by Alyssa Day
Just another day at the Cheese Factory.
38
The Great Commissary Shopping Cart Derby
January 31
To: Alesia
From: Judd
Subject: Don’t forget not to shop on payday.
I got your e-mail about needing to grocery shop. The commissary is always a zoo on payday. You should wait if you can.
February 1
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: Oh, sure. NOW you tell me.
There isn't enough Tylenol in the world to make up for this day. I have resorted to searching between the car seats for some—ANY—EVEN ONE—of the aspirin I spilled last week, when I opened the bottle while driving home to the stereo sound of "we don't want to leave the park" hysterics. I feel like a junkie. Next I'll be standing on the street corner with a sign: Will Work for Headache Medicine.
I waited until I had no choice. I really did. Last night I was trying to make a nutritious dinner out of saltine crackers, tofu, and jalapeno peppers, when I finally broke down and admitted that I had to go shopping. After we got home from IHOP—by the way, we eat out way too much. This weekend Connor looked at the dinner I cooked for him and said, "No, thank you, I ordered pizza."
Anyway, after pancakes, potatoes, and much coffee (for me, not the kids), we came home and the kids watched Veggie Tales while Mommy wrote out a shopping list. A three-page shopping list.
I was doomed.
So I was prepared for a grueling experience, but I had forgotten the crucial element. The key to the entire commissary experience.
Cue Twilight Zone music: Today is Payday.
Not just payday, either. Oh, no. I couldn't possibly just mess up that badly! No, today is the first of the month, too. The day when everyone from 19-year-old military spouses to 91-year-old retirees swarm the commissary like a plague of locusts. (Except, locusts are less destructive.)
I finally found a parking space close enough for us to see the building with Connor's binoculars. Then we hiked in to the store, stopping for water halfway when we got dehydrated. We were lucky to snag the last two-seater cart and I strapped the kids in.
Then the real fun began.
I learned today that I'm a total washout at commissary etiquette. I wouldn't be surprised if my military ID card is officially revoked. This total failure at protocol was graciously pointed out to me a mere 497 times by a trio of 200-year-old women.
My first encounter with the enforcers, er, lovely ladies happened quickly. I made the mistake of moving from the bananas to the lettuce and then to the apples. This was, of course, a dire error.
"Fruit to fruit. Veggies to veggies," cackled one of the little trolls, er, nice elderly women. "Stay in LINE. Keep it ORDERLY. CLOCKWISE, clockwise!" She was like some produce Drill Sergeant. Connor helped by announcing (loudly, although that goes without saying, doesn't it?), "That lady has blue hair, Mommy."
So I escaped from veggie-ville and made my way to the baking goods aisle. This is where things went from bad to disaster. Fast.
Crotchety old lady #2 was holding court there. With her cart parked diagonally, blocking the aisle in both directions, she weighed the merits of regular Crisco v. butter-flavored for the length of time it took the Mayflower to cross the ocean. I finally got a little impatient and gently moved her cart to one side, so we could get by.
As you may know (I didn't), this is a serious breach of cart protocol. You'd have thought I'd clubbed a baby seal right in front of the muffin mix.
"Don't TOUCH my cart! You young people are always in a HURRY!" she screeched. I don't use the word screech lightly. This was a voice that caused sterility in wildlife for miles around. This voice made nails on a chalkboard sound like Mozart. This voice . . . OK, you get my point.
We got out of baking goods fast (I didn't really need to be in that aisle anyway, but was searching for packages of chocolate chips or anything with recipes on it; more recipe cards to fill out; will explain later) and moved on to cookies and snacks. The kids were getting tired, hungry, and crabby by then and doing their impersonations of wild animals who are trying to poke each other's eyes out. (This is not fun for me.) I grabbed a box of cookies off the shelf, opened it up, and gave them each one.
Enter Helpful Lady #3. "You're not supposed to do that! That's stealing! You haven't PAID for those COOKIES!"
I tried to ignore her and move past, but she grabbed hold of the cart and wouldn't let go. I'm not kidding. I kept saying, "Excuse me, ma'am, please let go of the cart," and kept walking, desperately hoping this was all a nightmare, or at least that she would give up and let go of the cart.
She didn't. In fact, she tried to grab the cookie box from Connor! There I was, standing in the snacks aisle in shock, while a crazed Yoda clone in support hose and orthopedic shoes tried to wrestle a box of Nilla Wafers from my son.
All I could think was, "This is Judd's fault."
The tug-of-war lasted about a year (or 30 seconds in real life) and then-you guessed it-the box ripped and Nilla Wafers went everywhere. Lauren and Connor both started howling. "Clean up in Aisle 5" boomed over the loudspeakers. The women from produce and baking goods had shown up by now and were shaking their heads disapprovingly.
That was it for me, Baby.
