggage all the way through to the Orient. However, we had to shlep our baby, cat, carseat, stroller, and 6 carry ons through the International terminal. Two adults...plus all that "stuff"... I really want you to close your eyes and try to picture that image for a second. Now add having to run from domestic to international with a close connection! We were a freakin' traveling circus!!!

Whenever I think about all the connections that we had to make, circus music goes off in my head. Our daughter was a peach. Nutmeg??? Not a peep. However, my engineer and I were rapidly wearing thin. After finally making it through the International check in, we settled in for a wait...which was scary short. Being so tired and weak from the last flight, I had a hard time thinking of positive perspectives at this point. Boarding our second flight, with Nutmeg miraculously stowed under the seat in front of me, we settle in for a very, very long international flight.

Even though our flight took off in the late afternoon and was traveling East, I was never able to close my eyes and get any sleep. Our little girl was so confused as to why she wasn't allowed to sleep in a bed, not just her bed...but any bed. Knowing that it was rough on her, I spent that entire night holding her hand, trying to let her know that it was ok and she could go to sleep. Across the aisle...my engineer was sawing logs. It was about 4am when I finally gave up and just let my eyes glaze over. I sat and stared at the little plane on the monitor as it made its way across the Atlantic. Boy, did she take her time! The sun was rising as we made our descent into Europe. Looking out the window past my daughter, I saw the water ways, fields, and barren landscapes of a European winter reflecting in the moonlight of pre-dawn.

Upon landing at our stop, we rushed to find our next connection. Looking outside, we saw, with very heavy hearts, a barren frozen landscape outside. My engineer and I discussed, with great concern, how we were going to get Nutmeg in the cabin with us. Thus far, we had been lucky...very lucky. Her weight had not been questioned at all. Now, in the stricter flying regulationed EU, we weren't too sure on how we were going to pull it off. Finding our gate and setting our baggage down, my engineer went off to find out if we were going to make this next leg with or without her.

The wait for him to get back felt like an eternity. Sitting there, with my fussy little girl, I watched the sun break the night, revealing everything that I dreaded. The world outside was, indeed, frozen and foreboding. Closing my eyes, I prayed that things would turn out well in the end. At that moment, completely sleep deprived, it was hard to see anything clearly. The tiredness that I felt was physically painful.

When my engineer returned, with Nutmeg in hand, there was a serious look of triumph on his face! With a broad smile, he announced that he was successful. Evidently, he had stood and watched the clerks for a while, trying to determine who might be a subversive. Finally, after thinking he knew who happily bent the rules, he approached the counter, batted his beautiful brown eyes, and flirted with the clerk. Not only was she a rebel, but she was a cat lover as well and loved Nutmeg at first sight. Determined not to separate an attractive man from the cat he clearly loved, she passed Nutmeg as being under 8 pounds. I chuckle when I think that what works for women, works for men as well.

By the time we finally boarded our next flight, we were tired out of our minds. My poor engineer was so exhausted that the flight attendants immediately decided that alcohol was NOT going to be offered to him. He wasn't nasty, but he was pretty short at this point. That being the case, I handled our Angel, Nutmeg, and whatever I could carry on my back. When we collapsed into our seats, my Angel and I instantly went to sleep. I don't remember that flight AT ALL! For three blessed hours, she and I slept...and slept hard. When we landed, I felt like it was way too soon. But upon looking out the window, I saw a world that was so different from any I had ever lived in. We were on the final leg...

We were ALMOST home.

Final Farewell - End of One Chapter...Beginning of Another

2011-11-09T14:46:00.000-10:00

On the morning of December 5th, we drove through driving snow to the airport one last time. The only personal belongings we would have until our household goods were delivered were packed in our suitcases and carry ons. I remember turning around in my seat to look at my Angel in her carseat and Nutmeg in her carrier. Bags were tucked into the floorboard. Excited and nervous, we left our first base for the last time.

