The "Life"

Ronnie and I were able to enjoy a childless meal today and I was telling him this story that I'm about to share with you.  He immediately asked if I blogged it; obviously I haven't.  But first a little backstory:

We are a military family through and through.  Counting up, we've lived in five states and one country in our almost ten years of marriage (Ronnie has been in three more than I for training so that would make eight states for him).  Holly was born in North Carolina; Sarah in Texas.  I know more abbreviations than any one human should know.  And we have conversations that play out like this:  husband comes home and says we have orders to move to _________; wife says Awesome, I think so-and-so are there now.  Kids are uprooted from friends, activities, schools, and homes for a new unknown, but make new friends, take up new activities at their new home and school. 

Such is the life of a military family and the upbringing of military brats.  One that I lived growing up, albeit only slightly, and one that I'm asking my kids to live with Ronnie and I. 

There are things that happen when you're a military brat that you really don't think twice about.  It seems like second nature to us, but to others it would be odd.  We're already starting to talk to them about moving next summer, but we don't know where just yet.   We instantly stop in our tracks and stand at attention anytime the national anthem is played.  And then you have things like this that happen:

Sarah and I were heading to the commissary a few weeks ago.  I can't remember where Ronnie and Holly were, but they weren't in my car with us.   Anyway, we were driving by the O'Club when I noticed the street was blocked off and several Airmen in SWAT type gear.  I knew they were running some scenarios on base, but I hadn't seen any of them.  Then Sarah says, "Mommy, there's a boy with a gun over there."

I quickly whipped my head and saw what looked like a sniper lying in the bushes with his gun pointed at the building the SWAT-looking guys were around. 

I said, "Yes, he does have a gun, doesn't he Sarah?"

Sarah said, "What is he doing?"

I said, "Well, he's going to kill the bad guy."

Sarah said, "Okay.  Mommy, can we get some ice cream at the commissary?"

And just like that the conversation was over.   What child would just accept the explaination that a guy laying in the bushes with a gun pointed at our car was going to shoot a bad guy with no further questions?    Only the military brat is the best answer I can come up with.