DEALING WITH CIVILIANS
People say the darndest things. They try so hard to be supportive and offer advice. I got to the point when I was in town that I tried not to let people know I was a military spouse.
Then I would show my ID at the register or they’d see the sticker on my car and the advice would start rolling in.
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re married to a Marine? Is he deployed right now? I bet you’re lonely … you should have a baby!”
Great advice lady, but I think my husband would get pretty upset if I started without him.
I reached the point that I avoided letting anyone know I was a military wife when I was off base. I hid my ID. The military discount was just not worth it.
It always went down the same way. Someone would find out I was the spouse of a deployed serviceman. “Well, you aren’t married to a Marine, are you?” (Like that’s a bad thing!?)
I would reply, “Yes, ma’am, I am.”
She would gush, “Oh, well, he isn’t over THERE is he?” (Meaning Iraq, I guess it’s a bad word and we can’t actually say it.)
“Yes ma’am, he is.”
“Oh, Lord! Well, he isn’t FIGHTING, is he?”
“Yes, ma’am, actually he is in the infantry.”
“Oh, sweetheart, are you ok?!” (She’s crying now—her arms reaching out into my personal space.)
And I’m thinking, “Lady, are YOU ok?”
What I also think and don’t say is, “Gee, lady, I haven’t been laid in three months and you need a hug?!”
One time Kat came to see Natalie and me. She was very upset about what had just happened to her while she was getting a facial and lip wax. She was relaxing in a chair when a Vietnamese woman complimented Kat on her wedding ring. Then she started asking about Kat’s husband.
“What does your husband do?”
“He’s a Marine currently serving overseas,” explained Kat.
The shop erupted with Vietnamese chatter and laughter.
Kat was so confused. “What’s so funny?” she asked.
The lady replied, “Your husband cheat on you! My mother sleeps with Marine! My sister will sleep with your husband!”
The laughter erupted again.
Kat couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
Trips off base got fewer and fewer as the war progressed. Wives began to travel in packs so we wouldn’t be cornered by well-meaning civilians.
It’s hard when you are going through something that difficult to also have to do it publicly. You find yourself being strong for others, which in itself is draining.
Dealing with strangers, though, helped me become more sensitive to other people’s times of trauma and tragedy.
Being a military wife in the public’s eye taught me to respect other people’s privacy. I don’t ask people, “When are you getting married?” or “When are you guys going to have kids?”
These may seem like innocent questions, but they are none of anyone’s business. Having everyone in mine for a few years taught me to back off and let others share what they want when they are ready.
I also loved how complete strangers would think since I was married to a deployed Marine, I would want to know their political opinions. Why would anyone think that based on my husband’s career choice I’m interested in knowing his or her thoughts on what he’s doing? Would you go up to a dentist’s wife and start in on your personal opinions on gingivitis or America’s tooth decay crisis?
I wanted to put a bumper sticker on my car saying, “Keep your opinions to yourself!”
No military wife ever wants her husband to go off to war, no matter what the cause. But that is a commitment the family makes. We answer to the Commander-in-Chief.
So express your opinion at the polls, not to my face. And please don’t think you can say anything you want as long as you preface it with, “I support our troops, but …”
Stop right there.
Nobody wants to hear what you think.
LETTING GO
It was several months into Jon’s second deployment and I had just given up. I was nasty—hairy legs, greasy hair. Let’s not even talk about the bikini line. It had taken over like kudzu—thick and out of control!
Not only that, I was about as together emotionally as I was physically. I was at that point when I wouldn’t answer the phone unless I knew it was another wife on base organizing a get-together.
That’s when a girlfriend from back home tried to call me. I realized if I kept avoiding calls, the rest of the world might start to worry and send me a Red Cross message, so I picked up the phone.
She was crying because her husband was leaving on a business trip.
When she started whining that she wouldn’t be able to sleep alone in the house, fire began to shoot from my eyes.
Then she said she was going to take their child and go to her mother’s for the weekend because she just knew she couldn’t take care of the child by herself.
Smoke curled out of my nose while I bit my tongue.
I thought of Michelle with two boys managing for seven months without the help of her husband or her mother.
Really, I felt like barfing. I couldn’t understand why she thought I was the best person to call for sympathy. Sure, I understood, but I was the wrong person at the wrong time. This was hard to figure out?
It took everything I had to keep from screaming at her. I couldn’t stop rolling my eyes as I sat and listened to her.
I’m sure other military wives have gotten similar calls from civilian women unable to cope. These are women who could never cut it as a member of the Silent Ranks. I’m just glad they married bankers and executives and have left the real men to the real women.
I also remember the judgment I endured when family and civilians would call and be surprised I was in a terrific mood. By their standards I should not have been. They thought I should be down in the dumps because of what they were seeing on the news.
But I would not and could not watch the news, particularly because the reporter embedded with my husband’s battalion was always on when I turned on the TV. I had to put a limit on my TV time to keep my sanity.
SCREEN YOUR CALLS
To all wives experiencing a deployment, may I suggest screening your calls? Or better yet, set up your answering machine to screen out unwanted conversations with civilians and family.
Consider using this recording:
You have reached the ‘BLANK’ residence. If you are my in-laws wanting to know why you have not received a letter from your son, press one. If you are a member of the extended family calling to ask about something you saw on the news wondering if your son, brother, grandson, or nephew is safe, press two. If you are a friend calling to complain because your spouse is out of town on business and you knew I would understand, press three. I will return your calls in seven months. All military personnel, stay on the line. I will be with you in a moment.
If you become uncomfortable talking with friends or family, avoid answering the phone. Instead, send weekly updates via e-mail. It was my mom’s idea to stop answering the phone. She was right. There were times when I was not in the mood to talk. I didn’t want to appear rude, so I would e-mail them later.