The day we flew out, it was -65F outside. The deadly cold went through all of our layers. I felt a strong sense of relief that we were leaving the cold behind. While I loved the people, the constant cold just made my body and soul ache. I was physically and emotionally ready to be done with it. My engineer rushed us in and then went back out to bring in the baggage.

It wasn't until he was hauling in the luggage from the car that I realized that we were going to have a heck of a time on this journey: six checked bags, 6 carry ons, one large kennel (for if the EU required Nutmeg to be checked into the baggage hold), a car seat, a folding stroller, and Nutmeg in her small carrier. With absolute dread, I closed my eyes and told myself that we only had to change flights 4 times...with multiple Customs check points.

Just as I was working to steady my nerves, my best friend and her husband walked through the doors to see us off. She had been there for me when my Angel was born, and there she was again, when I needed a friend who would smile and tell me that it would end before we knew it. You see, sometimes you just need someone to lie to you! A good friend will help transport you to a fairy tale place where everthing in life is beautiful when you just need a break from the reality that has landed on your dinner plate. For a very short hour, she did just that...and gosh, did I need it.

The excitement built up to the point of explosion when the security check call rang out through that very small airport. Gathering ALL of our "Stuff", we bid farewell to people that I really wanted to just take with us. After having put so much into creating connections, it felt like an atrocity to say goodbye. I have NEVER gotten used to it. It is with a lot of sadness that I continually bid people I love goodbye. Going through the security check point, I turned and waved farewell...wishing that I could take it back and have it be a hello.

After waiting for an hour for the boarding call, we laboriously made our way to our seats. My face burned with embarrassment over the amount of luggage we had. I worked really hard on focusing on the fact that this is what my family had to live on for who knows how long. I had always been a very light traveler, so the insane amount of baggage rubbed against my grain like sandpaper.

After putting everything where it belonged, including Nutmeg under the seat in front of me, I sat down and took one last look out the window. Seat belts fastened and everything stowed, our plane took off, leaving the Great White North far behind.

Billeting....Homeless Once Again.

2011-11-08T22:01:00.002-10:00

I HATE billeting. There is that strong feeling of belonging NO WHERE when we have to stay in Billeting. Oh, I am sorry...for all the non-military out there...billeting is a glorified hotel room where military have to stay when they are made homeless due to a PCS. Trust me, there is NOTHING glorious about billeting.

Our first billeting experience was on our outbound journey after our assignment to the Great White North. I had never stayed in billeting before. All I knew was that it had a kitchenette in it due to the fact that people often have to stay there for weeks at a time. Every single location has a different definition of what appropriate billeting is. This is further morphed by whatever branch happens to manage the billeting you are assigned.

The Great White North's billeting was a hotel room with a kitchenette in the hall and a bedroom in the back. At first, this doesn't sound too bad...if you don't have kids. But throw a toddler in the mix, and you are going to have an AWESOME time! Her porta-crib was INSIDE the closet, blocking the walking space around the foot of the bed. Add to that the fact that she inherited her mother's very light sleeping habits, it made for a nightmare situation. Middle of the night bathroom runs ALWAYS ran the risk of waking her up. While we considered having her sleep in the front room, that was immediately ruled out because my engineer had to get ready for work somewhere. As you can tell, it is with great dread that I think about billeting.

I have many memories about our time in billeting in the Great White North. During the time we were in lodging, it was the middle of winter, first week of December to be exact. I was still recovering from C-Diff and was harboring some very ill feelings toward the two military docs who I had my unforgettable encounter with. I think things wouldn't have been so bad if it hadn't been -50F outside without windchill. Being on our way out, we only had one car at the time. Without argument, my engineer needed it to get to work during his final days in the squadron. Unfortunately, that mental understanding didn't help the trapped feeling that I had between those four walls.

