Here we go. Daily life for the Stanleys on an Army Post.
6:38am. "SLAM" goes Axel's door. He's awake, and he's headed straight for our room. He throws his doggie, blanket, whatever miscellaneous toy he's slept with the night before, and finally himself into bed between Dan and myself. This requires some climbing and clawing, poking and kicking his mother. Then he says, (as if I don't already know) "I need Mama's phone." He then logs onto Netflix and proceeds to watch 15 minutes of "Yo Gabba Gabba" while Dan and I pretend like we're actually going to get a little more sleep.
On a side note, "Yo Gabba Gabba" is of Satan. It is 30 minutes of constant, repetitive, loud annoyance. Make every effort you possibly can to prevent your children, or any children for that matter, from seeing it.
Finally we get out of bed, get the kids their breakfast, and start our day. Dan is in uniform. If you're familiar with the military uniforms at all, he's currently wearing the old style of Navy camo. It's dark green. They have an official name besides "camo" but I stopped trying to remember what it is. He's about to switch over to wearing the all khaki officer uniforms . . . kinda like what they wore on "Major Dad" if you're old enough to remember that show, only with khaki pants instead of the ugly green. People call him "Commander." I like this. His actual rank is Lieutenant Commander, but like everything else, they shorten it. Besides, it's better than "Lieutenant Dan."
We live in Wheeler Army Airfield. This is still considered Schofield Barracks (The Army Post . . . I'm not sure where the whole "barracks" thing comes in). Because there's a pretty large road separating Schofield from Wheeler, we have to go out one gate, and then go in another when we need to run around on base. I mean post. (See, it's hard to remember.) We live just south of the airfield with all of the Chinook Helicopters. At some point each day they do their maneuvers and they fly over our house. The kids love it. It's very cool. I wanted to take a picture of them tonight and show you, but Dan wouldn't let me. Something about reconnaissance. This is a picture I found online of the same helicopters we have here.
Our neighborhood is called Wili-Wili. It's one of the newest neighborhoods on post. There are pretty much only 2 floor plans, so all of the houses look the same, with slight variations in color. They maintain the lawns for you, and will even trim your landscaping if you'd like them to. This makes for a very clean, uniform looking neighborhood, which I suppose suits the Army way of life. We live about half a block from a park, and we spend lots and lots of time there. Often times you'll see banners and signs outside of homes welcoming Daddies and Husbands back from deployment. They always make me choke up a little bit. It's a constant, visual reminder of how much these brave soldiers and maybe even braver families sacrifice every day.
Because we go through bananas and diapers faster than 70spf sunblock, the kids and I are running to Commissary and the EPX quite a bit. Here's how this works.
"The PX" is a sort of mini-mall, with the main store being a cross between a Macy's and an old school Wal-Mart. There is a food court (complete with standard sub-par Chinese restaurant), and also a children's play area. I believe this was designed so that moms could have something with which to bribe their children to behave while shopping. Regardless, it works wonderfully.
If you need groceries, you go to the Commissary. This is like an old school grocery store. Except there are rules. These rules are not posted, nor does anyone try to explain them to you. You just have to figure them out. Here's what I've figured out:
- You get your cart from outside the store before you come in. If you get there early enough you'll probably get one. If you get there RIGHT as they open you might be lucky enough to get a cart where both your kids get to pretend like they're driving a car around the store.
- You show your Military ID to get in, and then again when you're checking out.
- DO NOT GO ON THE 1ST OR THE 15TH. Payday for the Army. Think Wal-Mart in Missouri after they've announced that an ice storm is coming.
- You don't pay tax, which is great! You DO pay a "convenience fee" which is about the same as taxes would be . . . so . . .
- To check-out you stand in a Disney World style switchback line until you're next. When you get to the front, there is a light-up sign that tells you which line you should go to. Unless you say otherwise there will be a person there to bag your groceries, carry them to your car, and load them for you. They work solely for tips. This was an awkward conversation the first time I went and the nice lady commandeered my cart and followed me out of the store. I have no idea whether I'm tipping too much or not enough. However, I typically have 2 babies with me who are not-so-much-fun at this point, so it's totally worth it. You can also go to the "express" line, but know that they WILL count your items to make sure you're under 15, and you still have to tip the bagger, even though you carry them out yourself. Don't even get me started on the "self check-out" lines.
While driving on ba . . . post . . . you have to be very aware of the pedestrians. Most of the soldiers do not have cars here, so they're walking most places and there are crosswalks everywhere. Did I mention they're all wearing camo? You'll see groups in formations or doing crunches in random places. Every once in a while you'll have to pull over and a long line of men in full uniforms and huge backpacks carrying scary guns will run by. This is really annoying when you're already late. Sometimes you'll hear random trumpet sounds from I don't know where. I'm not really sure what to do when I hear them. I feel like I should salute, or at least put my hand over my heart or something. I don't . . . but I wonder if I should.
Coming back into Wheeler we have to stop at the gate and show our ID. If you're in the driver or passenger seat you have to show your ID, and one of those 2 people must have a Military ID. They aren't worried about anyone sitting in the back. This is of great comfort to me, since everyone knows that terrorists prefer to ride shotgun.
Our neighbors are all either coming or going. Everyone PCS's (moves) every 3 years. They either loved it here or hated it here. I don't understand how they could hate it. Seriously. No matter where you move to from here the weather is going to stink and the view is going to be terrible. Aside from the language of acronyms, random trumpets, and ID checks, this is really not a bad gig. Our utilities are covered, our lawn is mowed, and if you don't like your neighbor you don't have to put up with them for very long. We feel safe, and we're even starting to pick up on some of the lingo.
We love it here. On Post.
