Our daughter, Citrus, is almost three years old.  It seems like only yesterday that she was not much larger than a rich amber ale.

Soon she will be transitioning into pre-K at the base CDC (Child Development Center), which has been great place for her the last year and a half.  It’s just too bad we have to drive 24 miles to get there. 

Pick your poison:  Drive the Washington DC Beltway during rush hour, or drive through Washington DC.  And cross the Anacostia river twice no matter what.  (The meandering line shows the fastest route.)

For us, child care has been a paradox of military life.  On the one hand, it is less expensive than civilian providers, the care is top-notch, and the teachers understand the unique issues that military children face.  On the other hand, our last round of getting into a CDC was a nightmare and made a deployment and PCS move unnecessarily more stressful. 

Elysia was already doing a geobachelor tour (living apart) so that I could keep my job in Washington when we learned that her command in Norfolk was going to deploy.  Citrus was going to live with me in Maryland, and we immediately set out to get on child care waiting lists.

Civilian providers were quickly ruled out — we had a few month’s notice, but their waiting lists were longer than one year.  I contacted Military OneSource, which provides case workers to help with such things, and they identified about 70 daycares within reasonable distance of our house.  Not one had an opening.

We thought we were going to be okay because the CDC at the Army’s Walter Reed Annex is located 1.5 miles from our house and the nearest Navy CDC is 3.3 miles away at the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda.  But it turned out that Citrus could attend neither.

Walter Reed takes Army families first, and NNMC first serves families who work on that installation.  Because Elysia’s command was based in Norfolk we were way down the list.  It made no difference that she was about to be deployed.  It looked as though we could only get military care if I moved to Virginia, giving up my job.  In which case I would not need child care.

We did stay on the Walter Reed waiting list for more than a year.  The system was designed to kick us off the list.  If you do not call every quarter, you lose your place.  They generally did not return calls so I was rarely confident that we were still on the list.  

After several months, Walter Reed introduced a new program which would guarantee a spot if you could show that you sought but could not find civilian care.  If you didn’t try, you were removed from the list.  But I tried only to be told that the program only benefited Army families on the list.  We could only lose. 

The last I heard from Walter Reed, in 2007 after Elysia came back from overseas, there was an influx of new Army families and we were bumped far down the list.  We never heard again from them.

The simple explanation, we are reminded often, is that military child care is not an entitlement.  Yet at the same time, various DoD officials state that providing services to military families helps retention rates in a time when every servicemember is needed.  The bottom line is that on-base day care is a great benefit but there are not enough spots for everyone.  You have to be a real advocate for your child. 

As for giving priority to one service over another, I have no explanation.  Soldiers and sailors are serving alongside each other overseas but their children may not be treated like “one of the family” depending on the base.  Army vs. Navy vs. Air Force.  Oh, and the 8 day care spots at the Coast Guard in DC.

In the end, and out of desperation, we found an opening at Bolling Air Force Base 24 miles away instead of at the Walter Reed CDC which is almost walking distance from our house.  The care at Bolling is fantastic and at this point we are likely to stay there until we have to move. 

In the grand scheme of things we really can’t complain about how things turned out.  For all I know, things have changed in the last year (but good luck finding the CDC priority policies online).  But we can still hope that it becomes easier for the next round of parents who are deployed.

Here was Flat Mommy in the shower.

It just wasn’t the same.

In Virginia Beach, even ye olde predatory lenders are quaint.

 But they are not as welcoming as this store in Sioux City that I spotted days after graduating in 2000 and driving across the country to meet Elysia at her first duty station in Bremerton, Washington.

Congratulations Class of 2000 Now WIC Approved

WAVY-TV in Virginia covered the Military Spouse Symposium last week and a cameraman got footage from a breakout session I attended.  It was fairly intimate with about twenty people in the audience.  The 2-minute news report is here, but below are screen captures of the four crowd shots:

A distant shot of the panel.  The blue dot is where I was sitting.

Darn, just missed me!

Hmmmm.  I swear I wasn’t scratching myself or something.

The camera pans across the group.  Hey there I am!

[I found the YouTube video via the MOAA Spouse Blog]

While visiting Virginia Beach I went to the Military Officers Association of America’s (MOAA) Military Spouse Symposium.  I figured that after 8 years of Elysia being in the Navy I would actively try to meet other spouses.  They certainly weren’t finding me!