My Angel and I played, paced, read, played, paced, read some more... Sometimes she and I would watch some useless television. To this day, I marvel at the crud that Disney feels our children should be watching! I have no clue how many times I saw children's shows with random nothingness. They were the very definition of bizarre. I actually started feeling really guilty when I would give in to the urge for peace and turn that stupid thing on. But after hours and hours of entertaining a little one in a single room, the brain HAS to escape for a little bit...or it will BURST!!!

Other times we would both find ourselves seated at the window...watching the snow whirl by. Honestly, I think the Great White North got all of its snow from neighboring states. The snow there hardly ever fell beautifully and calmly. It always came down with a vengeance on a wicked wind from who knows where! During those seven days in billeting, my Angel and I watched a lot of snow blow in. The more snow that came down, the more concerned I became that our Nutmeg wouldn't be able to get on the plane.

The temperatures kept dropping while we were in billeting. The lower they got, the more anxious I became over getting ALL of us on that plane. Both my engineer and I were worried sick. There was NO WAY we were going to leave her behind. We had made the decision do the best we could to get her in the cabin with us on the flight...despite her weighing in at 12lbs (the weight limit is 8lbs). We searched high and low for a carrier that could fit under the seat in front of us. Watching the winter weather forecasts made us curse the wait in billeting. The passing days only brought fouler weather world wide.

It was with a mixture of hope and dread that we checked out of billeting that eighth day. Loading all we had into the car, we went to Nutmeg's Foster Home and picked her up. Our journey would be very long...and we were running the risk of not being able to take her all the way through to the Orient due to the severe winter weather forecasts around the globe. My engineer and I were a bit scared, to say the least. Though we had done everything that needed to be done for her to clear all the check points, if one flight attendant decided Nutmeg needed to fly in the hold, Nutmeg wouldn't be allowed to fly due to the winter storms that were covering the globe. With a lot of prayer...we began our journey out of the Great White North to the Orient.

Military Spouse Examples - Susans

2011-11-08T21:01:00.000-10:00

Time: Present Location: The Pacific

Last night I had the privilege of meeting a whole lot of wonderful women! Much like a stomach warming pot of stew, they were diverse, vibrant, and warming to the soul. Honestly, I was reveling in the laid back, positive atmosphere that comes with having a mix of people who accept eachother just as they are. I just happened to be blessed with being there as well.

Our hostess was a personality dynamo. The first time I met her I saw a woman who loved life and loved the life she lived. She had a way of moving through a room that both caused people to respect her, but also endeared people to her as well. I would like to say that she was a woman's woman. Her personality screamed comfort with herself, care for others, and confidence in her role as a military spouse. She was a "Susan," to say the least. Meeting her took me on a journey back to when I met the woman who taught me that I didn't need to become someone that I wasn't. Who I was was just what the military needed me to be. This chance encounter reminded me of the first "Susan" who entered my life.

Honestly, after almost 10 years with the military, I have met a lot of women. Some have really changed the way I approach life. While I would LOVE to say all have done so through positive examples...I simply can't. With all the women that I have met, over time, I have been able to mentally compartmentalize personality traits. Now, when my engineer asks me about new people I meet, I tend to answer, "she is a Susan," "A Diane," or, God forbid, "A Debbie." Knowing the impact that these "women" had on my life, he completely understands what I mean. Today, I am going to introduce you to "Susans."

The very first "Susan" that I met crossed my path when I needed her the most. I was a young, new military spouse and was being schooled on what was expected of me. With horror and sadness, I was quickly discovering that who I was just wouldn't make the cut. My reaction to that revelation was to try to make the most of my situation...and try to be what Blue needed me to be. Then I met her. "Susan."

"Susan" had been around the block a few times. Though a bit salty, she was compassion, care, and love rolled into a very vibrant package. Honestly, she was one of the very few women during that first tour that broke through my brick wall. It was through her authenticity and comfort with her place as a military spouse that completely won me over. White gloves and pearls....she had none....and neither did I! She bore an honesty that I was desperately searching for...and from her I learned the greatest lesson I would ever learn.

BEING MYSELF...QUIRKS & ALL...IS ALL THAT WAS NEEDED FROM ME!!!