I made it through the rest of the aisles in eleven minutes flat. (Halfway through frozen foods, and after the 3,000th "she's touching me," I started contemplating how far I could make it toward Mexico before: a) the kids figured out how to unbuckle those little seat belts or, b) the authorities caught up to me.)
Only seven hours, $217, and two or three ulcers later, we made it home and unpacked the groceries.
I forgot the milk.
39
Long-Distance Parenting: Just Say No
February
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: Your son is constipated. I hope you're happy.
Just a tip: the next time you tell our son that, if he swallows bubblegum, a giant bubble will come out of his butt and he will be stuck to the toilet seat forever, I am going to hunt you down like a dog. He has been afraid to go to the bathroom for three days.
While we're on the subject, we need to discuss this habit you have of dropping bombs and disappearing. No, I'm not talking about out of your plane. Please observe the following simple telephone Do's and Don'ts:
Don't tell Lauren that you're on the moon. We had to stand on the porch for 25 minutes last night singing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" and blowing kisses to Daddy, while staring up into space. I still can't move my neck to the left.
Don't begin any conversation with me about child-rearing with the words, "You really should..." It's uncanny how you always want to start these helpful little talks when I'm cutting half-eaten Halloween candy out of the dog's fur, or carrying the microwave out to the trash, after Connor wanted to see if heat would speed up the caterpillar-to-butterfly process. Not even Dr. Spock could get my attention at that point.
Do keep telling the kids that you love them very much and think of them every day.
Don't tell them that you'll be home "soon." Kids that young have no understanding of time. I had to pull Lauren away from the window, where she was watching for you. She didn't appreciate my explanation that four months is not "soon," if the teeth marks in my arm are any evidence.
Don't ask Connor how the other guy looked, after a fight at school. I had to explain to his teacher that Daddy did not tell Connor to beat Joey up, exactly. Luckily, Joey's nose turned out not to be broken.
Do understand and forgive me after I spend a few minutes babbling about how I would have been better off with goldfish.
As frustrating and exhausting as it can be, to be the parents left alone with the kids, it's important to remember how miserable it must be for the parents who leave. They miss first steps, first teeth, first words, first smiles, and first laughs. They miss bath time, story time, and bedtime. They miss soccer games, baseball game
s, Chutes and Ladders, and water balloon fights.
Well, OK, let's face it. Nobody misses Chutes and Ladders. Especially after the three-hundredth time. In a week.
So, these lonely Mommies and Daddies try to stay involved by offering insightful opinions on how you should handle any given child-rearing crisis.
From their vantage point of six thousand miles and seventeen time zones away.
Not that it isn't helpful. After all, I've heard such pearls of wisdom as:
"You really shouldn't give Lauren chocolate right before bedtime," after she climbed on the dog to reach the counter and broke into the Valentine's Day candy, while I was stuck in the bedroom on the stationary phone, because Connor had dropped the cordless phone in the toilet so Grandma could hear the flushing sound. She was up until 3 a.m. on a sugar high. (Lauren, not Grandma.) Of course, that led to:
"You really shouldn't let Connor play with the cordless phone."
So you give up and just say ummm-hmmm and ah-hah and try not to slam the phone (or your head) against the counter. Repeatedly. You realize that he's just trying to stay connected to the kids he loves and misses so desperately. You work hard to keep his parental presence intact and vivid in the kids' minds. And you realize that shouting, "You don't even know their shoe sizes, don't give me parenting advice" is the teensiest bit petty.
Even if it does make you feel better at the time.
40
Top Ten Things Not to Say to a Military Spouse
February
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: You would not believe the things people say to me.
I honestly think they must not think at all before they open their mouths, or surely they would never come up with this stuff. If one more person says, "Oh, has it been six weeks/three months/[insert time period] already? That sure went fast, didn't it?" I may wind up on the evening news for assault. AAARGHHHH!! At first, I just smiled politely, while gritting my teeth. Now I give a little laugh and say, "For YOU, maybe!"
It's true. Nobody who hasn't been through it really knows what to say. I can understand this. I wouldn't know what to say to someone hit by a meteorite, either. It's just about as foreign a concept as that.
I've compiled a brief conversational guide to help civilians talk to military spouses who are temporarily stressed out of their patriotic minds by deployment.
Here are the top ten things not to say to a military spouse (keep in mind that these are all actual statements heard):
So he flies P-3s? Those are pretty slow, aren't they? They must make great targets.
Well, sure he has to leave for six months at a time, but you do get to shop at the commissary.
Has it been four months already? Wow, time sure flies.
I wish my husband would leave for six months.
Well, at least you get combat pay while he's gone.
Six months?? My husband and I have never been apart more than one night!
How do you go that long without sex?
(After front-page press on military purchases): So, that's where our tax dollars are going??
Isn't he back yet?
And the number one worst thing to say to a military spouse:
You don't seem to be handling this all that well. How hard can it be?