Nor are you obligated to share intimate details of your emails, letters, or phone calls from your spouse with anyone. However, you can share a bit of information with family members. Often the battalion or company will provide updates from the Company Commander. You can pass these along as well to your extended family.
Just remember the rule: “Loose lips sink ships.”
What I appreciated the most during those months were the cards and messages that friends and family sent letting me know they were praying for Jon and I.
Those made my day.
DATE NIGHT
There is something to be said for the tight bond that develops between military wives, especially during a deployment. These friendships become something more than the typical relationship.
In fact, many times wives become surrogate “spouses” for one another. This comes from sharing and relying so much on one another in the absence of our real spouses.
I recall only feeling comfortable talking to a handful of people because I was tired of explaining my moods or giving updates on how I was doing. But other military wives got it. Instead of your spouse, your neighbors and on-base friends become the ones you begin to share those little details with.
We could take comfort from one another. We didn’t have to explain why we were having a bad day—or even a good day. It was a comforting community.
I saw Michelle and the boys almost every day. It was normal for Christa to drop by with Silas. Often, I would see wives out at the playground and just stop by and shoot the bull.
Liz, Natalie, and I got together at least twice a week. Those times were really important. It was our time to update each other on what our spouses were doing. Sometimes, one husband would tell his wife something about the other guys, which she would pass along.
On those gatherings, we would have dinner together, go out, or just sit around watching movies.
We took care of each other by checking in daily and hanging out weekly. We never cried in front of one another, but kept up a brave front. If one of us was having a bad day, it was understood if we bowed out of a visit or activity.
It wasn’t until our boys were back home that we finally let our feelings out and cried together. We never burdened each other with our fears during the deployments.
I owe these ladies the world. While our husbands were fighting the war together, we kept the home front together—standing side-by-side.
In keeping with being each other’s “spouses,” we often planned “date nights.” At least once a week we would go to someone’s house to share a meal and watch a favorite show or movie.
These evenings were a great chance to get out of the house and have a good home cooked dinner. Eating alone can be so depressing.
We’d joke that “my wife cooked for me” or “my wife did the dishes.”
Autumn and I enjoyed a “date night” at least once a month. We usually went for sushi, but sometimes Autumn would find a two-for-one coupon for Black Angus Steakhouse. We would gorge ourselves, then count the days till the next coupon was valid and head out and do it again.
One date night we arrived at the restaurant a couple of minutes before opening. We were waiting out front with two other families who also had coupons.
When opening time came and went, I became impatient. We were famished! I pulled out my cell phone and called.
A voice answered with some mumbled greeting that was, let’s just say, less than enthusiastic. This sent me over the edge.
“Yes, I’m standing outside your location here in Oceanside. It says you open at five and it is now ten after the hour. You have several people out here wanting to dine!”
No response.
By now I’m starting to yell.
“I just want to know, do you ever plan on opening your Black Anus?”
Hearing my mispronunciation, these other families turn and look at me. Did I mention that some of them were African American?
Autumn started laughing, but I was felt pretty small right about then.
On the other end of the phone I heard, “No, ma’am, this is the Black ANGUS. The manager should be out there shortly.”
The mispronunciation did not influence our appetites that evening. It did, however, earn me quite a few dirty looks from the staff.
SPA DAY
I lived for spa days. They were the most calming, relaxing moments I could have. After long periods of time of not being touched, those spa days became a medicinal necessity.
Not far from the base, there was an amazing casino with a full-service spa in the town of Pala. Beenie, Autumn, and I frequented it at that point in deployment when we couldn’t stand it any longer.
There are a couple of ground rules at the full service spa everyone should know. Beenie and I learned them the hard way during our first spa visit in Vegas.
We did a couple’s massage, which just means we were in the same room for our treatments. The massages were bliss. One of us became so relaxed that a little something snuck out, if you know what I mean.
All I’m saying is we blamed it on the massage therapist’s shoe squeaking on the floor. Still, there were lingering suspicions as well as the stench.
The massage is enhanced if the locker rooms are equipped with these amazing saunas and showers. Here’s the thing. It’s a community locker room, so people are walking around naked.
Beenie and I were freaking out. We dashed back and forth from hot tub to showers to saunas. Each time we’d modestly cover up with our robes. Then some wide-open woman would walk out in front of us and do something over the top like bend over.
That’s when we decided we’d wear swimsuits at the spa.
On one of our first all-girl spa days, Beenie was seven months pregnant and feeling really self-conscious about it.
We were undressing in the locker room, but Beenie began fretting that she didn’t want Autumn or me to see her naked. I had to break the ice. I dropped my robe and started doing topless jumping jacks. My boobs were spinning in opposite directions and then smacking together, spinning and twirling. I yelled out—in time with the jumps and slaps, “You’re getting sleepy … Very … sleepy.” The girls started laughing.
Then just as my bosoms were starting their next rotation, one of the spa attendants came around the corner! Now it was my turn to feel uncomfortable!
But Beenie was feeling more comfortable with her body, particularly after seeing mine at its most ridiculous.
Finally we were ushered off to our massages. We planned to meet up afterward to put on our bathing suits before going to the whirlpool sauna.
The other two girls were finished before me and already had their swimsuits on, so I suggested they go on ahead.
When I finished changing, I went barreling around the corner and found them lounging on chairs.
I stopped in my tracks. “What’s up?” I asked. “Why aren’t you two getting your feet wet?”
As I followed their stares, I saw a completely nude woman lounging on the steps of the spa. She looked like she was posing for a Hustler magazine centerfold—except she was no model.