Because of the graciousness that she extended to my very young self, I was faced with the most important gift that I can give to my fellow spouses: a safe place where they can grow and become who they were meant to be. Love, compassion, grace, and honesty were gifts that she gave me with her friendship and mentoring. I learned that if the cover of my book was perfect but the inner pages were cryptic, I had committed a grave injustice to myself and others.

"Susan" taught me that being genuine had its pitfalls as well...but they were worth it! While she was kind and considerate to all, she knew that she couldn't please everyone...but that didn't stand in the way of always being honest and kind.

To say that my day brightened when she walked in the room or called all those years ago seems to barely skim the surface of the precious gift she gave to me. I needed someone who would be my friend, even though I felt like I was on the outside looking in. When I think of all the women I have known who have served their squadrons over the years, "Susan" stands out as the one person everyone felt comfortable coming to. While the Leadership may have been difficult, she was the heart of our squadron and I owe my own vision for supporting our military families to her. For, it is the "Susans" who offer a safe place for young spouses to grow and become the pillars that hold our communities together.

Death Ride

2011-11-06T22:17:00.002-10:00

After the way too eventful final visit with family before flying out of the country, my in-laws had already decided to drive us back up to the Great White North. Honestly, I really do not remember much of the final days in their home. Nor do I remember actually getting into the van. All I knew at the time is that I was best off in the fetal position, avoiding all encounters with gravity that I could. Thoroughly drugged and making a very slow recovery, I had somehow found myself on the back bench of their van for the two and a half day drive north through winter weather conditions. Everything about that trip is a fog. Everything but one thing, that is. That one thing which caused all of our lives flash before our eyes.

I had woken up on the second day on the road. Carefully testing my body against the shift of gravity, I carefully sat up and buckled my seat belt. I remember carefully resting my burning face against the cool glass, closing my eyes in relief. Upon opening my eyes, I saw that we were deep into the Great White North. The roads were covered in ice. Snow blew like ghosts over the cold throbbing white of the winter scape. Looking forward, I could see my engineer talking to his parents and working to keep our Angel occupied. Almost immediately, he saw that I was up and asked how I was doing. Smiling weakly, I said something about being up. Checking in on our little one, I saw that she was happy and busy.

That is when I saw it. The overpass. At about the same time I noticed it, the van went into a high speed spin, right towards it. Gripping the seat belt and bracing my feet, I looked at my engineer and my angel...as if for the last time. Unable to close my eyes, I watched in horror as the supporting pillar rushed towards us. As we were spinning, my father in law was concentrating on trying to guide the van through the ice, spin, bridge, and high winds.

There was a sense of grace as I watched the pillar pass us as we spun underneath and through the underpass. Though I knew that we weren't safe yet, there was a feeling that a serious miracle had just taken place. I looked ahead at my father in law as he drove and concentrated with all his might to get us to safety.

We were in a sideways skid going down the freeway when the van's front wheels hit the landscaped (now covered in snow) divider. At this point, my mind KNEW that we were going to flip and roll. The speed at which we were careening, the force with which we hit the divider, and the top heavy nature of the van were the needed elements for a glorious flip and roll.

But it didn't happen! Instead, the van skidded in the divider and took us in the opposite direction on the interstate! I remember thanking God for His faithfulness. There were so many ways that event could have been deadly. All I can guess is that He had other plans for us. Looking back on that Death Ride, I can't help but remember what immediately jumped to my mind in the midst of the spin. All I wanted was for my engineer and Angel to make it out safely. Nothing else was important to me at that point. In my heart and mind, I prayed that they would live.

There are things that happen in our lives that reveal what our hearts' desire most. Sometimes the discoveries are hard and we must work to adjust our priorities to be more inline with our beliefs. However, there are times when you find that what you want most in the world is for those you love to be safe, ahead of your own desires for yourself. While the experience was horrifying, I am happy with the discovery that I made.

