Is that title a redundant redundancy?
Just a few things to report this morning.
Caroline’s lip is much less puffy; it’s almost back to normal now. We (my sister in law, cousin and I) informally surmised that the puffy lip was the beginning of a cold sore. Nothing ever came of it, though.
Caroline was very bored on Monday and quite annoyed that she had to stay home. The low grade fever was a fluke, as witnessed by her voracious appetite. Generally a fever wipes out Caroline’s appetite. By 2pm she convinced me that we NEEDED to go for a drive. Usually “go for a drive” can be translated into “let’s go buy me something.” She claimed she wanted to check out the big hospital they’re building on Ft. Belvoir. Sounds harmless, right? After we drove past the construction site *someone* (and that someone wasn’t ME) suggested we swing by Starbucks. How convenient!
Actually, Caroline ended up with candy corn (?) from the convenience store next door, but I had a refreshing iced coffee. It was a nice way to break up the monotony of a boring day at home.
I have another tid bit of battery changing information to share with you. I’m not sure if ALL car brands do this, but when you change the battery in a Honda, the radio will not work until you input the code you’re provided when you purchase the car. Evidently, this is supposed to prevent stereo theft. Our car is 10 years old and we’ve carried that stereo card with us for many years, to many different duty stations, BUT I cannot for the life of me locate the stupid thing. It used to be in our little lock box. I wonder where it went? I drove Craig’s car yesterday so it could stretch it’s
legs wheels and prevent it from establishing roots in the parking space it’s been occupying for too long.
It was a quiet ride; just me and my thoughts.
From this quiet ride, I’ve gathered that I don’t like to be alone with just my thoughts and I don’t particularly enjoy driving without the radio.
I suppose I can call the dealer and they might be able to look up the code.
What good is having a lock box (with a broken lock no less!) to keep your important documents safe, if you’re going to misplace that important information?
I suppose it’s just as good as having a paper shredder that you never use.
I’m afraid that in many ways, I’m still not an adult. Paper shredders (and actually using them) and lock boxes with fully functioning locks are adult things. I have a paper shredder that I never use and a malfunctioning lock box. What does that say about me?
Also, am I the only one that says “lock box” in a long, drawn out southern drawl a la Al Gore in the 2000 election?
I fear that living a military wife lifestyle has impeded my rise to adulthood. You might be puzzled by this, but it’s true. The military life is very “state” oriented. And by state oriented, I mean, it’s socialistic in nature. Uncle Sam provides for most everything. He’s not Karl Marx, but Uncle Sam tells us where to live and what Craig’s job will be. Ironically, freedom and liberty are often kept at bay from those who fight daily for everyone else’s freedom and liberty.
I’m certainly not complaining; I rather like the Army life. Uncle Sam is ultimately Craig’s boss; Caroline and I are merely along for the ride. Everything we need is easily accessed by one set of numbers: Craig’s social security number. If you want life insurance, bam, it’s done. There isn’t a stack of confusing paperwork involved; the cost is automatically subtracted from Craig’s pay check. Whenever we move, we go to the Tricare health insurance office and give them our info. When we need a doctor’s appointment, we call a number and get an appointment. Our information is already put in the computer. Everything is taken care of. No co-pays or deductibles. Need a prescription? Just pick it up at the pharmacy, free of charge. Heck, they even prescribe Tylenol and vitamins to those that ask.
If you live on post, you don’t even pay your rent. It’s automatically deducted from your check. There aren’t any utility bills or trash pick up fees. In privatized community housing (not operated by the government) you don’t even have to mow your lawn. It’s all inclusive.
Obviously we’re still responsible for ourselves and our families; food, clothes, cars, etc. The Army doesn’t provide EVERYTHING; we still manage our money, our health and housing, if we choose to buy/rent a place off post.
Honestly, I don’t even understand some of this real world lingo. “Meeting the deductible” with health insurance, what’s that? I don’t know what a health savings account is. Don’t even get me started on mortgages.
I’ve become so accustomed to having it all taken care of that I worry about what life will be like “on the outside.” I confess that it’s definitely nice not having to worry about the little things; as much as I like having control, sometimes having someone else make the big decisions is welcomed. That way I can focus on obsessing over all the minute details. However, it would be prudent of me to start educating myself on all those fuzzy topics.
Thankfully we have a few years left, but, right now, I feel very ill prepared.
Maybe someone should write a “Life After the Military for Dummies” book.
I know I’d buy it.
Wow, that was an odd tangent.
It’s funny how my odd little brain works sometimes.