The Officers' Spouses' Club

Sixteen military wives
Thirty-two softly focused brightly colored eyes
(The Decemberists, 16 Military Wives)

When I married Alex, I jokingly asked if I should join the Officers’ Spouses’ Club, but I never thought I would actually do that. However, when I first moved to Tacoma, I had only two friends down here besides Alex. (Now I have roughly four friends – the number has doubled! Not bad.) Anyway, I needed to find a new doctor very quickly, and I had no one to ask for a reference. I remembered that there was the Officers’ Spouses’ Club, and I contacted the club president to see if she had a recommendation of doctors in the area. She didn’t, but suggested I start getting involved so I could talk to the other wives and get their opinions. She was so friendly and welcoming that I thought it was worth looking into joining.

Meanwhile, I’ve already found my own doctor, but I still wanted to see what the OSC was all about. I agreed to volunteer as a docent for today’s Tour of Homes. Once a year as a fundraiser, ten higher ranking officers open their homes and people tour through them to see what their homes are like and also for decorating ideas. This year it’s on Fort Lewis in the stately Broadmoor community. Since I’m pretty nosy, I knew I just had to get involved with that!

Last night, the OSC held a reception at the OSC president’s house for the volunteers who were opening their homes as well as the docents. Then we got a VIP tour of the houses ourselves; otherwise, we would only get to see the house that we were volunteering in.

I was surprisingly nervous getting ready. It felt like the first day of 7th grade all over again. Would they shun me? Maybe I don’t look officer-wifey enough (whatever that means)? Maybe the fact that my husband is full-time active duty National Guard, as opposed to regular Army stationed at Ft. Lewis, would be a barrier? And then I thought, so what if they don't like me? Will the world end?

Then I told my wussy butt that facing fear is the best way to make it go away, and I walked into a throng of about 30 beautifully dressed and coiffed ladies. A man in a red shirt and jeans slunk out quickly, sensing that this was not a place for men. Oh no. It was all about the ladies. It reminded me of my sorority from college except the women were for the most part nicer and much less drunk.

We ate amazing baklava and drank punch or wine and chatted.* I met a woman who worked in investments until she had her son, who is autistic and needs a lot of care. She was my age, pretty, smart, and hip. I also met a really nice lady who unfortunately tried to convince me to go to her church. She explained that even though I’m Catholic, God is God and it doesn’t matter which church you go to. While on one level I agree with her, I just simply couldn’t do that. Not just because her church is one of those Assembly of God things, but because I’m Catholic. I like my worship old school. Really old school. But I digress.

One of the most fun parts of the night was hopping in this lady Kathy’s SUV to go to the other houses with two other ladies. Kathy is a former military police officer (MP) who now works in public affairs. My favorite thing about her is that she had her satellite radio station tuned to Butt Rock and we were rocking out to Poison, Junkyard, Def Leppard, and other hair bands. That was hilarious.

So about the décor. Some of the homes were a little too robustly patriotic (think all-American red white and blue Christmas tree) for my taste. But most of these places served to make me feel deeply, irreparably inadequate in terms of how clean, organized, well decorated, and large my home is, for my homes is none of those things at present time. I gasp to think at the hours and hours of labor hanging all the greenery, putting up multiple Christmas trees, and installing a myriad of soft white lights must have taken. Not to mention the women who sew their own drapes, who hand make appliqués for the walls, who make adorable curtains out of ribbons and Christmas ornaments…. Wow.

But that feeling of inadequacy apparently is something we all share. Almost everyone said something about how they felt guilty at the state of their own homes. One of the women whose home was in the tour was fretting about how lame her house was compared to all the others. It wasn’t as big, she didn’t have as many Christmas decorations, she didn’t have handmade drapes. She only had one Christmas tree! Her home wasn’t nearly as clean, nearly as sophisticated, nearly as lovely as all the other homes, she lamented. I went there and it was full of beauty. She had the cabinet her grandfather made her that her husband refinished as a surprise. She had a painting her grandmother made. She had personal mementos all through her beautiful, clean, organized home. How dare she feel inadequate? She’s a freaking domestic goddess, and she works full time on top of that.

Maybe it’s too far to say these women are the real heroes of the Army, but really, it’s probably not that far from the truth. Rock on, officers’ wives. You all are pretty, you’re good moms, and your houses are great. And don’t let anybody, including yourselves, tell you any different.


*Diet tip: to avoid eating a lot, wear a skirt with a really tight waistband like I did. The discomfort literally prevents you from eating so much.