Bad Medicine

2011-11-06T13:46:00.000-10:00

During the entire time we were trying to pack out and leave our home, I was battling a nasty sinus infection. This baby was a doozy. It had started the beginning of October....and we packed out the end of October...final out middle of November. So, you see...this beasty was hanging on with EVERYTHING it had! Even though I had promptly gone to the clinic, things weren't working.

This is where I need to insert a note, and it MIGHT be a long one. For those of you who are military, you will completely understand what I am going to write about. However, for those of you who aren't, this will be new to you. In order to understand what I will be discussing, I feel like I need to explain "normal" to you.

When the civilian world talks about the countless benefits that the military receives (and this is often paired with a note of scorn), health care and housing are at the very top of the list. Now, I hope you got a bit of a glimpse into the housing that we are sometimes given...and expected to live in with huge smiles on our faces. Just wait until I tell you about our home in the Orient...what we had in the Great White North is a palace in comparison. But I am digressing...

With Military Medicine, as with everything else, the mission comes first. This means that those in uniform are a priority, which is very understandable to me. Priority for Military Doctors is in this order:

Downrange Needs
Transport Medical Needs
Actual Installation Facility Needs
Active Duty
Families

These men and women do the best they can for the people that they are tasked to serve. However, sometimes it just isn't enough. There are typically only 1, sometimes, 2 pediatricians per base, and they may be nurse practitioners. Even though the military breeds like rabbits (due to the vast majority being in the prime of their lives), how many pediatricians are really needed downrange (though humanitarian missions are countless...)? Though the military works hard to provide, if you aren't stationed near a large medical center, you will have quite a wait to see a doc. I accept this and try really hard to plan accordingly.

Often, even though you are assigned a Permanent Care Provider (PCM), if your clinic is smaller and the population huge, when care is needed, you will have to schedule with someone else. The whole time we were stationed in the Great White North, I only saw my assigned PCM twice. All the other times, either my PCM had moved and they had changed my PCM or my PCM wasn't available. You roll with it. My engineer never had a problem seeing his...but I am just a dependent...so I take what I can get.

However, there are times when the constant passing of patients becomes deadly dangerous. Unfortunately, that is what happened with me and my stupid sinus infection.

I had a cold. After drinking a lot of water, getting rest, keeping things clear, and taking lots of C, it morphed into a sinus infection. The pain was unbearable, and knowing there wasn't much more I could do for it, I went into the clinic. I was careful about how I used the clinic. I know that they were always overrun by people who felt the clinic was a national past time, so I tried really hard to only go when needed. At that point, I HAD to go in. I had not choice. The move was at our front door. My baby needed me to be on my game. Things were just getting worse.

The first appointment that I had was with the first available doctor. I will never forget it. I had sat in the waiting room for an hour. The poor Airman at the desk kept apologizing for being behind schedule. Knowing that happens, I just settled back with my book. Finally being called back, they took my vitals and left me in the room. After half an hour, I had poked my head out the door, only to be told that the doctor would be with me shortly. Fifteen minutes later, he breezed in the door, felt my face, gave me a script...and left. Ok...7 minutes... I guess I can live with that.

Unfortunately, four days later, I was far worse, not better. After calling my mother (an RN) and being told that I should have seen improvements within 2 days, I called the clinic for a phone consult. The next day, I got a call from a nurse who told me that I just had to finish the 2 weeks of medication and come in if it is worse. With a big gulp, feeling like that was all I could do, I followed her clipped advice. By the end of the two weeks on medication that did not work, I felt like the walking dead. After setting up another appointment, I went in again.

This time, I saw a different medical practitioner...again, not my PCM. They just couldn't get me in. After yet another long wait, I was finally called in. After hearing what was going on, including the push I had to just finish the other medication (despite its ineffectiveness), she told me I needed something stronger. Having qualms about jumping from one antibiotic to another, I questioned her about the wisdom of starting something stronger so soon. She told me that it was my only option. So, with great frustration, I obeyed...

