I hardly looked at this blog or email this weekend. My son has been home and while it’s been busy and hectic, it’s also been wonderful.

His trip home was planned at the last moment and unexpected. He surprised me when he showed up at the door - I didn’t know for sure he was coming. He had to make the trip here to take care of some personal business (which I won’t get into right now cause it just makes me so mad I can hardly breathe when I think about it). But even though the reason for him coming home was not good, it has been so pleasant to have him here.

He has run around like his usual hyper self trying to cram in seeing everyone and doing every thing. This will undoubtedly be his last visit home before he’s deployed. (Yes, mother and my sisters who might read this, I know he hasn’t seen any of my family yet - he will…)

Last night he cooked a steak dinner for the family and a couple of his friends who were over. He was the master of the grill. He cooked steaks, potatoes, onions and corn - all but the corn on the grill.

He ordered us all around to get the spices, set the table, get him some tongs, etc. He was definitely in charge.

We had a good Southern cook-out around a too-small-for-all-the-people-there-table on my screened-in back porch and ate and laughed till our stomachs hurt.

My son is an Armorer. One of his friends that was there is graduating next week and leaving for OBC (Officer’s Basic???) and my Beloved Curmudgeon was in the Mobile Riverine in Vietnam. So we were treated to literally hours of war stories.

The men discussed things like how many meters whatever the gun on a tank shoots out will go. What kind of ballistics do what and something about aim and accuracy. They abbreviated everything (like the Army does), and talked about what this kind of gun does and that kind of gun. They all seemed to know what that all meant.

My son told stories about making privates test the tanks for ’soft-spots’. It was hilarious the way he told it. My husband countered with how they used to make seamen go down in the bottom of the ship looking for …. I can’t remember what they would send them for, but whatever it was it doesn’t exist. They all thought that was a riot.

Us girls listened without much to say. But we knew the stories were funny even if we didn’t understand much of it. I’ve tried hard to learn the Army language. I know what an FOB is now and a POV. Occasionally, I’d ask what something meant. They would look at me and patiently explain. I would then say something like, ‘Oh!’, to give the impression I understood it now. Everyone knew I didn’t understand, but that gave them permission to not have to try to explain it further and it got me out of having to be subjected to my own child talking to me in such a paternalistic manner.

When they tell war stories it’s always the funny things that happened. They never tell the hard stuff. My husband has told me a very few things about Vietnam, and only in certain ways at certain times. I’ve never known a Soldier who talked openly about those things - I wish they would.

I remember my father telling war stories. Now my husband and now even my son are telling war stories. My son says he is ready to go. He says he feels badly that he hasn’t been yet when so many have. There’s a look in his eye I’ve never seen before. I don’t know what it is. He’s a little preoccupied. Is he worried? Is he excited? Are all the other problems that have come up recently weighting on him? I don’t know what that look is. He certainly doesn’t tell me.

My husband tells me that when he comes back he will be a different person. I know that’s true. I’ve seen it many times before. I saw it during Vietnam. I’ve heard it from every Soldier I’ve ever known.

My son is already changed. I expect he’ll be even more changed the next time I see him.

I gave the Army a frat boy and they have made him a man.

I’m still savoring that meal we had last night.