A Sister's New Year's Wish

I meant to write this on Friday, the first day of 2016. But instead, I was grazing on Chex mix and chasing away champagne headaches with a little hair of the dog. I blame my neighbors - one brought the gallon baggie of munchies and the other entertained a total of 15 kids while we washed queso down with wine and critiqued Alabama's defense between runs upstairs to check on the kids. At least I stuck to the clear liquids or it could have all been much worse for me on the first day of the new year. But even through my fog of detox, I could see how lucky we were to land where we did in 2015. We had asked for Newport, Rhode Island, the Navy's approach to this school. We had prayed for Newport, Rhode Island. I found no less than 15 Chip-and-Joanna-approved houses on Trulia...in Newport, Rhode Island. Then one day Neal came home and said "It's Kansas for us." My heart sank. House hunting turned up nothing interesting. I watched The Wizard of Oz after Blue went to bed and leaked self-pity all over my chocolate Cheerios.

I didn't want to live in Kansas. Not for 12 months. Not even for 12 minutes.

Obviously, I was wrong about Kansas. And Missouri, as well, for that matter, since we live less than a mile from the state line. And so I have come to trust the process. Whether it's God's plan for us or the Army's, we are not completely out of control, but we are not wholly in it, either. We must make our wishes known and then accept and bloom in the coming year. And so this note, my 400th post on this blog, is addressed to my fellow Milspouses across the world on the third day of the new year...because my fellow Milspouses made the last night of the last year so knee-walking fabulous that it took 2 days to recover.

Dear MilSisters,
Let me be the first or the twentieth or the eighty-fifth to say Happy New Year! I don't know how 2015 fared for all of you but I hope it was mostly agreeable even if it was rarely boring. Most of all, I hope you awoke on January 1 of 2016 with a song in your heart and a sense of boundless energy for what will be asked of you in the coming year. And if that didn't happen, I hope that at least the neighbor children showed up at your door after you showered and put on a bra to deliver your son's favorite fleece jacket left behind from the night before. I think that's the most any of us can hope for...that the doorbell rings after you've put on a bra.

I know the coming year holds even more changes for our family, most of which have yet to be revealed. We speculate and hope but at the end of the day, we simply don't know until we know. And I know it's the same for yours. Our stages of military life vary so drastically that it seems impossible to feel a sense of camaraderie, to swap similar stories so effortlessly. And yet, we have bonded over something as simple as how much dirt a pair of combat boots can track through a house. (Seriously, I think they looked at tank tread and thought How can we put that on the bottom of a boot?)  But many of us know the feeling of finding a favorite pair of shoes buried under a stack of books in a box. Or the look on your spouse's face when they find us flat on our backs, flapping limbs and making packing paper angels under the dining room chandelier. We are raising kids, gasping at how quickly our kids have grown, moving for the first time or the last, finding comfort in the routine or feeling annoyed that it's interrupted too quickly. We all know what it is to have a closet dedicated to pro-gear and a duty to a mission greater than ourselves. The new year may be full of changes for you, too, or more of the same, at least for another 12 months.

If you are due to move this year, I wish you a flawless PCS. May your driver be on time and not a day earlier or later. May his crew clear the FBI background checks and arrive fresh and ready to work, even when the temperature threatens to hit triple digits and the humidity is already there. May Transportation honor your previously agreed upon delivery date and never once threaten to put all of your stuff into storage for some undetermined amount of time, not to exceed the next time you're due to move. May they not throw your handcrafted burlap tree skirt in the bottom of a box marked "Garage Liquids". May your moving truck be solid, routinely serviced and able to handle the task at hand. And dear God, may they send a truck big enough the first time around. May your new home feel comfy and cozy, even as the unpacking stretches into weeks and then months. May you find the energy to complete your gallery wall, even if you can use number of months instead of number of years to define your time there. May you only need post-it notes to remind you of what's in every drawer and cabinet for a maximum of a week. Unless, of course, you are learning a new language and your cups are now tassens. May you locate the grocery, pediatrician, public library, school, dentist, gym, church, auto repair and no less than 3 coffee shops with relative ease. May they all be conveniently located to your home, just as you had planned. May you find at least one friend who is not crazy, is not trying to defraud the government, understands that their kid is not perfect, will sweat with you, laugh with you, and offer to babysit when all you want is to see Star Wars before it comes to Netflix, will encourage you to take Mommy Time and discourage you from letting the military control 100% of your life 100% of the time. May you never want to leave and when it comes time, may you find the strength to do all of this all over again.

