JAG Life: The Military Lifestyle

Okay, I'm back discussing the JAG life. Last time, there was that snooze fest where I talked about what my husband does all day long. Now I'm diving into my extensive 10 months experience with the military lifestyle. Hold onto those socks and prepare yourself for acronyms. 

Getting Orders. I talked about the agonizing wait to get our orders here, which seems to be pretty normal for those first orders. Your orders is a little piece of paper that tells you when and where to report when you are entering active duty. You and your loved ones need this piece of paper for everything: getting military housing, a military ID, health insurance, in order to cancel your existing lease, etc. etc. etc. 

Ours took forever to get because Congress couldn't pass a budget and there was a government shutdown, but that will never happen again, right? . . . RIGHT?!

"I think we're in the right place."

PCSing aka Permanent Change of Station. The military lifestyle is most famous for making its peoples move every 2 to 3 years. I think in the Navy you get 4, no? Anyway, moving can be a real chore, especially when you do it all yourself. I blogged a bit about that here and here. To be honest, though, it was financially a great deal because we got paid to move ourselves. And since our orders took forever we were in a dire financial situation and that basically helped us pay off some debt we acquired during that lovely time period!

Next time, we will be having the movers come. Basically, the military sends people to pack up your belongings while you awkwardly sit around supervising, and then they send another set of people to move all the boxes out of your house. At your new place, more people will come and unpack everything for you! I've heard a lot of stuff gets damaged, but stuff will always get damaged, even if you move it yourself. Rest in pieces, old big screen TV and coffee table . . . . 

Our next door neighbors are currently in the process of PCSing to Italy! This means that there are constantly movers and big trucks sitting in front of our house. Those movers can be interesting looking folks, I won't lie. But they seem friendly enough! I don't care what you look like, just handle my belongings gently . . . . !

For our next duty station (which probably won't be for another two years), we have our fingers crossed for either somewhere super close to family, orrrrrr . . . Europe. Go big or go home.

This is our house. Easily double the living space of our last apartment. Five times the size of our first apartment.

Living on Base. This obviously depends on the base, but we really enjoy living on base here at Scott. While we don't have a gourmet kitchen or anything, it is very comfortable and, to us at least, HUGE. There is an entire room on our first floor housing only a bookcase and a pack n play. Gone are the days of our cramped one-bedroom studio apartment.

When we moved here I assumed there would be, like, awesome military team-building block parties, but it's pretty quiet. I stalk my neighbors pretty hard and have been trying to do a better job of making real life friends. I sound pathetic, but whatever - it's working! And we do go to parties about once every other month with people from Will's office.

The biggest perk of living on base is Will's non-commute. He gets to come home for lunch pretty much every day. And his commute is approximately 8 minutes if there's no line at the gate.

In this area, it was really the best bang for our buck. Will's BAH is taken out to cover rent and utilities (gas, electric, water, and waste are all covered!). It's just money and a bill that we never see, which I like because I handle the finances. We are given an allotment for gas and electric, and if you use less than your allotment you get that money back. We are set to receive about $180 back right now, hence, the A/C is off right now because I'm all about getting a payday when we move out. Huzzah. Word on the street is that the military rental people like to hit you up with charges (just like any rental company - I hope you are enjoying that brand new carpet I paid for current resident of Citation Club!!!), so it will probably definitely go toward that.

Sure, there are also loud planes and trains that goes by, the occasional EOD or firing squad perhaps (not joking), but these aren't really that noticeable to us. In Miami, we lived directly on highway US-1. I guess it's all relative. Baby Will's sound machine is always set to full blast. 

Shopping at the Commissary. It's a real experience.

First of all, it's always packed.

Basically.

It's no wonder. Everything is sold at cost and tax-free, with a small charge for overhead. Stuff is cheap! But I think I've found my sweet spot, which is the Wednesday BEFORE pay day. I've found that this is generally when things are well-stocked and the prices are the lowest. It was pretty crowded, the checkout line was really long, but I just threw some Puffs at Will and it was all good. Totally worth it.

I've also had pretty good luck with finding good organics. They have a separate organics section for produce and everything else, BUT there's no organic meat. You can find Perdue cage-free "natural" chicken, but no certified organic meat, which is a bummer.

