Question number one on this job application: Are you willing to relocate? To Mars.

If so, you may want to submit your resume and quickly. There are already 20,000 candidates ahead of you.

The Mars One foundation, a Dutch company, is moving forward with plans to send four humans to Mars. The first step, an unmanned mission in 2018, will demonstrate the technology that could possibly be used in a human colony on the red planet. The company hopes to send the first people to the settlement in 2025 if the unmanned mission can prove basic necessities are available such as the production of water.

Company representatives said the application process is now closed for that first ride skyward. However, once that first crew is established, the company plans to send additional crews of four every two years. Over time, as larger space ships are created, they may be able to carry more people. Those who choose to travel, will never be able to return to Earth.

Organizers do site the price tag, $6 billion, and the current lack of science to back up the mission as potential roadblocks. So, if you do apply, make sure you slide your resume into a few earthbound endeavors as well.

Want to learn more? Visit here.

Welcome to 2014, friends! Have you dedicated yourself to a New Years’ resolution? Here at Salute to Spouses we have a goal this year that we are excited about.

This year we have dedicated ourselves to bringing you more.

• More hometown blogs written by military spouses – your favorite blogs by Brittany Casey, Ann Marie Dombrowski and Rebecca Yarros will appear twice a month
• Facebook updates on important national issues for military families
• In-depth articles to help you be successful in school and on the job
• Monthly conversations with the movers and shakers in government and military interest groups who are working to keep benefits for military families
• Profiles of the spouses with the coolest jobs who are surfing the newest trends in the job market
• If you are a fan of Pinterest, you will see us there too!

We know you want to be your best in 2014 and the staff of Salute to Spouses is here to help you reach that goal. We are here for military spouses, covering topics that impact the lives of military families, written by military spouses.

Join us on our journey into 2014. It’s going to be a great one!

My husband repeats, almost daily, “Children are resilient.”

I know that’s the general consensus among military families but for the moment, those words are not so reassuring.

Only two of my five children are old enough to really remember our life back on the mainland. There, well-raised southern children say ma’am and sir. School lasts until nearly 3 p.m. and after-school hours are dedicated to activities and homework. They know what fall looks like. They remember the feel of winter’s cold. They’ve touched snow.

After nearly four years in Hawaii, my children are chilled by evening temperatures that dip to 81 degrees. Everyone here is addressed as auntie or uncle. We can’t seem to keep track of shoes because frankly, they don’t wear them or need them. School ends at lunchtime and afterwards, we head to the beach.

Now that we are heading into our last days on the island, and have moved into a hotel, they ask every evening to go home. They cry when I tell them we are sleeping in the hotel instead. They want to go back to our military quarters, their Hawaiian house, they say.

When I remind them of how much fun it will be to go “home,” back to the mainland, they whisper through their tears, ‘I am home.’

This breaks my heart.

I’ve enjoyed our tour in Hawaii. It is beautiful. We’ve had lots of fantastic experiences and my friends currently battling winter winds call me crazy for deciding to leave. Sure, I could spend a lifetime here but I would do so knowing that I never quite fit in. This is not where I belong.

But what about my kids? What if it is where they belong? What if I am stripping them not just from their current home but from the place that they feel most connected to in their soul?

This thought keeps me up at night.

My husband tells me they are resilient. That they will find their footing back on the mainland and feel at home in no time. I am sure he is right. I am sure that they will make friends, join activities and have great adventures.

But what happens when they realize that no matter how lovely that place is, they just don’t feel like they belong? That they left that place decades ago as a small child with only memories of the lovely, wafting, scent of plumeria blossoms, salty seas and tradewind breezes.

I love that my children are citizens of the world and have had the chance to travel and experience new cultures. But I always fear that someday we will leave behind that one place that they consider their own. I know what it is like to feel like an outsider; to love a place but not quite fit in. I hope that our gypsy-like, military life never leaves them with that feeling.