If you are staying put in 2016 but looking at a move down the road, may you find a way to continue to live in the moment, experiencing some things for the second year but seeing each one from a new perspective or diving a little deeper than the first time around. May you finally have your home arranged and decorated exactly as you want it and have enough time to enjoy it in this "finished" state. May you say hello more than you say goodbye. May you see the virtue in helping new families find their way around, asking nothing in return except a tiny chunk of good Karma. May you have the foresight to begin buying gallon baggies in bulk when they go on sale now. May you relax in this state of calm, simply relishing in the routine of day-to-day life as many experience it regularly but is rare for military families. May your best friend PCS the day after you.

If you are staring at a deployment this year, please know that we are a grateful nation. Every single one of us. Even if we don't shake your hand or hug your neck or even say the words. May you always feel lifted to a pedestal that is impossible to tumble from. May you have casseroles delivered to your door, offers to watch your children whenever it's convenient for you, a good cry when you need it and a good laugh when you don't. May you not feel compelled to watch any show produced by Shonda Rhimes until the end of the deployment or any Homecoming videos, especially between Thanksgiving and New Year's. May you always have a project and a bottle of wine to get you through the day. May your days be short and those nights in an empty bed even shorter. And may your children be obedient, patient, understanding and sweet in an unexplainable, almost other-worldly kind of way. Most of have been there, many of us more than once, some of us quite recently. It's Hell but there is always one of us to walk through it with you. Separation makes the heart grow fonder is absolute BS that prints beautifully on a Hallmark card. Separation makes you bitter and resentful and lose sight of why we are doing this in the first place. But many babies are born 9 months after Homecoming so it can't be all bad.

If you are leaving or retiring from the Milspouse lifestyle, let me hopefully be the first to say Thank You for your tireless service and sacrifice during a time when it was popular to be a Milspouse but not at all easy. If you have been serving for any length of time, you've probably endured at least one deployment and several moves. You may have moved overseas or across the country or simply lost track of how long it's been since you've been home. You've probably heard more than your fair share of references to Army Wives or The Unit and you still feel utterly misunderstood by Hollywood and your extended family. You might be packing trinkets that have traveled thousands of miles or discarding furniture that is being held together by extra screws, several layers of duct tape and a prayer to survive one more move. You are leaving a life that has grown comfortable even when uncertainty was the only certainty. And, without a doubt, you will be missed. May your new life be as blissful as you imagined it would be. May you find a well of patience when asked, for the 20th time, where all you have lived. May you resist the urge to move again after the first 24 months, and for every 12 months thereafter. May you stop storing everything in baskets and plastic bins. May your children's first questions of a new friend be something other than, "What's your name and when are you moving?" May you feel the freedom to register to vote, buy a house, volunteer for future events, join boards and councils, feel grief when someone leaves your community. May you find home.

This year, more than ever, I have felt the blessings that military life sometimes bestows upon us. I have made friends, had experiences and discussed ideas that would have never been possible without this year. I've watched our son grow, in all ways, stronger because of the people surrounding us. This life demands much of us but it gives much to us, as well. 2015 was a year of sadness and joy, goodbyes and hellos, love and loss, burnt dinners and the best butternut squash lasagna recipe ever. It was a rollercoaster ride with the very best of my MilSisters riding in the car beside me. Sometimes it feels like a sorority of sacrifice but I hope we always feel more like a sisterhood of service.

With love, admiration and the very best of wishes,

Ally

How the Bluegrass Belle Becomes a Georgia Peach

Wednesday afternoon went a little something like this:

Setting: Home office of Chez Miller. Monsieur Miller has been working diligently and tirelessly on resumes, cover letters, and repeated job searches. Madame Miller is beading, glazing, and generally trying to fit round pegs into square holes. Smooth jazz plays softly in the background (I'm so not joking about that).

