Are we THERE YET?!!

I knew, going into my relationship with Chad, that I would make a terrible army wife.

First of all, I hate catty women. Army wives are the WORST. I realize that in being a National Guard wife I have at least spared myself the majority of this cattiness as opposed to a wife of a full-time army man, but during deployments things can get a little annoying. One teensy little snarly e-mail to a woman trying to sell herself as part of the unit but in reality only selling CRAP.....and suddenly you're known as the unit bitch, even if nobody else has ever even met you. (The Army Wife Telephone Game, even if not always accurate, is more effective than any newsletter.) Oh well. Their loss, because ask me, I'm awesome. I just get irritated at people who somehow get their grubby little hands on the master e-mail list of all the army families in the unit and then try to take advantage and make a personal gain off of those who are in a bad situation: their husband out of the country or their kid needing a heart transplant. No, I will NOT buy your energy bars or your sports drinks.

Problem two with being an army wife: I don't respond well to being told how to live every little minute of my life. I suppose one could conclude that I have authority issues but I'M SORRY YOUR CHILDBEARING AND IN-VITRO ATTEMPTS HAVE TO ONCE AGAIN BE PUT ON HOLD BECAUSE WE NEED YOUR HUSBAND TO DRIVE AROUND IN THE DUST OVERSEAS FOR A YEAR doesn't sit well with me. It makes me bitter. Errr....more bitter. I also get slighty testy when other women try to pull their husband's rank over me. Um, excuse me? Am *I* in the army? No. So your husband's rank? It means NOTHING to me. Get OVER yourself and get your own identity.

Which leads us to issue number three: the woman whose sole identity is that of ARMY WIFE. (Even though I just read a few posts back and it seems that's all I ever talk about. Hmmm....) Get a hobby! Get a life! I'm sorry but I'm not JUST an army wife. (I'm a poet and don't know it!) There are other facets to my multiple personalites. I'm a mother. I'm a nurse. I have held the hand of a dying baby that is not my own. I am a dog lover. I'm addicted to Cherry Dr. Pepper. I ride horses on the weekends. I'm getting REALLY good at starting IVs on babies! I'm a terrible dancer. So excuse me when I don't only want to sit around and talk about Tricare. I don't wish to compare my relationship to my husband against you and YOURS. I barely even know you. Just because both of our spouses are slaves to Uncle Sam does not instantly make me your best friend. I'm not the most trusting of people so I'm going to have to warm up to you. And I'm betting you might need to warm up to me too. I'm kind of a pain in the caboose (even if I am AWESOME!) in case you've read this far and haven't figured that out yet.

So today? I sit and wait wait WAIT WAIT WAIT for some kind of word as to what TIME I can stop putting my entire life on hold, as I will do for the next 12-60 hours, and that my husband is finally in the country. Chad's on his way home for his annual leave, you see, and I'm not handling that wait like a mature grownup. I want to throw an all-out, kick-the-wall, flail-all-my-limbs tantrum complete with howling and tears until I get my way. I understand there are factors like unruly volcanoes and trivial matters like international security to consider, but could the government please be a little kinder to my minority - the extraordinarily crabby army wife - and get their act together so we can have some kind of timetable here? Something a little more specific than 'OH WE'RE LEAVING KUWAIT SOMETIME IN THE NEXT 24 HOURS AND THEN MAYBE WE'LL GO THROUGH GERMANY OR MAYBE WE'LL GO THROUGH SOME ASIAN COUNTRY AND MAYBE WE'LL EVEN MAKE A STOP IN AUSTRALIA! WOULDN'T THAT BE FUN, THEY HAVE KANGAROOS THERE!' I have not seen my husband for eight months. And the only person I can really take my anger out on regarding this lack of communication is the one I desperately want to see again, the one wearing the camo and goofy beret. I have already been talked out of simply killing him and collecting the life insurance because I'm so exasperated by this whole process (you can thank Aimee for that, Chad) so instead? I'll be the one at the airport terminal anxiously clutching a custom-made camouflage Build-A-Bear and a WELCOME HOME! balloon who will first slug her husband in the gut and then give him the enormous crushing hug and smooch he actually deserves. And I will blame my antics on someone else, because that's what I do best.

The army wives will have more Dixon's wife fodder just in time for their Girl's Night Out.