Resilient, yes they are. But that doesn’t mean they are without an aching for home – wherever that may be.

On the first day of Christmas my cubicle-mate gave to me, a box of yummy candy and then throughout the day proceeded to eat the entire thing.

The holidays are upon us and with it comes my absolute, least favorite tradition: attempting to buy appropriate gifts for our coworkers. In this group I lump teachers, neighbors, business associates – anyone you want to show some love to but don’t really know well enough to get them something they really want.

This is the most un-wonderful task of the year.

I want to gift these people with something because I really do appreciate them. Without my children’s teachers, I would have lost sanity by now. Without the secretaries in the school office, there is no way I could have kept track of two sets of IEPs for two kids. Without my neighbors this latest PCS move would surely have been a nightmare. And without my coworkers the daily grind would not be nearly as much fun.

But what to get them? If I go over the top, it feels a little funny and my wallet probably can’t handle big time gifts for everyone on my list.

If I give too little, I personally, feel like I’m being cheap or just giving a gift to check the box, so to speak. I want them to know I’m giving it because I want to; because I appreciate them. Because I like them. Not just because it’s the holidays and every add on TV, radio and the newspaper says I should.

For my son’s teacher last year, I felt like that wonderful woman deserved either a medal or a giant bottle of rum. Both were probably inappropriate. So in addition to whatever knickknack I found that he insisted that she would love, I wrote her a letter.

I told her how much her help and dedication meant to me. I wrote in long form what a difference she made not just in his life, but in our family’s.

Turns out, that was the best Christmas gift she received that year.

We hear often how we should tell those we love that we love them. But I say, do the same for people you are with every day, who you work with, who work with your children, who impact your life in some way, even a small way. Tell them that they make it better. Tell them that the exhausting, mundane things they do every day, make all the difference in the world.

Tis the season for giving. Give your love, appreciation and words of kindness, for this is the best gift of all.  

Last week the DOD quietly began a study to determine whether DoDEA schools in the continental United States should continue to operate. 

Prepare for military parents everywhere to squarely place themselves in the stay or go category. This, my friends, is a fight that seems to know no compromise. 

My children have never attended a DoDEA school. In North Carolina and Florida, we lived off-base and attended school locally. I personally never saw a problem with attending non-military schools. I have friends who never saw the point in attending anything but a DoD-run school. 

When we PCS’d to Hawaii, our pre-move jitters included worries about attending local schools. Our email inbox was filled with rumored horror stories of the archaic curriculum, bullying of non-local kids and lax attitude that would create havoc on our kids’ academic careers. 

Like most rumors, most of the horror stories we were told were just that, stories. While I am annoyed by how few hours the kids here attend school each day, just four hours on certain days of the week, I think the teachers and staff here are doing the best they can with what they have to work with – just like any local school. 

When we arrived, the Army in Hawaii was in the process of conducting its own assessment: do military kids here need DoDEA schools? The final answer was no. It was cost prohibitive and the local schools could handle the job.  

Still, parents demanded a recount and touted the benefits of military schools run by the military, for the military. Many of their arguments, seemed to me, to be dredged from the same rumors we heard before we arrived in the district. 

Nationally, a 2003 study that examined the need for DoDEA schools stateside urged officials to dump a handful of some of the schools and send students out into the local school districts. Costs stopped any changes and the on-base schools continued to operate. Officials said this time students, teachers and parents will be contacted at random to participate in the study. 

And if they call me, here is what I will say: according to officials, 85 percent of military kids already attend school off-base. Yes, PCSing is a pain and searching for a school adds just one more thing to our to-do list but really, what is the big deal? Any responsible parent should be researching their child’s new school regardless of whether it is DoDEA operated or not. If you are not happy with the school in your district, you have the option to move off base and rent elsewhere. 

Yes, I know for some of you those are fighting words. 