During this whole time, we were cleaning out our home for its final inspection and preparing for one last trip to see family before boarding a plane for the Orient. We were staying with dear friends during this period of upheaval. All that can be said is that our lives were pure chaos...and being sick made it worse.

Having given up and working to "Embrace the Suck," I followed doctor's orders...and paired it with lots of yogurt. Unfortunately, two days later, when we were to board a train south to see family, I was deathly ill. At the time, I had no idea how sick I was. All I knew was that things were wrong....and in a very big way. Calling the clinic first thing in the morning, I was told that the soonest they could see me was in two weeks. I told them that I thought that I might have C-Diff. To no avail, I was dismissed with a terse, "we are busy and can't get you in for another 2 weeks!" In tears, I hung up the phone.

We boarded the train that day. It is by the Grace of God that we had a sleeper compartment. My health kept spiraling down...out of control. After enduring a few days of living hell while "visiting" family, my engineer finally took me to the ER. Upon arriving at the ER, they immediately rushed me in. My blood pressure was 53/30. I thank God for the staff at the hospital. It is due to their knowledge, willingness to listen, and fast work that I am here today. You see, I had c-diff colitis. That is a nasty stomach bug that takes place when all the good bacteria is wiped out (normally through piggy backed antibiotics like I had) and the bad bacteria takes control over your digestive system. By the time I was finally able to get in where someone would listen to me, I had already had it for a week.

At this point, after receiving medical attention where I was a patient, not a dependent, I was wary about returning to our military medical clinic for my follow ups (for they were needed).

From that moment in my life on, I have become a very strong, vocal advocate of both my children's and my own health. You have to be. With military medical, the mission comes first....and the families do not. We have fantastic doctors who are stretched thin and must deploy at a moments notice. You do have to roll with it to an extent. However, when something isn't being handled correctly (and I am not talking about petty feelings being hurt!!!), you must stand up for your own healthcare. As dependents, we have to understand where we fit in The Mission and work with it. I have some friends who refuse to be seen by military doctors due to horrible experiences. However, despite this unfortunate experience, I have had some wonderful doctors through the years. But my hope is that you learn from my story and stand up for your own medical care....even if it means filing complaints (which I did upon our return to the Great White North).

Final Walk Through

2011-11-06T11:12:00.001-10:00

After hearing horror stories concerning final walk throughs of base housing, I had talked to several of my friends who were older and I knew had not hired someone to clean for them. I really didn't want to deal with the stress of not passing an inspection. Armed with the wisdom of older, wiser, and resourceful women, my engineer and I set forth to prepare for handing our home back to Big Blue.

Most of the items on the list were pretty straight forward. Making needed repairs and cleaning were a given. But when the pre-inspection came, I was floored by what was added to the list. I felt that our home looked really good. Baseboards and up were spotless. Despite frozen temperatures, the windows were clean. All cobwebs in the basement were down and the cement floors were swept. But when the lady from the housing office told me that I needed to mop them??? All I could think about were the filthy feet we had after walking through the basement the first time after we moved in.

Those floors weren't the only thing that had me shaking my head. Our house was not spotless when we moved in. Though in passing shape, when I wiped out the cupboards before unpacking, I did not have a clean rag at the end. Nor was the tub in the condition that I felt it needed to be in. Taking a very deep breath, I took the long list of things we had to do in order to make it pass inspection. At this point, my engineer and I felt the demands would never end. Nasty, disgusting movers...and now this!

After looking around the house, I decided to cheat...and cheat in a very big way. Though our floors were in OK shape (they had been scratched up when we moved in), I decided to use the Orange Glo floor kit...and hit ALL the floors in the house. Using Orange Glo was an explicit NO NO in the housing manual. But knowing the hard life those floors had lived before we even moved in, all I could think was that it wouldn't hurt. So the renegade in me took action. As my engineer worked in the kitchen, I aggressively cleaned one room after another up stairs...finishing it off with doing the floors. To be honest...they looked BEAUTIFUL!!! Closing each door for the last time, I checked items off my list, one after another.