My experience thus far is that male civilian spouses are often invisible. I think it is due to three things: First, there are a lot of men out there who do not bond with other men. Second, traditional gender roles dictate that women are going to run the social and family events. And third, the military community has a long and proud tradition of supporting wives. Which means that when I visit family service centers on base or approach symposium registration tables, other people wait to see if I am actually attending or simply got lost on the way to the restroom.

There were about 100 spouses and I was the only male civilian with a wife on active duty. I did meet a guy who retired after 40 years at the Newport News shipyard.  He is married to a retired Air Force officer.  We bonded over sticking out like sore thumbs.

Aside from sessions on federal/state advocacy efforts, staying employed through multiple moves, and helping marriages survive deployments, there were some very personal and inspirational stories.

One woman shared with the audience the story of how her husband died a week after returning from Iraq in 2005.  Her loss was compounded by the financial stress of finding out that his death benefits were only a fraction of what they would have been had he died a week earlier overseas. She single-handedly lobbied several Senators and had the disparity addressed for all surviving spouses.

Another military spouse and daughter of a military widow co-founded the Military Spouse and Family Legacy Association with another spouse who lost her husband in Iraq.  Their goal is to build a national monument to military families.  Nicole Alcorn of MSFLA shared how the idea came to them and how they have put their plan into action.

I also met Tanya Biank, an Army brat and Army wife.  Her book, ”Under the Sabers:  The Unwritten Code of Army Wives” was turned into a television series last year.  Army Wives is now Lifetime’s highest rated series ever.  [On a sidenote, one of the Army Wives is played by Catherine Bell, who starred on the television show JAG.] 

Tanya interviewed me a few weeks ago for an article on military spouse blogs so it was nice to meet her in person.  Many readers here — Hi!  Please say hello! — found my blog because she mentioned my Flat Mommy project.

I also met a few folks from MOAA, including Sue Hoppin and re-introduced myself to their legislative director whom I met through AARP a few years ago.  All in all, it was worth stopping by!

On our way to the Virginia Beach Viva Elvis festival on Saturday it rained heavily, but around 4pm . . . a miracle.  The clouds opened up and the Skydiving Kings fell from the sky. 

Here is Elysia posing for an “I Want You . . . to be the King” poster.  Sadly it won’t wind up at the Washington Navy Yard, where several years ago the Navy-Marine Corps Appellate Defense Division had an Elvis shrine and the JAG officers traded around a blue suede shoes doormat to those who prevailed in court.  (It was good to be the King.)

After hanging out near a giant Elvis possibly related to the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man and listening to one tribute artist — one was enough for us — we headed to Beale Street BBQ for the tasty goodness of deep fried pickles.

We are back in Virginia Beach for a mini-vacation to the place we called home for almost two years.  It, and nearby Norfolk, are places we never wanted to visit.  And then the Navy moved us here. 

Our first weekend here we were driving to the base and a dog ran in and out of traffic.  We pulled over, as did a woman in a real beater of a car.  She and I chased after the dog for about a block and a half until she was able to grab his collar.  The dog pulled her into a ditch.

As she got up and brushed herself off, the first person we met in Virginia Beach introduced herself:  “Just all in a day’s work — I work for PETA”. 

PETA is headquartered in Norfolk, but the odds were much greater than we would first meet someone in Navy.  There are about nine military bases in the greater Hampton Roads area, with 110,000 active duty servicemembers.  Plus, another 200,000 reservists, retirees and family members.  40,000 to 50,000 military spouses (and a lot of children’s consignment stores).

With about 16 percent of the local population connected to the military, you can imagine that among younger people the percentage in the military is enormous.  When a ship is deployed or comes back, it is front page news.  Families here know firsthand what it means to be at war.

Our other early experience in Virginia Beach when we moved there a few years ago was a hail and farewell party we were invited to at a karaoke bar.  Somehow I had made it through life without knowing “Brandy (You’re A Fine Girl)” by Looking Glass.  It plays here all the time.  So much so that I don’t think it was a coincidence that our doula, a Navy brat, was named Brandy.

Someone also sang Imagine and I was surprised to see that the streaming lyrics omitted “And no religion too”.  Maybe not surprising given that Christian Broadcasting Network and the 700 Club are headquartered here.  When you fly into Norfolk Airport you are greeted with a giant mural of a warship firing its guns – I think it is the USS Wisconsin doing something like this – and then there is a lifesize poster of Pat Robertson’s Regent University with a giant picture of John Ashcroft giving the commencement address.

