Lately, my interactions with cashiers have become even more torturous.
The invitation read, “The President and Mrs. Obama request the pleasure of the company of Ms. Smiley at a dinner.” In the weeks leading up to the White House State Dinner honoring French President Francois Hollande, this was probably my favorite part of the whole thing. After 37 years of being someone’s military “dependent,” I was finally the principal invitee and my Navy commander husband would be my date.
Christmas Day always seemed like the longest day, when in fact it falls soon after the shortest day of the year. This is the benefit of being a kid. All time is warped. Nothing feels quick when you are a kid, except maybe that hour before bedtime.
I don’t actually believe that spouses are true veterans. Nor do I think Veterans Day is for or about them.
When the boys asked what I wanted for my birthday last week, I decided to make it less painful for them. “Just take me to the Star Wars concert performed by the Portland Symphony Orchestra,” I said, “and (wink, wink) that will be a great birthday.”
This week, my oldest son, Ford, begins seventh grade. He’s technically been in “middle school” for a year now, but this summer was the first time I saw, with startling frequency, a glimpse of the changes ahead: my first baby is stuck in that painful space between a boy and a man.
You have thoughts about what the military is “like.” All of us do. Typical stereotypes include the following:
A January Huffington Post article by David Wood has risen from the dead, and it’s making many military families mad — again.
