Stage one: You don't know fatigues from a poncho liner. You wonder what all those "old" women do at those luncheons, attending a potluck dinner requires 10 long distance calls to mother.
Stage two: You sew patches on fatigues, attend luncheons, mistakenly iron the poncho liner (which melts) but otherwise are a perfect Army wife.
Stage three: You discover the post alterations shop and never sew again. Children enter your life and you forget to attend the luncheon you volunteer to host. The dog throws up on the poncho liner. Mom calls you for recipes. You ask your soldier husband to please drop off those infernal smelly fatigues at the cleaners.
Stage four: You've been promoted to a position of authority in the Army wife support system; younger wives look up to you. You get kids off to school, work on you career, tone up your body and try to set an example. You make lots of lists.
Stage five: Entering the fifth phase, your spouse hangs up his fatigues, dons desert camouflage, and leaves his family to go half way around the world to preserve peace. You miss him terrible, but rediscover the wonder of a love letter. The kids hang yellow ribbons. The poncho liner becomes the family security blanket.
Stage six: He returns home, and you once again are the perfect Army wife. But this time you can manage your family, your job, and your time better because you know what is most important.
Stage seven: You're close to retirement years and the chance for a new way of life. The thought of leaving the Army creates mixed emotions; you start to think about another tour. Your parents are starting to need you more than your children do. You find more time for yourself, and suddenly you are one of the "old" women at the luncheon.
And so we learn and grow. Each time we step forward, we leave a little innocence behind. For civilians, the props are different, but the story is the same.
