Questions for the (school) ages

*This is a final post to the blog here...the next report will be filed through Commando Mom’s almost-ready website, with links to the archives here.

Spokane, a jumping off point for this Commando Kid

Change gripped Camp Gustafson recently, with a new base camp far from Spokane into the wilds of Seattle, a young adult troop headed off on extended TDY to University quarters, and the youngest recruit now navigating the obstacle course of Kindergarten.

Still, the more things change, the more the basic tenets of the Commando remain the same: Do as much as you can, as often as you can (and earn bonus points by giving your mother grey hair in the process).

I thought life was tough when my oldest was a ’tween, but it's like overdrive now that I am—’tween kindergarten and college-age kids. It’s like trying to provide air traffic control at the same time as basic training. I have more questions than answers much of the time, and it’s hard to be commanding when you’re actually slightly confused.

For those along for the long ride, new digs and new drills become new opportunities to test the boundaries of the Commanding Officer, and my Commando Kid is the one who proves the rule.

Questions we’ve addressed lately include:

“How long can I put off choosing pants until Mom comes in and dresses me?”

“How many unapproved chocolate rations can I requisition in my Scooby Doo lunchbox today, and what is the magic number of change-order requests after which Mom just says ‘fine, whatever’ to anything?”

Then, there’s the age-old rhetorical question (rhetorical because you don’t really want to know the answer):

“Is there an inverse ratio between how late one is to school and how slowly one marches to the car?”

Meanwhile, drop-in cadets have three simple questions in perpetuity:

“What do you have to eat?”

“What time can I come over to do laundry?”

“Can I have your debit card number again?”

(A side note: in interest of seeing said college student once a week, an open invitation to eat and wash clothes has been extended—and in her defense, she also does not want to take all of the camp's rations—just what she can fit in her trunk alongside the clothes).

Add to these life changes a relocation (as every military mom can attest to, and as my role model, my mom, did 22 times in 21 years) and you get a compound return on rhetorical questions that you actually must answer:

Go West, young Commando

“How do you fit 1,500 square feet of toys, clothes, and snow tires into 900 square feet of apartment?”

“Where in the heck did I pack the can opener?”

and don’t forget:

“What does this screw in my pocket go to again?”

*In keeping with the moving love, visit again next week for a redirect to the new Commando Mom website, where you’ll find lots—but not my lost can-opener (I still swear it got tired of tuna and went AWOL).