Everybody does dumb stuff, and military spouses are no exception. (Example: eating Ben & Jerry's for dinner every night during a deployment and then wondering why we didn't hit our goal weight.)
But there are a few dumb things that only military spouses do, such as:
Hey, I just met you. And this is crazy. But give me your number. And be the emergency contact for my baby.
Every PCS means starting over, in every way. We get three to five weeks to unpack and arrange everything, get everyone registered for school, find a doctor, find a dentist, find a … oh yeah, find a place to live. Wonder of wonder, during that mad dash, what we didn't manage to find was a friend we would trust with our child's life.
For military spouses, emergency contacts are the proverbial Canadian girlfriend/boyfriend from summer camp. "I swear I know people, and they like me enough to take my kid to the ER, but they just don't live here." So, we list the name of, literally, the very first person we meet, cross our fingers and hope no one gets hurt this year.
Ooh! PCS stickers! I can craft with those!
When the ever-lengthening "Home is Where" plaque in the entryway doesn't make the point loudly enough, we peel those little PCS stickers off the backs of our furniture and use them to make Christmas ornaments, maps, and other crafts.
Because nothing says "holiday spirit" and "welcome home after a hard day," like a passive-aggressive homespun visual that basically means "remember that time your job forced the whole family to move to Ft. Huachuca? Where there are TARANTULAS! Good times…"
As if we don't see enough camo...
Make a purse out of a uniform.
Why, and I mean why, do we do this? The ACU pattern was ugly and impractical when soldiers wore it. Multi-cam and MARPAT look like a pigeon flew over after an all-night sugar binge. Basically, anything that ends in "uniform" was not designed to be stylish, except for maybe the Navy blueberries (Why did they want sailors to blend in with the OCEAN? If a sailor is in the water, don't we need to see him so we can fish him out? I digress.) None of these handbags are cute.
But that doesn't even touch on the real issue, which is – these are old clothes. Worn by people who get paid to do dirty, sweaty, disgusting things. You don't see the wives of garbage collectors making diaper bags out of threadbare, bright orange coveralls for a reason. Why are you putting your baby's bottle and snack pack of Cheerios into something your husband wore on the Darby Queen, Kayla? It's not even hygienic.
Gauge life events by location and childbirth.
Forget journals and Facebook memories, we can tell you what was going on in the world in any particular year by recalling where we lived and which child was born there. "Let's see, we were at Camp LeJeune, and Jackson was a newborn … he had the worst colic, you know … so that must have been 2016 and Hurricane Matthew."
Get itchy every three years.
Fish and houseguests start to smell after three days. For duty stations, it's more like three years. Three years into each move, the grass starts looking greener elsewhere, and the luster of our current location begins to wear off. We've eaten in all the good restaurants, visited all the local sites, shopped in all the cute boutiques, and now all we notice is what this duty station doesn't have.
At the first rumor of a new base, we start googling, joining Facebook groups, and surfing real estate apps. If Uncle Sam wanted us to be settled and content, he wouldn't keep moving us all over the planet.
Prom photo? Military ball? What's the difference?
Go to Prom every year until menopause.
Okay, so it's not really prom, but it's the same rubbery chicken, the same DJ, the same up-do and mani-pedi, and the same expensive dress we'll never wear again (or at least not until we PCS). Military balls feel a lot like prom, except there's alcohol, uniforms, symbolism, and patriotism.
Well, even if it isn't prom, we still feel like Cinderella getting ready for the ball, just like we did in high school.