Military kids go through a lot: multiple PCS, deployments, war time injuries. Do they deserve a few perks? Yes. But what I also know through watching my own children and their friends is that children are resilient. Framed with the right attitude from parents, moving to a new school is a fun adventure with new challenges and new opportunities. 

Finding the right house to rent in the right school district every time we PCS is going to be a pain. But part of being a parent is finding the school that is the right fit for your child. This is not the military’s job, it is ours. 

And personally, with the current budget crisis and the need to shave several million dollars off the defense budget, I would prefer that those cuts be made to schools that only a small percentage of military children have access to, rather than after-school programs and special events that all military children can take advantage of. 

The phone calls are coming. Decisions will be made. What will you tell them?

I am grateful that we have citizens who are willing to risk their lives to defend those of myself, my neighbors and my children and serve a life dedicated to the military.

But I am proud that those same warriors are willing to put down their arms and hurry to help those who find themselves in the epicenter of natural disasters. 

The Marines rolled into the Philippines last week in an attempt to bring what comfort and aid they could to the devastated area. If war is hell, I can only imagine the scene after the storm is the underworld’s ninth layer.

These men and women expect to see horrific scenes on the battlefield. In the Philippines those same types of scenes are being replayed but this time the victims won’t be enemy combatants. They are children, mothers, the elderly.

And this will stay with them, forever. It will haunt them. And yet, they will go. Every. Time.

Nonprofit organizations such as The Borgen Project are quick to point out that the U.S. is among the bottom five nations when it comes to assisting the globe’s needy populations. That organization’s latest numbers show that only 0.2 percent of America’s gross national income is spent on international aid, or roughly $30 billion a year. PBS reports say the most generous estimates show U.S. foreign aid amounts to 1 percent of the nation’s budget, and even then much of those dollars are spent on defense efforts in foreign countries.

In comparison the U.S. spent $159 billion in 2011 alone on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

These are discussions and arguments that are well above my paygrade, as my soldier husband often says.

Regardless of how much the politicians say we can spend, the boots on the ground that are passing out the supplies, carrying the sandbags and feeding the hungry are our husbands, brothers and sisters and mothers.

You can argue all day about how much the government should spend on these missions but the fact that we have citizens who leave their families for months and sometimes years at a time to fight our wars, and then leave again to help rebuild after these devastating events is nothing short of heroic.

It is easy for the rest of us to click on pictures of the mayhem, click our tongues and say, ‘oh, how horrible.’ But many of our men and women in uniform are there, stepping in and trying their best to help bring calm after the chaos.

They are what is good and right about our nation. They set a standard that the rest of us could only dream of following. For them, and their dedication, I say, thank you.   

If you want to donate to the ongoing relief efforts below are some links to organizations raising money to help:

American Red Cross

Oxfam International 

World Vision

UNICEF

Working outside the home and taking care of a family can be a precarious balancing act. When those two worlds collide, lost jobs, exhausted kids and quarreling spouses can be found in the wreckage.

Military spouses are often not just balancing those two worlds, but rather twirling plates on sticks as they try to manage their own careers, their families and the endless trail of red tape and paperwork that comes with the title of military family.

This month, my worlds collided and it felt like a galactic explosion.

My husband retired this month, which resulted in a mountain of paperwork and deadlines that I never anticipated. We were naïve to and unprepared for the required number of meetings, paperwork, deadlines and costs that come with this milestone. I assumed my husband would take care of much of this. He assumed that much of the changes were automatic. We both assumed wrong.

In a week’s time we lost medical and dental insurance. We are without both for the next month and had to fork over more than $400 we didn’t budget for to be eligible to even apply. The Army held his last paycheck, standard protocol of which we were unaware. No paycheck also meant no money was sent to housing, where we still live for the next 30 days. In Hawaii that means we now owe $2,900 that we didn’t budget. I have spent weeks going three rounds with the transportation office to find a flight home that can accommodate my handicapped child’s service animal as well as our family pet. The renter moved out of a home we own on the mainland (meaning less income again) and I have been organizing and cleaning around the clock to prepare for the movers to arrive this week. I am doing this alone while still caring for our five children since my husband left early to take care of family business.