All the while, our Angel was downstairs playing with my engineer, thoroughly enjoying the echo effect in our painfully empty home. She had been such a good little girl in the midst of the chaos. We had one suitcase that was dedicated to toys, so she was busy enjoying what little she had. Feeling like an awful parent, leaving my daughter to completely entertain herself for such an extended period of time, my engineer and I both worked to finally get out of the house.

I cannot tell you the feeling of satisfaction that I felt when I finished off the floors downstairs. With an intense feeling of accomplishment and relief, I remember looking into our home from the front door as we walked out, the snow and ice crunching beneath our feet. Exhausted and fed up with the past week, we headed to billeting, where, like almost all military families, we ordered a pizza from Anthony's Pizza...the global military last supper when moving out.

The next day was our final out. Walking through the spotless, pristine house, the inspector was amazed at how clean and beautiful everything was. She kept talking about how beautiful the floors were and how it had been a long time since she had seen floors in such wonderful condition. Let me tell you, my smile must have been that of the Cheshire Cat...for I seriously felt like I had gotten away with something. Finally handing over the keys, that first base house was handed back in better condition than it had been when it was given to us.....

only to be fenced off and torn down....shortly after we left.

My Kitten's in Foster Care

2011-11-05T18:08:00.000-10:00

One of the hardest things that comes with moving is finding a foster home for our Nutmeg. There is a distinct feeling of both dread and concern. I wouldn't hand off my children to someone for an undetermined amount of time. So, why would I do that with Nutmeg? That first move introduced me to the uneasy feeling of having to depend on others...in ways that I really didn't want to have to.

That first move brought the perfect family to the fore front. Nutmeg went to stay with friends who also had a cat and children older than our Angel. With deep feeling of gratitude, we took Nutmeg to their house the night the packers left with all of our stuff. Little did we know that her prankster personality would come out in force. Our fluffy sweet thang would prove to us that she had a bit of a mean streak.

Because Nutmeg was SO big (11lbs), I was, at first, very concerned. That was until I saw Muffin. Muffin was as big, if not bigger, than Nutmeg. Plus, Muffin had her claws! OK!! I thought, Muffin can defend her territory! I must admit, I was relieved. The last thing I wanted was for Muffin to feel like her place was taken over by my interloper. Upon leaving our Nutmeg, I felt a little better about the situation. That was until I talked to Muffin's mom on the phone and heard about what my Nutmeg was up to.

Oh boy, was Nutmeg causing havoc in Muffin's home. It turned out that Muffin was a big scaredy cat! After a couple of ambushes, poor Muffin had sequestered herself to the kitchen chair and was scared half to death to either eat or go to the litter box. At that point, Muffin's mom and I decided it was best for Nutmeg to spend most of her time in the den downstairs, coming out to visit when she wasn't likely to completely freak Muffin out.

Nutmeg is a turkey. I readily admit that. Anytime we have lived where there are stairs, we have had to accept the fact that she would box us every time we walked by. Even though she is now pushing a decade, she will still stalk us through the house and tackle our legs. So, obviously...we knew that she had this "tag...you're it!!" kind of personality. I cannot imagine the glee her little sociopath self must have felt when she discovered that this bigger cat, not only refused to fight back, would run and hide. Like mother like daughter, I would have taken it as an open invitation to take it up a notch too.

By the time we picked Nutmeg up from Muffin's house, Muffin was a nervous wreck! Muffin had finally fought back, leaving signs of a reprimand on Nutmeg's ear...which was much deserved. However, Nutmeg left behind stories of stretching out on the arm of the couch with her belly up in the air, legs splayed over the arms of the couch, looking so ridiculously comfortable it brought a smile to Muffin's dad's face. Nutmeg's time in Muffin's house also gave the family hours of free comedy that they couldn't find anywhere else.