Virginia Beach turned out to be a nice place to live even though we barely settled in.  There is at least one good Cantonese restaurant (Jade Villa), and we found a few places that made good New York style pizza (Bella Pizza), something impossible to find in Maryland.  Even with the hordes of summer beach tourists, it is a calm and relaxing place. 

For the next few days we are camped out at the Navy Lodge, taking a vacation that has the familiarity of home.

On Saturday we visited Larriland Farm to pick strawberries.  It is the end of the season and there were not many left, but we did find a few without bugs.  They are not organic but do practice Integrated Pest Management, which means that they rotate the crops to make sure that each bug gets a well-rounded diet.

We have yet to see an amazing farmer’s market here.  Downtown Washington DC has a smaller market, but a friend has noted that it must be run by retired Beltway PhDs who moved to the suburbs and became artisans in retirement.  $13 small blocks of cheese, $6 loaves of bread. They make Whole Foods and its $4.50 artichokes look reasonable.

When shopping off base there is sometimes some sticker shock because the commissaries are about 30 percent less expensive than civilian grocery stores.  Unfortunately, the produce at all but the largest commissaries is often in pretty bad shape.

Going to a pick-your-own farm is a good deal and it is a fun family activity.  Usually there is sampling involved and there is a lot to do before you get tired.

Today is Flag Day.

When I was a kid we rarely recited the Pledge of Allegiance in school, except for second grade, where Miss Gertrude Pennykamp required that we do it every day and sing patriotic songs. 

I remember nothing else of second grade except that my teacher wore a wig and there were lots of purple mountain majesties, occasionally broken up with Home On the Range.  I hated that year, and many of the students knew that forcing us to do the Pledge was wrong.

After all, the Berkeley City Council stopped reciting the Pledge during the Vietnam War and refused to recite it again for thirteen years.  When they did, it made national news.

I can’t say that the flag was revered in our house, though it wasn’t reviled either.  It was loved in our own special way — my dad had a very large flag that he used as a bedspread and later on an easy chair.  I  borrowed it for 4th of July picnics in San Francisco and for Toga Day at Berkeley High School.  I knew someone who knew the guy whose flag burning case went to the Supreme Court and while I never found an appropriate moment to burn one, I always felt that banning burning would make a mockery of the freedoms that the flag symbolizes.

Now things are a little different.  It was years before I knew that every day on base, they play the national anthem at 5pm.  Everybody within earshot stops what they are doing, wherever they are.  People stop jogging, stop pumping gas, and put down their cell phones for the duration.  It is an unnerving site for the uninitiated.

I once pointed out to Elysia that it didn’t seem particularly safe for people to just stop in the middle of the road while driving.  Her response:

It’s not about safety, it’s about respect.

I recently discovered that all of the kids at day care also stop whatever they are doing, if they are outside and can hear it.  Only instead of covering their heart with their hand, they all clutch their stomachs.  A little bit of Berkeley at Bolling Air Force base!

Miss Pennykamp died while I was in college and my mom sent me her obituary.  Just as we suspected:  Not From Berkeley.  She was a Lutheran from Kansas, which possibly explained why she told my mom in a parent-teacher conference that “Mitja is a good student despite having come from a broken home.”

But little did she know how patriotic my mom is:  She was born on Flag Day. 

I started volunteer work today for the Navy-Marine Corps Relief Society.  They provide a variety of services to members of the Naval Services in need, such as interest free loans and other assistance to get through a hardship.  I was looking for something fulfilling to do as a volunteer and I think case work will be interesting. 

It is also appealing because they have 250 offices worldwide.  There is a lot to be said for having some continuity no matter where you might move.  I have found that the problem with civilian nonprofits is that by the time we become familiar with a community and find interesting organizations, a PCS (permanent change of station) move may very well be on the horizon.  And that’s the end of that relationship.

NMCRS was also very encouraging, which I think is the first requirement of an organization that wants volunteers.  When we lived in Seattle and I was unemployed for several months, I thought volunteering would be a good way to fill the time and meet people.  But I found that a tenant’s rights organization didn’t know what to do with me and a food bank never returned my calls.  It was ridiculous.  I couldn’t give my skills or time away!

In Washington DC I tried to volunteer my professional skills with some larger organizations and ran into the same problem.  Phone calls not returned or people who thought I was gunning for their job — they didn’t seem to understand that I was actually interested in the work on a personal level.

I am scheduled for one day per week so we will see how it goes.  Ideally I’ll meet some other people in the process.  There is something refreshing about being able to talk to people without translating everyday things into civilian terms.