The havoc in my personal life wreaked havoc on my professional life. I work from home but the work wasn’t getting done. Exhaustion set in, causing my performance to slip. I was so busy trying to stomp out the proverbial fires around the home front that I had little left to give at work, and it showed. I didn’t manage my schedule or workload well. I missed meetings.

When the chaos at home creeps into your office, the result is never good. For someone like me, who takes great pride in their work, realizing just how much damage was done was like taking a punch in the gut. Suddenly, you look around and see that you are doing nothing well, anywhere.

I have no great words of wisdom to avoid or fix this situation. After 42 months of deployments, 15 years as a military spouse and handling my own deployment to the war zone as a reporter, I never doubted my ability to handle this move, retirement and my job.

And I don’t think I should have doubted myself. Instead, I should have been better prepared. I didn’t discuss the ins and outs of retirement planning with my husband. I assumed he had it covered. When he didn’t, rather than ask for his help, I took on each and every task myself. I shouldn’t have. When I was preparing for the move it took hours to do so with all five kids nipping at my heels. It shouldn’t have. I should have asked for help from my friends and let them step in to take the kids so I could finish more efficiently.

There’s a lot I could and should have done differently to make the insane workload during this transition more manageable. But I also know it can be hard to ask for help. Military spouses are so accustomed to simply handling whatever is thrown our way that to reach out for help can feel like admitting defeat.

It is not possible to strike a perfect balance every day. We will have off weeks. We will be caught off guard and occasionally, we will slip. But when we set our sights on sailing straight into a perfect storm, such as moving, retiring and maintaining daily life all at the same time, it’s also ok to raise the white flag and ask for help.

Friends, if you think back, there are probably several times in your life that you swore you would, "never do this again."  My list includes:  waking up with a wicked hangover, giving birth, rappelling and changing planes more than once on a single trip.

I've sworn after having done each of these, that I would never, ever do it again. The pain, the trouble was too great. But of course, I have, some much more often than others, see reference to hangovers.

However, this, my friends, I will never. ever. ever. do. again.

I am executing every phase of our family's PCS alone, with all five kids, a dog and a cat in tow.

Family circumstances have required my husband to move ahead without us. Meanwhile, I am cleaning up the mess. And it is a heck of a mess.

Preparing the house for the movers' arrival is akin to eating Oreo cookies while brushing your teeth. Everything I pack, my toddlers unpack. Everything I clean, my older kids unclean. It feels like an exercise in futility.

Every stop on the paperwork trail, from booking our airline tickets to arranging for temporary hotel stays has had a snafu. It took a call to a senator before the military agreed to book us on an airline that would accommodate our pets. We are spending six nights camping during this move as hotels were fully booked since we were wise enough to try to pull this off during the holidays.

And through all the moving chaos, I've had to keep each kid on track with school, extracurricular activities and attitude checks as each day presents a new challenge. We're sticking it out until holiday school vacation so that they have a clean break in their lives. Why stumble now and pull them out? That would defeat the purpose of jumping these obstacles, right?

But it would mean I could sleep, I could relax. I could not spend every day on the phone, standing in line, running from government office to government office, repacking a year's worth of Olivia DVDs and other random knick-knacks that we really don't need.

However, I am running, I am waiting, I am phoning. Since this is just not a PCS move but is our final move as we retire, the amount of paperwork I am chasing seems to have tripled. If there are beach chairs and lazy days in retirement, I haven't seen them yet.

But they are there. I know they are there, waiting for me.

And when this is through, and I find them, I swear friends, I will never, ever do this again. Ever.

My cat is the face that has launched a dozen angry phone calls.