While Muffin was THRILLED to see Nutmeg's backside leave her home, I was also happy to have my girl back. Her slap-stick, prankster self was much missed during the time we had to live in Billeting. Knowing that it was going to be a very long flight to the Orient, I was still thankful, beyond words, to have her back by my side.

(I want to send a special thank you to all the foster families who have taken care of our girl through our various moves. Without you, life would have been much harder...Thank you!)

Packers...again

2011-11-04T17:05:00.000-10:00

The one thing that I HATE about being in the military is the physical act of moving. I don't mind moving to a new place...but I seriously wish that I could click my heels and omit the packing stage of it. It is with dread that I invite complete strangers into my home to touch EVERYTHING that we own. That first overseas was memorable.

The hardest part about moving is the waiting stage. When I mention "Waiting Stage," I mean the time between when we are told we are reporting somewhere, but we do not have Orders yet. When it is an overseas tour and I know they are going to either fly our stuff or send it off on a slow boat, the fact that our "stuff" is just sitting there...WAITING...really galls me. I am one of those people who does not wait very well. If my engineer reads this, he would laugh and say, "Ya think?!?!" During the "Waiting" stage I tend to grow horns and a tail because I KNOW that, until Orders are in hand, anything can happen (and sometimes does.) Until we can actually HOLD our Orders, my engineer could be sent to some God Forsaken place for a year...and that kind of suspense if NOT my thing.

The "Waiting" stage is filled with a whole lot of Hurry Up and Wait. After a while, with PCS (Permanent Change of Station) Season, we discovered that HU&W is ALL our lives are made of. There is always this huge Honey Do List from Big Blue that life will end if we didn't get it done yesterday. That very first PCS was a something out of the book of Revelations. The tools that I have now to make it work, I didn't have any of them back then. But Boy, did I learn, and fast.

Every single move, theft and damage is the HUGE issue that you have to deal with concerning military moves. It is completely pounded into your skull to have a complete inventory with pictures, costs, and written descriptions. Luckily, when we made that first hop across the pond, we didn't own very much. When we were preparing for the movers to come and haul everything away, we suddenly had even less. It is AMAZING how much you decide that you don't really need when faced with shlepping it halfway around the world! It was embarrassing how much ended up on the curb, at the airmen's attic, and dropped off at the Thrift Shop. In the end, we moved to The Orient with just under 5 thousand pounds....nothing in storage. That was all we had.

By the time our Orders FINALLY showed up, my head was almost spinning, wanting to get our belongings packed up and shipped. Just as we arrived in the Great White North during the deep winter, we were leaving during that same time as well. I felt that it would be better to live without on the outgoing and have it show up shortly after arriving. Luckily, we received our orders in October and were able to schedule a pack out shortly thereafter. With great anticipation, we continued to prepare for the movers up until the morning they arrived.

Pictures, inventory lists, small child, cat, Great White North Winter Weather....all of these things made for a very LONG 3 days. The only thing that made it a bit better was the fact that we didn't own very much. However, the flip side to that coin is that by not owning much, any loss would feel greater. Intensely feeling this, my engineer and I watched the packers like hawks. I will never forget how the senior packer marked EVERYTHING damaged and dirty. Calling in TMO, they examined everything and had him rewrite the packing list. I couldn't get that liar out of our house fast enough. He was demeaning, rude, and just distasteful. I was so close to losing my top with him that the final day really should have come sooner. Now, I would just swing the video camera up and tell him to say it to the camera. Back then? I wasn't that ballsy yet.

It was with great relief that we drove to our dear friends' house for a couple nights. We were headed out on one last "see the folks" trip before hopping the pond. After dropping our precious Nutmeg off at her foster home, we loaded up the car to spend time with our military family. They were the peace in the midst of the PCS Hurricane. All I wanted, at that moment, was the no-demands companionship of a military sister who knew exactly how we felt...and provided precisely what we needed...

A Smile
Good Food
A comfortable bed....

and a serious dislike for movers!