Go Army, Beat Navy.

"Did you bring home those photos for the slideshow?"

"Shit. I forgot."

"Babe, we're only a few days away and I've asked you every day this week. Are you trying to drive me crazy?"

"I'm sorry. I forgot."

"How do you think it's all going to get done if you don't help out a little? Do you think I can just magically do my job, raise the boy and do this FRG crap without you at least doing a little?"

"Oh, come on now. You know you won't be happy unless you're going mach 10 with your hair on fire."

"Are you serious? You did not just quote 'Top Gun' at me."

"I did."

"'Top Gun' is a Navy movie. If you aren't careful they are going to take away your commission."

The countdown begins.

Harassed my husband until he gave in and let me get a full body photo? Check.
Ordered Daddy Doll? Check.
Put up homemade 15 month calendar? Check.
Given CPT Dick a dog tag with Munchkin's picture? Check.
TA 50 starting to show up in random parts of the house? Check.
Crazy spouse phone calls increasing exponentially? Check.
Starting to cry when random songs play on the radio? Check.

Oh yeah. He's leaving soon.

Read this now.

This Sunday's NY Times Magazine's Lives Essay: Frances Richey's "Inventory," a poem for her son in Iraq.

Read the comments.

Thanks to Lee Anne and Bette for pointing out The Military vs. Marriages.

The column made me a little sick to my stomach. I could all too well relate. And then I read the comments. Yuck.

Oh vey.

And so it begins.

Our FRG (family readiness group for you, Just Laura -- the new Army-official version of the family support group) has a new member. Well, sort of.

A new guy has joined the unit. He's kind of high up. His wife, after a few days in country, decided it was time for a new world order. She held a coffee for all of the wives whose husbands work for her husband and told them that they should come to her with all issues and problems. They should not, under any circumstance, contact the FRG, attend meetings or keep up with their FRG point of contact. The FRG could not help them. She could. Basically, she informed them that there is a new sheriff and people better get used to it or get the fuck out of town.

Honestly, where do people come up with this shit? How can they think for a second that it is a good idea?

So I spent my day calling a lot of really upset ladies to inform them that, no, we didn't kick them out of the FRG. No, there isn't a new pecking order. And yes, this new woman is off her fucking rocker. And since she won't take my calls, I now have to go visit Mrs. Newbie this weekend or get my husband, the guy in charge of the FRG, to ask her husband to straighten her out. Not a fun prospect either way, really.

Why exactly did I sign up for this shit?

Just a silly old love song.

As part of our unit's farewell ceremony, I've been asked to create a slideshow complete with photos from the past year and personal messages. It's to be set to music. Only problem is, I'm having a lot of trouble figuring out what music to use.

We have a very diverse unit. Lots of different ages, races, religions and preferences. There's no way to please everyone. But I would like to stay moderately hip. But honestly, do you know how hard it is to find songs that aren't too happy, aren't too sad, don't talk about drugs, drinking, adultery or breaking up or God? It ain't easy, I tell you. It ain't easy at all.

But I came up with a couple choices (the slideshow will take about 15 minutes -- so 3-4 songs). I thought Rihanna's "Umbrella," though played out, would fit. Foo Fighters' "Next Year" is always a popular choice. And that country dude who sings "That's what it's all about."

But I don't know. The choices feel lame. Any suggestions from the peanut gallery? I'm taking anything but Toby Keith requests.

This is just ridiculous.

An article in today's New York Times discusses the difficulty for some soldiers to receive their citizenship, even after a directive from President Bush to put them at the front of the line. One soldier, Abdool Habibullah, honorably discharged from the Marines after a tour in Iraq, has been waiting for years pending a "background check."

The saddest part?

In the meantime, Mr. Habibullah is working as an aircraft hydraulics mechanic in
Connecticut, though he hopes to get a better-paying job in the federal
government once he is naturalized. In October, Mr. Habibullah’s father and
grandmother became citizens in separate ceremonies, though they applied fully
two years after he did.

Mr. Habibullah has passed the citizenship test and been
interviewed, and he said he does not know what to do to move his application
through the backlog faster.

“Every time I ask about it, I get the same answer:
it’s pending the background check,” Mr. Habibullah said as he looked over his
military medals, which are displayed on a wall in the Mount Vernon, N.Y.,
apartment he shares with his wife and 1-month-old son.

Funny how his background didn't take nearly as much time to examine when he decided to sign up for the service.

I think my paper towels are mocking me.

Yesterday, after Munchkin puked up popcorn and apple juice all over the floor, my feet and the couch, I noticed something. My paper towels were decorated with motivational messages. Apparently, as I used half the roll to clean up the mess, not only was it "my day," but it was "my time to shine" and "the best time to smile" and "to live, laugh, learn and love."

It's never good when your paper sundries are mocking the kind of day you are having. Next time, I'm buying generic.

All of a sudden, I'm really glad that CPT Dick is going to Iraq.

Because, after all, it could be the Korengal Valley in Afghanistan. I just read an interesting and heartbreaking article about the state of things there in the New York Times Sunday Magazine.

Failure.

I'm not so good at failure.

I don't know if I mentioned it but I applied for an academic fellowship a few months ago at a fairly esteemed school in England. Honestly, I sort of applied on a lark. The fellowship was for mid-career journalists and I just barely met the eligibility requirements. I figured I'd be dismissed right off the bat.

But I wasn't. I was selected as a finalist and flown to England to interview. And that got my hopes up. Way, way up.

You know, as military wives, no matter how prolific a career or education we had before marriage, just by nature of the beast, so much of our lives becomes about our husbands. I know I've fought such a thing tooth and nail and yet here I am, living in this tiny corner of Germany, raising our child, leading my husband's FRG, volunteering my time for his unit, attending all of his events. There's not much time for my stuff. And what time there is, isn't very glamorous. I can't remember the last time I achieved something that was all about me. So you know, the idea of having my own thing, something new and different, something to do during the deployment, and, yes, I admit it, something prestigious, was so damn appealing.

But I found out yesterday that I didn't get it. It was a kind rejection. It encouraged me to apply again after gaining more experience. And you know, maybe I will. But right now, this news mixed with the looming deployment makes me wonder if I'm doing enough for *me* on a regular basis.

I don't know the answer.