I’ve had some horrible moves, some less than stellar duty stations and some ugly experiences with spouses’ clubs, but I keep on going back for more. After a few years of figuring this out, I’ve discovered that I make the assignment what it is. I need to make new friends, find the hidden treasures of the new area and make the house a home for the next three years, or 20 months, or 11 months, or, well, you know.
I’m the wife who remembers which uniform is worn when. The one that misses BDUs! The one who knows that covers aren’t needed for formal occasions after 1800. That a four-in-hand knot is the appropriate tie with the dress uniform unless otherwise stated. The one whose children freeze when music plays in the afternoon. The proud parent when the National Anthem plays and my son removes his hat and my daughter reminds him to put his hand on his heart.
And, you know what? I’m OK with it. I love the Army. I love my husband and I love this lifestyle. Please, do not lump me in the negative category. My knowledge of the Army has been helpful. I use it in a positive way. I’m able to hold a conversation with military members of all backgrounds and ranks. I’m able to help a new spouse learn their way around the military. I’m able to be a sounding board to my husband without requiring an explanation all the time.
I do not wear my husband’s rank, but I do believe that it is a team effort. Just like all other things in a marriage. I don’t “deserve” anything for it, just as I don’t deserve anything for being a mother. I do not think that being an Army wife is the “toughest job in the Army.” I don’t even think it is a job; it is a choice. It doesn’t define me, but it is part of me. As is the fact that I’m married and a mother. I don’t ask for anything in return. I support my husband in his career, just as he supports me in mine.