The clanging of Neal's phone nearly sends us both into heart failure (this is completely my fault. He used to have a gong as a ring tone, which he never heard...especially when I was calling for something important....like his shirt size. So, he changed it. If anyone ever finds us dead in our house with Neal clutching his G-Zone phone...you'll know what has happened and that it really is all my fault.)

I hear a bunch of "uh-huh," "I see," "Oh, that's nice," and "Hm. Yes ma'am, OK" before I finally heard "well let me talk it over with my wife and I'll get back to you sometime...today!"

So, now you know as much as I did. And just for effect, Neal will be in regular text and I will be italicized (mostly because I think italics adds drama with a slant of elegance and what Neal probably does not need right now is to be referred to as elegant).

What was that about?
It seems this lady is desperate to fill this AGR captain's slot.
AGR? I thought you weren't even eligible for AGR. That's what they told you last week. (PS: AGR = Active Guard/Reserve)
I guess desperation does funny things to a person. She needs to fill the slot.
Where is it?
Macon, Georgia.
(In my head, I have started doing the little Joey-from-Full-House Dance of Joy). Really? Macon? Georgia? When?
Well, it seems my report date would be May 17th.
That's.....SOON. That's only 2 weeks after Derby! (Because that's how we roll in Kentucky. Everything is calculated by the first Saturday in May. I'm gonna miss that.)
Um...yes. But that's not all. This unit is set to deploy in December with a month of training in June.
Awesome. (I think there was a fair amount of eye-rolling here. My mother would have been so proud.) Like a year-long deployment? Overseas? In the sand? With sandstorms and tents?
Yes.
Lucky number 3. I did it before, I guess I can do it again. At least my laptop has a built-in webcam now.
So, yes? We're going to do this?
What do you think?
Yes.
Then yes. I'll go find some boxes.

Now granted, I have graciously omitted about 9 hours of discussion regarding the house, a baby, a deployment, and whether or not we're going to keep the hammock...but that's it in a nutshell. Between Wednesday and Friday, I drove Neal to the point of justifiable homicide trying to get exact dates and plans. The only thing the Army doesn't have is an unchanging plan. Neal gets this. I am still fighting it after all these years.

So, here's where we are now: we have to report to Macon on May 17th. If you don't count today or the weekend we're driving down, that's 20 days from now. We are going to be out of town for various things for 15 of those days. If you've had new math, you can deduce that we have exactly 5 days to pack the house. Six feet over the line, Sweet Jesus. How are we going to do this? Oh, I know! I'll just sit down and blog. Neal's drilling anyway. And then I'll watch an episode of Cagney and Lacey and make one more run to Hobby Lobby before camping out and making jewelry to wear next week.

Translation: I am so overwhelmed, I have no idea where to even freaking start. So, maybe I'll just not....

We head down next week to check out housing on Robins Air Force Base, which we've heard is well worth the look-see. Once we know if we'll be in a house or an apartment, we'll be able to determine how much stuff we need and/or want. This is all complicated by the fact that if I'm pregnant in December when Neal deploys, I'll come back to Kentucky to deliver at UK again. So, then what? Do we still sell the house? Do I rent an apartment? Do I move in with my dad? Oh...scratch that last one.

We are about 5 steps into a 20-step process and this is about the time that I'm just waiting to find a vial next to the bed that says drink me. However, many awesome things can come of this...my sister lives four hours south of Macon (and she is about to come unglued at the seams she's so happy), we will only be 90 minutes south of Atlanta, and 4 hours west of Hilton Head (I was thinking last night about how we could actually go to Hilton Head for the weekend. *Gasp*). But we will go through another deployment, we will have to try to sell our house from 7 hours south of it, and Neal may miss the delivery of his second child. So, sacrifices? Yes, we will make a few.

I will try to update as often as possible. I think this is a very exciting, yet overwhelming new chapter in our lives and if I don't get to write about it, my head could spin right off my body and crash into the kitchen cabinets. I also think that if I don't pack at least one box today, Neal will deny me my cupcake craving. One box down....many, many, many more to go. I remember when I used to move in milk crates and big, black, garbage bags....