by Mollie Gross
Neighborhoods on base are divided up by rank. As a result, certain people always socialize together. Clubs are also set up by rank to avoid fraternization.
And yet, the tension about rank between dependents goes both ways.
Del Mar housing included Navy and Marines living on the same base. At that time we had Warrant Officers, 1st and 2nd Lieutenants, Captains, Navy Captains, and one Marine Corps Colonel (who had the house with the best view).
I had already experienced serious grief from other wives when we were assigned a higher ranking house, but the neighborhood was about to be turned on its heels again.
There were a slew of Captains who were “selected” to pick up Major within the next eighteen months. These families were still living in the smaller town homes.
You-know-what hit the fan when word came in that Staff NCOs would be moving into the neighborhood.
I could have cared less, but a slew of those higher ranking officer families that were due any minute to pick up higher rank threw a royal fit. They refused to live in the same neighborhood as enlisted families.
I thought this was “rankism” at its worst.
In the end, a handful of families moved out of the neighborhood. They “pulled rank” with the housing office and found themselves in the four bedroom, large backyard housing in Field Grade neighborhood next door to all the Colonels.
Why would you want to live next to a Colonel? No offense, but you could never have any fun.
I think the way some of those ladies went around the neighborhood gossiping, “Did you hear? The enlisted are moving in!” was disgusting. They should have been ashamed of themselves.
If they qualified for bigger houses, great—more power to them. Move on up! But running around gossiping and slandering others is uncouth and so low class.
I had also been a victim of rankism (probably) while living on base.
As a Key Volunteer, I had to call wives married to all different ranks to give them updates on the battalion. There was one enlisted wife on my call list I enjoyed chatting with whenever I called. I helped her with a few things here and there whenever she called or if I saw her at functions.
The first time she saw me with Jon was at the Ball. We were laughing and talking. But when Jon walked up to me, the expression on her face changed completely.
Her husband grabbed her arm and they stopped talking and just stared at us.
After Jon introduced himself, the wife said nothing. She simply walked away. I was shocked. I asked Jon if that Marine was in his platoon, and Jon said he was not.
I slowly realized that they had walked away when they saw my husband. She no longer wanted to talk to me.
Maybe it was her husband who did not want her talking to us, or it was some irrational fear of fraternization. Maybe it was rankism. I will never know for sure.
I do know it hurt my feelings as I felt deep down that she was avoiding me because of my husband’s rank.
Another run-in had to do with an officer’s wife and an enlisted wife. I had injured my back and could not get a doctor’s appointment. After two days of unbearable pain, I finally went to the ER.
Half of our doctors had been deployed to Germany. Add a heaping spoonful of moms, who were freaking out over their child’s every sneeze, which resulted in a trip to the hospital. Finish this fine mess up with a dash of retired vets arriving by ambulance every thirty minutes, and you have won yourself a fifteen-hour wait in the ER.
I made friends as I lay on the floor of the waiting room. We bonded over the treatment and long wait. Some had been there before me; many others arrived after. It appeared to me as if no one in the waiting room was being admitted.
After hour number ten—about two in the morning—a few of us went looking for snacks.
Someone said something that shocked me: “You know, they are only seeing officers and officer’s wives. They check your rank.”
I knew for a fact this was not true. I realized this person and some of the others were enlisted because they had been talking about their neighborhoods. They went on to complain about the special treatment officer wives get all over base—from the hospital to the commissary.
I guess one of them saw the dazed look on my face and asked how long I had been waiting. When I told them, they all gasped. It had been at least seven hours longer than them!
“Yeah,” I answered, “and my husband is an officer! Can you believe they have made me wait so long?”
They all stopped and stared at me. They were sooooo embarrassed.
I changed the subject as we headed back to the waiting room. As we continued to chat, I acted like I was not even bothered by what they had said. But not a one apologized to me.
I should also add they were all seen before me, including the wives who came in later. The few who had made those nasty comments earlier looked ashamed as they left the ER before I had even laid eyes on a doctor.
Maybe God had me wait so long so those ladies could see that they were wrong. I don’t know, but I hope that they remember that night before they spout off about rankism.
PARTYING WITH POGUES: BRING A LIFE VEST
For all the rivalry between Grunts and Pogues, we had some of our wildest parties with Pogues.
One time Beenie and Lloyd asked us to join them at a hot tub party at their house along with USMC lawyers (Pogues) and their wives. We were the only Grunt family.
Marines are a breed of their own, and I personally think the craziest of all the military. They love to party and drink beer. We knew enough to pack an overnight bag. Nobody would be driving home.
The guys were playing horseshoes and Beenie and I were enjoying a wine cooler when I was introduced to Beenie’s four-pound poodle.
I started crying because in our move across country I had left both of my poodles with my mother, as Jon put it, “until further notice.”
This tiny black poodle was all character. In fact, Willy smoked cigarettes! Beenie would take a drag and when she put her hand down, the dog would sneak up behind her, bite the filter, and run off into the yard with it in his mouth! You should have seen a bunch of Marines chasing a poodle around trying to get the cigarette away from him!
