Perhaps it's about time I introduced Air Force Family. After all, I'll be giving you all sorts of anecdotes and stories about us - it's probably best to know what you're dealing with right off hand.
For instance - theme songs. Our's is "The Addams Family". Except that, being a military family, all theme songs must be played by a brass band with a Sousa-esque beat. And in the middle of the song, there has to be a riff of an adaptation of Lee Greenwood's "Proud to Be an American."
There are currently four children that belong legally to Air Force Family - three girls and a boy. We originally wanted six, then the boy (a virtual clone of his father, apparently I was a mere vessel for the incubation of someone else's genetic material) came along and we decided now was a good time to stop. Having three girls does not prepare one for a boy. Particularly not this boy.
No wonder my MIL stopped at one.
The center of Air Force Family, of course, is Air Force Guy. The husband. The Daddy. The fixer of all washing machines. The despoiler of all white walls. The raiser of the toilet seat. He is currently on deployment number two - this time to Afghanistan.
Air Force Guy's job involves a lot of talking to people and a lot of manipulating various systems. His interrogation skills have been the bane of our teenage daughter's existence. For that we are eternally grateful. And because one cannot help but bring the job home from time to time (or more often), a lot of our conversations sound like this:
Me: I'm sorry, I forgot to pick up that book you asked for. I didn't make it to Barnes and Noble.
AFG: You forgot the book at Barnes and Noble?
Me: No, I didn't make it to Barnes and Noble?
AFG: So, you didn't feel like getting me the book?
Me: Knock it off!
AFG: Knock what off?
Me: DON'T REPEAT MY STATEMENTS IN QUESTION FORMAT! You do NOT have permission to use your tricks on me!
While our eldest daughter is the exciting age of 14 (the age, interestingly enough, which seems to correspond to the onset of alcoholism in fathers), our second daughter is only 8. She is very tall, very sweet, and has issues with remembering the order of mass for an altar server. She also has a tendency to only memorize the "yeah, yeah" parts of popular songs. I just drove for four hours with that going on in the car.
The third daughter is tiny and blond. She also has a talent for enraging even the most steady and loving of people. Like Mother Theresa. Mother Theresa never met my #3 daughter, which is probably for the best. I'd hate to think she missed her beatification for physically assaulting my child while screaming out incoherencies about the Anti-Christ.
And then there's me. I sit on the couch all day and eat bon bons while watching re-runs of Cops and looking for people I know.
I'll let you know if I see anyone.