Just for fun, here are a few things we don't want to hear from our spouses, either (again, just a few of actual statements we've heard):
Our plane broke down at our refueling stop. Looks like we'll be a few days late getting home from deployment.
I have to stand duty, so I'll miss our anniversary dinner tomorrow.
We just got called for an upcoming detachment, so you don't get to go on the trip to Chicago with your friend Mary you've had planned for six months. By the way, I'll be in Las Vegas for a week.
The hurricane is heading directly at us. I'm on the hurricane evacuation crew and will be flying a plane up north to wait out the storm. Please be careful, pack the kids' clothes, and be ready to drive to a safe place if conditions get really bad. I'll see you after the storm passes.
My leave just got cancelled; so much for our honeymoon to Hawaii next week. Maybe the airlines will understand, and we can use the tickets another time.
(From deployment): Did I mention I wrote a check for $600 last week? We had enough in the account, right?
We've got a late flight tomorrow, so I'll miss Connor's birthday party.
I know you're about to go into labor with our first child any minute, but I have to go on a survival weekend with no cell phones, no radio, and no way to contact me. The duty office said they can send someone to try to find me, if you actually give birth.
Well, there were no confirmed missile attacks on our plane.
41
Gifts from Foreign Lands
February
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: Thank you for the box of presents.
I'm not quite sure how you managed to tour all of Asia and get lucky enough to find a red velour blanket that weighs 50 pounds and says OHIO STATES UNIVERCITY in 12-inch letters. It's lovely, and I'll think seriously about your idea to redecorate the guest room around it.
The Coach briefcase is wonderful. It's from their little-known subsidiary, SportSCoach, and we passed an enjoyable few minutes at a client luncheon today just reading the tag that came with it. I'm pretty sure you didn't get a chance to see it, so am reproducing it here in full:
HOW TO SERVE THE SPORTSCOACH
Dry it in the shadowy place since as it may likey to be deteriolated, if you expose it to direct sunlight or fiire when it is wet by water.
When it has scar or stained, to abrade softly by a cotten cloth with wax a little.
The products which is damaged in the distribution process or found to be defected in quality will be ripaced with another one, if undamaged.
When you wanted to have service on this product please present the warranty for sure.
This product is not warranted.
I received several compliments on the briefcase and used it all morning. Unfortunately, it was raining when we came back from lunch, and the shoulder strap melted.
Mom called to say the Japanese kimono is beautiful. She wondered why it says "made in China" on the tag.
The inlaid chopsticks are exquisite. It's handy to have 38 spare sets, in case we have a few unexpected guests.
I didn't realize the neon-green plastic clock shaped like a mosque was actually an alarm clock, until the call to prayer sounded throughout the house at 3 a.m. and sent the dog into a barking frenzy. It only took about 12 minutes to figure out how to turn the alarm off, so the kids and I gathered in the living room to admire it.
We were all awake, anyway.
I really do love your idea of redecorating the entire house in a carved wooden camel motif, but think we might hold off, since we just bought new furniture last year. Thank you again for the thoughtful and generous gifts. We love you so much and know you are always thinking of us!
The problem with gifts from other lands is that it's so rare that the gift giver has the time or transportation to get very far from the airbase or dock. So the kind of gifts purchased are those sold in the shops that invariably spring up around bases. Or around anyplace likely to be filled with eager buyers flush with a few months' worth of cash in their pockets.
It's just that "Sam's House of Almost Authentic Souvenirs" or "The Drunken Sailor Tattoo, Bait, and Gift Shoppe" aren't likely to have the fine quality of merchandise you might actually want to display in your home.
This is one time when the old adage "It's the thought that counts" definitely rings true. You love him for thinking of you, spending time and money on a gift, and spending more time and money to stand in the long line at the base post office to ship it back to you. You display it proudly, because it's from the person who loves you more than anyone in the world.
And you disable the alarm on the clock.
42
/> Our Heroine Admits She’s Not Super Woman
February
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: 97 loads of laundry later
And your tired baby daughter is finally asleep. Connor is just like his Daddy and falls asleep the second his head hits the pillow. I still have to pack up the stuff to take to daycare tomorrow and finish some work for my job. It's only midnight; what the heck.
I am so tired of being lonely. It makes my stomach hurt. I can't believe we're only through two months—I don't know how I'll survive four more.
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: We have two sick kids.
I don't know why I say "we," but whatever. I just spent two hours in the hospital. Lauren has the baby version of a sinus infection. She has to have antibiotics. So we started the three times a day for ten days pink stuff drill. She has nasty green stuff coming out of her nose and a terrible cough. Connor's cold is getting worse, too. Wahoo.
Since I am living on nerves and caffeine these days, I'm sure I'll get sick any minute. Just added Vitamin C tablets to the shopping list.
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: No sleep again
It's 11:30 and your horrible daughter is still awake. I am exhausted. I hate you being gone. I hate being sick. I hate everything.