The barbecue was great. Lloyd prides himself on his grill specialties. In fact, you just might see him on the Food Network one day.
At sunset, it was time to fire up the hot tub. Beenie and Lloyd decided because it was a “hot tub” party that we should play 70s R&B mixed with today’s best rap. We cranked up the volume and popped the tops on the appropriate beverages.
Some Pogues left after the hot dogs and hamburgers just as the girls put on their bikinis and the first rap song started blaring. The rest of us—four couples—were in it for the long haul.
Now, Lloyd is the most non-Poguey Pogue and my husband is the most non-Grunty Grunt you will ever meet. Neither one of these guys really lives up to the stereotypes associated with their nicknames. In fact, Lloyd is really tough and my husband is really smart.
Still, there was this silent competition that had started with the infamous puggle sticks battle. I am not even sure if my husband was participating in this competition or if he was just a bad drunk. But he and Lloyd were in rare form. We were drinking Alize, which tastes like liquid sugar and goes down like Kool-Aid.
Alcohol upsets my stomach. We did a lot of partying while living on base, but I was very selective about what I drank. Many times I was the sober one of the group. As I’ve gotten “older,” I’ve stopped drinking alcohol as it causes debilitating migraines. Besides, I act stupid enough without adding alcohol to the equation.
But that night the Alize tasted like candy, so I took a few sips here and there, pacing myself like a mature lady.
What they don’t tell you about alcohol is that you’re not supposed to consume large amounts of it while in a hot tub. Evidently the alcohol and the heat work together as a toxic combo that can dehydrate you.
At one point during the party Beenie could not find me a
nd began asking around.
One of the JAG’s wives said I was in the hot tub with Jon and another couple. Still, no one could find me anywhere, nor did they see me in the hot tub.
The other wife in the hot tub finally said to Jon, “I think she’s under water, I think I see her under your arm.”
Yes, I was drowning.
As Michelle would say, “Weeeeellllll!”
I think my husband had been using the top of my head to rest his beer bottle on. I had been under the water for at least a minute. Luckily, I was so wasted that I had stopped breathing.
After the party there were pictures circulating that showed me sliding below the surface of the water as my husband looks off into the distance—probably listening to one of Lloyd’s many stories.
Thanks, Lloyd.
POKER NIGHT
After Beenie and Lloyd had their first child and Lloyd returned from his first deployment to Iraq, they decided to move into a terrific house about three doors down from ours. It soon became our weekend hang out.
Lloyd was the master at poker parties and spots filled up quickly. Natalie and her husband Carl, Jon and I, and Beenie and Lloyd were regulars at the Texas Hold’em table. We’d take the money of our regular guests at these all-night parties.
Beenie and I had a foot up on the competition because we did not drink. She didn’t because she was pregnant again and I didn’t because I am a lightweight.
Not only that, I am the master at bluffing at poker. I won’t give away my secrets, but there was many a night when either Beenie or I would claim the entire pot.
It was so much fun to do these normal neighborhood functions since so much of our time on base had been spent without our husbands. We went out of our way to plan fun events when everyone was home.
CAREER OPTIONS
Many military wives complain about not being able to find the right job.
I was fortunate to be offered a job practically my first week on base. My first day on the job I was delegating, multitasking, and shaping future lives of America. Who knew babysitting could be so rewarding?
Sometimes PCSing every three years can limit your career options. Your priority has to be to support your spouse.
I personally struggled with it. My husband’s schedule was so sporadic that I never wanted to be at work when he was home. It was also important to spend time with him before he deployed.
Some wives were lucky to find flexible jobs or work from home opportunities.
I remember wives who had decided to further their careers being very disappointed they had to work when their husband had leave.
During my husband’s time in the military I was a housewife, a volunteer, returned to work, and even attended college.
I went back to work full time toward the end of Jon’s military career. I was lucky to have a sales job, which was based out of my home and allowed me to make my own schedule. I did not have to miss Jon’s down time. Best of all, I was still able to take care of our home.
CHILDREN
In many ways the lifestyle of a military family looks like a step back into the 1950s. Most moms stay home with their children. In fact, housewives are highly respected in the military. Women are praised for volunteering during the day and cooking their husband’s meals at night.
Are the feminists from the millennium freaking out right now? Well, with your husband deployed, do you think you are needed behind a desk at a company, or at home being the only parent your kids have? Military moms are the cream of the crop. They have to be; often they are the only parent around.
My girlfriends who were moms taught me the benefits of raising kids without dad around. They joked that it was the perfect opportunity to instill core family values like, “Mommy is always right!” And, if anything goes wrong, “it’s Daddy’s fault!”
My girlfriends also loved to instill this rule with the kids: “When Daddy gets home, be sure to go to him with all your homework, dirty diapers, and boo-boos. He wants to make up for all he missed!”
Sometimes, though, a mom needs reinforcements when her husband is deployed.