It's time to PCS, which means, it's time to wade through red tape, phone calls and stacks of paperwork so tall that even the most organized spouses shudder at the thought. We've never moved with a small animal before and now I know why.

This is a royal pain in the tail.

Military families that PCS from Hawaii are sent back to the mainland on a number of contracted airlines. The flight you get is luck of the draw based on the amount of money the government is willing to splurge on your seat.

We were assigned an airline, that I am discovering, is among the least pet friendly. We will owe them close to $400 to ship my cat halfway to our destination. We then have to find someone to pick her up from cargo and board her until we can drive back across the country to pick her up. The other option we were given: leave the airport, rent a car, drive to the cargo area, pick up the cat, return to the airport, check the cat in again, go back through security and continue on to our final destination. Our layover is 1 hour and 10 minutes, at Washington Dulles. Superman wouldn't even try it.

I've fought. I've pleaded. I've begged. Families sent home on other carriers to other destinations can check their pets through the entire journey and pay a cool $125 and board, stress-free.

After two days and dozens of conversations with the transportation director, he finally told me, "Maybe it would be best if you just got rid of your cat."

It wasn't malicious. I don't think he particularly liked saying it. I think he was just pointing out the obvious. Our 11-pound ball of black fur was making my life, and everyone around me, miserable.

I would be a liar if I told you I hadn't considered it. Our cat, Porter, a rescue from the local pound has only been with us since August. At just under 2-years-old, she would adjust well to a move to another loving family on the island.

But my children, they would be heartbroken. And that is where sensibility looses the fight. Are we military? Yes. Are we used to giving up some of the niceties and normal perks that other families who don't move as often enjoy? Yes. But why does that mean my kids shouldn't have the pleasure of a childhood pet?

I'm beyond irritated by the unfairness of the situation. By pure luck of the draw we will end up spending hundreds, if not nearly a thousand dollars by the time we drive back to pick up the cat in D.C., to get her home. And that point, I still plan to fight.

But I also refuse to ditch her, as the Army suggests, because that would be the easiest course of action. It's not fair to her or my kids. No amount of money, or red tape, can change the love we have for our animals.

So back your bags, Porter. You're coming home with us. One way or another we'll make it work. And that is what Army leaders tend to forget. We always make it work. 

Let me say upfront, I really enjoy working from home.

I am incredibly lucky to have found not just a company I believe in, but who has given me the opportunity to work with co-workers I love, all from the comfort of my kitchen table.

However, I miss my cubicle.

There, I said it.

I also miss chatting with co-workers, eating in the lunchroom and, gasp, wearing real shoes to work that usually pinch my toes and make me dread walking across the parking lot.

Sure, I message my current co-workers throughout the day, talk to them on the phone and even on Facebook.

But, at lunch, I’m at my kitchen table – alone.

If I have a funny story to tell it’s only to myself – alone.

If I want to listen to someone else’s funny story, it’s all online – I’m alone.

And the only distraction I have from the daily grind is monitoring the antics of my two toddler daughters who always seem to empty a bottle of something sticky all over the living table at least once a day. It was funny - the first time. 

To be fair, there are perks to working alone. I never wear shoes. I can cook a yummy lunch rather than settle for the soggy sandwich in my lunch bag. I can cuddle with my messy, troublesome toddlers right after I’m done sopping up whatever they’ve destroyed.

But on days when the dog won’t stop barking, the toddlers have dumped now three bottles of sticky stuff all over the house, the handyman is dragging mud across the floor as he fixes a toilet and the phone won’t stop ringing, courtesy of the doctor’s office – I really miss my cubicle.

I miss being able to hide from the rest of the days’ requirements and simply concentrate on work, enveloped in the gray, plain blanket of a cubicle. The multi-tasking circus act I call working from home is exhausting.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to return to the 9 to 5 grind on fulltime basis. I have become, in essence, spoiled by the freedom of setting my own schedule at home.

However, there are days when the trappings of a cubicle never looked sweeter.