(I actually wrote this last week, and just got around to posting! But better late than never, right)
TDY is military term that means "Temporary Duty" (as opposed to PDS, which is Permanent Duty Station. I know, go figure...) and this week David is taking his first TDY since he got back from Tech School over a year and a half ago. And for a first TDY, this is a pretty cushy gig.
In fact, it's such a cushy gig that it's really not a big deal. Before we were in the military, my husband did a couple business trips that were a week and change, and it was a huge ordeal where I probably whined like a baby. But in military life, if your spouse gets a easy, week-long TDY two states away, you don't dare whine about it. The wife with a husband who's hasn't seen her husband since last winter might slap you.
However, the sweet deal that it is, it does benchmark our first military separation in his job. It will probably be nothing to write home about. But I'll blog it anyway.
We said goodbye to Daddy before church in the morning, and then successfully got myself and all three children in and out alive, but that's no biggie...for us, at least. The bigger issue was that he was supposed to be the substitute worship leader this morning, and his last minute orders (told him about it Tuesday, and bought the plane ticket Friday so he could leave Sunday) left the church high and dry because he was the back-up to the back-up. They worked it out, although I know it was a giant pain, but as our pastor graciously put it, "The Air Force trumped our plans," and they adapted.
Later that afternoon, my cousin called and I filled him on what was going on. He asked if David got a "government charter flight" for his trip.
After we joined the Air Force, I figured out pretty quick there weren't planes you could hop on any time to get from one base to another. Now these planes do exist (they're actually referred as "hops") but those are cargo planes and it's only on certain bases, going to certain bases. We're at a bomber base, and the cockpits of those planes are about the size of a Prius with the rest of the plane reserved for gas and bombs, so they don't take passengers.
If you do take a hop, you're at the mercy of the military Space Available travel system and could be stranded for any amount of time where ever the planes need to stop. Now hops can be a good deal if you want to get to Europe or happen to be at the base that has the flight out and able to get to the base you want, and have a lot of time to do travel. Most of the time, however, military members just get a ticket on a commercial flight just like everyone else, even if they're flying on orders.
The exception is when they move hundreds of people at once for something like a deployment or tech school, and then they might use a big passenger plane. A Senior Airman going to teach a training by himself? He's riding coach.
I explained this to my cousin, who said, "But he's a Senior Airman, so doesn't that get him a hook-up?"
Sighing, I said, "Do you even know how military rank works?" But before I could launch on a speech of how rank is designated from 1-9 with 9 on the tippity-top, and David is a 4, he laughed and said "Yeah, I was just giving you a hard time."
Anyway, then we went to a Bible "Story-ing" night at our church, followed by a dinner. There was only a handful of people there, and my kids behaved marginally for the speaker, who was even aimed at a younger audience, and then Ben went hell on wheels for the dinner. Thankfully it was very casual and not very crowded, because at one point Ben had the audiacity to not only disobey me, but run away. I put the empty plate I had in my hand on the floor (I was getting ready to get Kate her food when Ben did...whatever he did...I honestly can't remember now!), used his first and middle name in my monster-mother voice, ("BENJAMIN DAVID YOU DO NOT RUN AWAY FROM ME!") chased him out of the church gym, snatched him, smacked his butt, and stuck him in a time-out. (Yup, my kid has a time-out bench at our church. Fun times.) Then I was pretty embarrassed because I was sure I made a scene, and tried to go calmly back in the room as Ben screamed from his time-out bench and look extra sweet while I got the girls, who were demonstrating decent behavior, sat down with food.
Now back in my west coast hometown, I probably would have gotten looks of horror for chasing down my child and spanking him, but hey, this is South Dakota, where a parent can get looks of horror for not chasing down and spanking a misbehaving child.
But as is our custom with church potlucks, in spite of my best efforts to train them to act civilized, the kids run around with their friends, get insanely wound up, make a huge mess, and eat the most unhealthy foods available. Case in point:
I told Ben he couldn't have a brownie until he ate some of his dinner (Really, it was a hot dog. I was making him eat a hot dog to get a brownie. I know, I know. As a friend of mine put it, "You can't have your sugar until you eat your fat.") he whined, he got up and down, he drank more punch than he probably should have, and he tried to wear me down until I just gave him the brownie. I stood firm.
Then after I gave up on him eating anything and let him go play with the other kids, his four year old buddy Calvin came up to me and proudly announced, "I gave some of my brownie to Ben. He wanted it." I had a hard time positively responding to Calvin's gracious, selfless act of sharing when I was stewing over the fact that Ben found away to get past me. Well, little guy, you may have won the battle, but if you think you're winning the war you have another thing coming.
Finally I just said, with as much sarcasm as I possibly could muster because I was talking to a mom of three boys who's husband had been deployed for about half of their marriage, "You know, their father isn't around..." She gave me an amazing "Riiight..."look knowing perfectly well that David left about 6 hours earlier. I went to chase down Ben, again.
When we started cleaning up the natural disaster under the cafeteria table where the kids ate, I went over to them and said, "We're going to play a game. Everyone sit down with their hands folded and mouths closed. First one to talk loses." They hustled to the couches, and I expected this to last all of 30 seconds. My friend Alisha went over to the couches where the kids parked and began to monitor the progress while I started vacuuming. Then, with a moment of inspiration, I pulled out a bag of M&Ms and asked Alisha to give them to the kids who were doing the best.
"It's not bribery," I said. "It's Classical Conditioning."
But in the end, we all got home and talked to Daddy on speaker phone to say prayers, and then I talked to David as he told me all about his "suite" in the base hotel and his dinner at the Texas Roadhouse with the people he would be working with that week...and then I ate fudge and blogged. And now it's going to be an early night for this mom.
(For the record, days 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6 really were nothing to write home about and David came home safely right on schedule.)
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