One day Michelle called to ask Jon to stop by after work while still in uniform. I thought it was a bit odd, but told her we would be over as soon as Jon came home.
We walked over to Michelle’s garage and saw David, who was two at the time, holding a spray bottle of cleaner.
Michelle saw Jon and exclaimed, “Thank God, you’re here! David has had that bottle all day and I can’t get it away from him. If I go near him, he sprays me!”
We asked her to demonstrate. Sure enough, David sprayed his mother with cleanser. I stifled a laugh, but Jon was puzzled.
Michelle was convinced that David would not obey her. She believed children respond better to a man’s voice.
I set out to debunk her theory. I looked Dave straight in the eye and said, “David, give me that bottle!”
He looked at me, laughed, and sprayed me in the face.
Michelle begged Jon to do something. Now, you have to understand that my husband is about as good with kids as Arnold was on his first day in “Kindergarten Cop.”
Seeing this poor mother at her wit’s end, though, he decided to help out.
“Jon, David will think you are Kevin,” Michelle explained. “Just keep your cover on and tell him to give you the bottle.”
When Jon approached him, David took aim.
Jon looked down at him and calmly said, “No.”
David instantly dropped the bottle and began to wail. Michelle rushed to David and began to coddle him.
I guess Michelle was right. Her son needed a strong male role model.
LET’S MAKE BABIES
Now let’s discuss the phenomenon of how military wives get pregnant. Perhaps you’re thinking I’m going to give you a lesson in the birds and the bees. That’s not what I’m talking about.
Remember Ball Babies?
Well, there are also pre-deployment babies, reunion babies, and “Okinawa surprises.” That’s what you come back with after being stationed over there for three years.
It seemed that I was constantly being warned to watch out for certain events or places that resulted in pregnancy—as if coitus had nothing to do with it.
Many of the wives I met on base associated their pregnancies with specific events. I was even told the B-billet was tied to pregnancies.
After your Grunt does four years in the “fleet” (a deployable billet), he goes to a non-deployable billet for four years—a “B-billet.” (In this case, the “B” stands for “bullshit.”)
Many veteran wives encouraged me to get my husband stationed in Hawaii or to do recruiting in my hometown so I could be somewhere comfortable when I had my children.
Look at the ages of the children in a Grunt’s family. Many of them had two kids within a four-year time period. Then there’s a four-year gap and more children.
I can tell you the majority of wives I knew during that first deployable cycle started their families during the B-billets.
Many wives will plan their pregnancies around their husbands’ deployment. Some want to be six months pregnant when he returns so he can be there for the birth. Not as many wives plan on having a baby while hubby is deployed, but it does happen.
Beenie had her first child this way and said it was not so bad. She said it was better to take care of the new baby alone, and then to incorporate her husband into the routine when he returned.
Everyone in the military makes “family plans” a little differently—planning around billets, deployments, duty stations, and let’s face it, Balls.
PLAY GROUPS
Mommy/child play groups are very common on base. We had a very active one in the community playground in our neighborhood. These groups encourage moms to build up a real sense of community with the other moms on base.
These moms also look out for each other’s kids, and would lend a helping hand whenever someone needed a last minute sitter.
I also heard m
y neighborhood play group made some pretty good margaritas.
ADVENTURES IN BABYSITTING
During my first two years as a military wife, I did a lot of volunteer work for the Key Volunteer Network, as well as for the battalion.
I also did a lot of babysitting since I had a trampoline, endless supplies of ice cream, kid’s movies, and toys.
There were always children at the house. Often Michelle and I would be with the kids on my trampoline or in her baby pool when moms and their kids would join us. Sometimes they would just drop them off while they ran an errand.
One afternoon Michelle was entertaining the neighborhood children in her blow-up pool. I suggested they come over to jump on the trampoline and have popsicles.
I remember thinking that David, who was just two, was getting so strong and sturdy for his size. He was jumping up and down on the trampoline as I watched with admiration. After a few minutes, I saw liquid flying through the air. I walked over and saw the liquid was all over the trampoline.
“Who has chocolate milk?” I asked Michelle. “They should not drink and jump. Someone will get sick.”
She shot me a puzzled look. “No one has chocolate milk,” she replied.
Then I saw the liquid leaking from David’s swim diaper. While it wasn’t chocolate milk, it certainly was a treat. With every leap and bounce, the liquid flew higher and higher into the air.
I think David knew all about this “chocolate milk” treat streaking down his legs, but he was enjoying this session on the trampoline too much.
We finally got him off the trampoline, stripped him bare (he thoroughly enjoyed this as well) and proceeded to spray David down with the garden hose.
(Yes, I sprayed the trampoline down as well.)
Whenever Michelle and Kevin had a date night, they’d leave David and Jacob with me. Since Jon was deployed some of those times, it was just me and the boys. They were such gentlemen.
Jacob would kick my butt at Nintendo. I had taught him how to play Mario Brothers, but he killed Kumba within half an hour. Was there anything this kid could not master?
For some reason whenever I took care of David, his body fluids would reject my authority.