Some other random commissary deets:

• You can't check out without your military ID, even if you have a visitor pass that gets you on base. This was a real bummer when my parents were in town visiting to help me take care of baby Will right after he was born. I was NOT in any position to leave the house, but we would need something, so my parents would have to drive further away to Walmart to pick up anything we needed.
• You have to tip the baggers. That's the only money they make! They bag your stuff and take it out to your car. If I was a single lady this would bother me a lot because I wouldn't really want or need their services, but now that I have a little person with me every time, it's a huge help. I usually tip 5%. 
• Everyone uses paper bags. It was like twilight zone when I realized this. Everyone was asking for paper bags and I felt like the odd man out requesting plastic. What is it about paper that I wasn't realizing?! And then I noticed the GIANT sign behind the cashiers stating, "Please help keep costs down by requesting paper!" Got it.
• They accept all manufacturers' coupons. I am not a big couponer, but I see people with their double carts and their big coupon binders going all crazy with the coupons. More power to ya. 
• Alcohol is sold separately at the Exchange (where the gas station is). The alcohol at the Exchange is also a great deal! But you will pay buttloads for a stinkin' gallon of ice cream. Priorities, I guess. 

TDYs aka Temporary Duty Assignments. One word, JAGGYs: ALABAMA. TDYs are basically trainings you get sent to. Lots of sexual assault trainings, trial advocacy courses, etc. I think Will went to an environmental one and he has an operations one coming up. I think in my last post, he is basically gone, on average, for one week every 1.5 months. Give or take.

Will has been to Maxwell AFB three times for a total of 12 weeks in the 10 months since commissioning and going active duty. JAG School was 9 weeks, then another was one week, and this past one was two weeks. That doesn't even include officer training, which is more time spent in the beautiful Alabama sun. A few months ago Will went to Seattle, which was pretty cool, a bit of a change of pace. 

Deployments. You can't talk military without talking deployments. Obviously, Will hasn't been deployed yet. He has been given a 6-month timeframe of when he could leave for a deployment. I will just say, this makes for tricky family planning as we would like to add to our family. However, we'd also prefer Will to be present for the birth of our second child and for him not to leave me with a 2-week-old again. The whole bit about him actually being gone for 6 months is just something I haven't even wrapped my mind around yet!

Anyway, JAGs can be deployed anywhere in the world, including in the continental United States. While at Miami, we met a woman who was technically deployed in Miami. Fingers are crossed for a Miami deployment, but it's much more likely it would be to a hostile foreign area.

Air Force Balls. This is when you leave the house and get all fancy schmancy and schmooze. I am going to my first ball tomorrow tonight. I will be sure to report back.

7 things!!! Linking up with Jen.

And I hear Will pulling into the driveway now! Hooray!

The Home Stretch

I know I said we could make it, but . . .

Hours after clicking "Publish" we saw hail. Flash floods. Lightening. Howling winds. TORNADOS! Etc. Et al. I don't know if the photo above captures the gravity of the weather situation, but, listen - I grew up in Maryland. A land of crab cakes and moderate weather. A land where there do not exist sirens to warn sleeping citizens of impending meteorological doom.

Will woke at 5:30am, probably from the sounds of the storm. I thought I heard sirens, but I wasn't completely sure because the soft breaking waves of the ocean (via sound machine) were drowning it out. I soothed him back to sleep and as soon as I crawled into bed, the ocean stopped. It took me a few seconds to realize the power went out. That was when I really heard the tornado sirens. Texting my mom, who was raised in Oklahoma as a child and saw many a tornado, seemed like a good idea at the time. I had gone to the upstairs hallway with the baby to get away from windows. Seemed like a nice spot to camp out and nod off.

No.

Big Momma D called me immediately and implored me to get downstairs because "the whole top floor could be ripped off." Lots of deets like that in the pitch black power outage with howling winds outside. She proceeded to tell me things like how her mother would drag a mattress over them, would dress them in their winter coats, and told me that if I heard the tornado to go to the corner of our freezing cold garage. "It sounds like a freight train. When you hear it get in the corner of the garage by the stairs and make a triangle of life."

