It’s been one year since Martin graduated from Air Force Basic Military Training (BMT). This first year has been pretty interesting, if I do say so myself.
Within months of arrival to his unit, he broke his finger during a mandatory “family day” sporting event, requiring surgery through my medical insurance, which was by choice after the military medical community fumbled his diagnosis twice, and delayed his care. Continue reading →
Martin: “So just to confirm: there are beaches in Delaware?”
Julie: “You’re joking right? It’s on the coast. You won’t have a lot of beach time, though, and it’s cold that time of year.”
Martin: “I’m not planning on swimming.”
Julie: “Oh really?”
Martin: “Metal detector.”
I have no concerns about him falling into the wrong crowd of young Airmen.
Facebook wants to know when I became a vegetarian. For all the spying and data hoarding Facebook does on me, one would think all my posts about bacon, lamb, beef jerky, and the like would make it clear I’ve never been a vegetarian.
Facebook also wanted to know when Martin and I got engaged, when we met, etc., and I’m like, “This really sounds like the beginning of the interview Martin had back at the embassy when he was getting his visa.” And that got awkward fast..
Today was my first full day as a furloughed government worker.
I took Miss C to school in the morning. I made Nutella toast for Lola and Jaz. Martin was gone most of the morning: he had an appointment with our family doctor first thing, and it stretched into hours spent in the orthopedics clinic having his broken ring finger x-rayed and re-set in an effort to correct the shoddy care he received at the Air Force clinic during his recent Air Force Reserve duty time.
Oh, have I not mentioned that one here on the blog?
The kids and I skipped “family day” at Martin’s base today because, as he texted, it was just a bunch of adults standing around, eating, and playing sports. Nothing for the kids – no static displays, no activities, no face-painting. Nothing to hold their interest. So, we stayed home.
However, we missed the excitement. Martin’s currently at the hospital on Andrews AFB, getting an x-ray for his finger which he *may* have broken while playing goalie during his unit’s soccer match.
Apparently, when he showed up to be treated, they were like, “Um, our computers aren’t showing you as military. You’re still listed as a dependent under your wife in our TRICARE system.”
Martin just got home and showed me the result of his visit to the hospital on Andrews Air Force Base.
I hate that what I’m about to reveal to you may perpetuate some military stereotypes, but it was a lieutenant that wrapped up Martin’s injury. Martin said he was just ready to leave the place (after waiting and waiting and waiting for care), and figured he could fix it at home. But not before I took a photo of this awesome tape job!
I think it was more painful for him to remove the tape than the injury itself. On the bright side, they DID give him Vitamin M. Scotch tape would have been better. It was super sticky and tight, and pulled on his skin, which did not feel awesome, especially on the other side of his knuckle, where it’s all purple and swollen.
I now feel he’s officially “in” even if the TRICARE system refuses to accept it.
And there you have it. I proved to Martin that NCOs really do fix what hapless lieutenants bust. Now, maybe I’ll begin the conversation about using some sunscreen next time.
Last night, as I gave the men in my house Air Force-authorized buzz cuts, Martin was teasing me, asking if I was going to get up extra early and make him coffee/breakfast as he does for me when I go to work. The thing is, though, he has to leave the house no later than 6 a.m. on a Saturday to get to the air base on time.
Earlier this week was the one-year mark since Martin first raised his hand and enlisted in the US Air Force Reserve. It was a Monday. I was working from home that day. Martin and Miss C drove to Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland so that Martin could complete more paperwork with his recruiter. He texted me at one point, and said, “Hey, I can actually do it now. Is that okay?”
He meant enlisting, of course.
I texted back, “Sure. Go for it.”
And then 30 seconds later, I wrote, “Don’t forget to get pictures.”
What a year, right? And we’ve got much to look forward to this next year. He’ll be leaving our home for another three months for more training in another state. I’ll be on my own again with the kids.
But we got it. It’s cool. It’s what he signed up to do.
Ha! About an hour ago, Martin’s unit gave him (and a few others) orders to start his two-week annual tour TOMORROW. No warning. No advanced communication. Someone just thought it a good idea to schedule all the new guys for annual tour without telling them until the day BEFORE, with only an hour left in the work day to resolve any issues.
Amelia the Minivan is in the shop and Martin took the car to Andrews. We ran out of milk, so we grabbed the bikes and headed to the store. Which, I realized, is uphill the whole way. And it is a freakin’ sauna outside. But there was a sale on Cheez-it’s and Gatorade, so Mom’s heat exhaustion was totally worth it.
There’s a certain sense of satisfaction I feel as I listen to Martin try to log into the Air Force website responsible for his travel orders and such. It’s the password requirement. Hearing him curse in two languages … seeing him throw his fists in the air … “Why the hell do they need 15 characters? WCKR is NOT a word! Why is it saying it’s a word? It’s NOT A WORD!!”
I know now: it wasn’t me. No. It was never me.
PS – After about 15 minutes of entertainment, I finally went in there and showed him the trick. Sure, I could have let him suffer for about nine years, as I did before learning it, but I *do* have to live with him.