Thank you, mom, for your expertise, but I don't think I'll be calling you next time in my moment of terror.

Moving along.

We did, in fact, survive long enough to face our next life-threatening obstacle: cross-country travel with a two month old. 

After much hemming and hawing, I agreed to take baby Will down to Maxwell AFB to visit husband Will at JAG School. Shockingly, there are no direct flights from St. Louis to Montgomery and we had to stay in a hotel with the baby, who is not a great night sleeper. In a rare bout of first-time mom confidence (momfidence?... no), I bit the bullet and booked the flight. I then spent the next few weeks in terror at the thought of actually traveling alone with the poop machine that is Baby Brez. How would I carry everything and get through security??? Where would I park??? Would he cry from the air pressure??? Would people stare at me nursing in public??? Would he spit up on the passenger next to us??? Would he get sick from the airplane germs??? Does he need identification??? .... and so on and so forth.

The Mobester was clutch.

I guess you could say I over-prepared. I knew exactly which hand would carry what piece of luggage, what pockets my phone, ID, and tickets would go in, when I would feed him, etc., and honestly, the trip down went without incident. Momfidence points for Team Brez.

Will greeted us in Montgomery and we had a nice little reunion.

And the remainder of our trip was fantastic.

We showed off the babe to Will's JASOC buds and my college lax teammate, explored the three tiny streets that make up downtown Montgomery, and even went out to dinner sans baby.

On Palm Sunday we went to confession and Mass on base and it ruled. The weather was so nice by the end of Mass, baby Will decided to go shirtless (hubba hubba). And then we went brunching, which is one of my top 5 favorite activities. 

I got to see what JAG School life was all about. And although some of my resentment toward Will was well-founded (beautiful weather, adult interaction, free time for recreational activities), I saw the dungeon cell they put him up in to live in for two whole months. Shared bathroom and all! And the water pressure! Oh, the horrific water pressure! The grass is always greener . . .

Someone really enjoyed the free HBO and king-sized bed at our hotel.

The trip home was a little more hairy. It started out like this:

Censored a la Eve in the Garden of Eden. SINFUL, I say! 

Will had his first Stage 5 blowout before we were to board our flight. I was wearing him in the Moby and felt it happen. And, I just knew. I just knew. Luckily, I arrived at the airport with a ton of time to spare because I was still a little paranoid despite our easy trip down, and you know it was a good thing because it took me twenty minutes to give him the old diaper-wipe-baby-bath and get him changed. Unfortunately for him, I didn't bring a spare pair of pants, so baby Brez was pantsless for the rest of our trip. No big deal in the 80 degree Alabama weather, but we live in the polar vortex, so you can use that info for a very weak literary foreshadow . . .

The first flight was uneventful, however, we landed in Charlotte and had to do that walk/jog to our next flight across the airport. I knew I had to feed him, so I took him out of the Moby and he started screaming. There was a scream-match with another baby on the flight (everyone around was very entertained!), but luckily for us, Will lost. He nursed without incident and was happy. So happy that he puked allllll down the front of me. I was so momfident going into the day that I did not pack an extra shirt for myself. Fail. But I felt lucky that all the fluid stuck to our side of the armrest. Once we were in the air I again felt and heard the inevitable BM. I got up (from my window seat!!!) and could not find our diaper bag. It felt like an eternity I was searching for it. Finally I found it with the help of about five other passengers (where I left it, of course) behind some other bags. 

When we arrived in St. Louis we were greeted by 40 degree temps and horizontal rain. The wheel on my big piece of checked luggage had been damaged, so I was dragging it around in anger, shaking my one spare fist in the air. And of course the exit I needed was under construction, so I had to walk all the way around to my shuttle . . .  in the cold rain . . . with Will's bare legs hanging out of the Moby. (I tried unsuccessfully to cover him with a blanket.) He slept through it all! God bless him. When we got to our car, I fed him, heard another BIG BM (it never stops) and had to change him with the door open and the wind and rain whipping into the car. Baby Brez handled the trip like a pro. A true jetsetter.

Will is home for good TOMORROW! Dare I say we made it? I don't want a last-minute rogue hurricane headed for our direction, so I will just hold off. But I will wait with excited anticipation.