For those of you who don't know, outside of Waiting for Ships and this blog, I'm also proud to be a blogger at My Military Life, please stop by and check us out.
Here's my post for today shared today on My Military Life:
The movers are coming, the movers are coming.
So, it’s nothing like Paul Revere’s Midnight Ride forewarning of the British troop invasion in the 18th Century, but I do feel like I need to let everyone know—family and friends that is. They know we are packing up and moving out, but they don’t realize the intensity of it all. You know what I’m talking about. The cataloging of serial numbers, the organizing, the purging, the selling, the donating….oh, the chaos!
The rollercoaster of PCS season is upon us. It’s living in my house. It’s making me anxious, this creature we excite about every few years. We yearn for it. We loathe it. BUT, when it’s here, we can’t stop talking about it. We are living in the thick of the madness; still running a household, but feeling like we are trying to beat the clock.
There are not enough hours in a day to accomplish it all. Or are there? Is there a need to stress out and go nuts? Nah. That is, not if you are organized by design. Me, am I? Not a chance. I’ve got some folks fooled, don’t ask me how that happened, they believe I actually have it all together. Nope, I’m a mess, a hot, nutty, PCS mess. I’m up. I’m down. I’m sad. I’m happy.
I cried today.
Yes ma'am and at work. I was drowning in paperwork, receiving phone calls from clients, requests from my boss and dealing with deadlines. The phone rings. It’s the moving surveyor calling to set up the survey. I hang up the cell phone.Call my husband and tell him the information. Hang up the phone. My boss gives me another pile of work. The office phone rings, a client is there to see me. Meet with client. I sit back down at my desk, which looks like a volcano of paper blew up all over it. My cell rings again, this time my children's school – turns out one of them is screaming and writhing in pain and they don’t know what’s wrong.I talk to her and calm her tears. She says her belly hurts, but she still wants to play outside. Okay, can't be an emergency then, right? I tell them I’ll see if my husband can pick her up because there is NO possible way I can leave, I’m still playing catch up from last week and from the sounds of it, the little one just has to visit the potty, at least that’s what she related to me on the phone. I call my hubby. He has a mandatory muster and can’t leave until it’s all done. I hang up the phone and bawl. I cried like a big, fussy cranky baby in a wet diaper who wanted to be fed. I couldn’t stop. I cracked.
Fast forward to this afternoon, the above-referenced matters all reconciled itself: child was okay, dad ended up picking her up after muster anyway just to be sure; my boss calmed down; and, the piles of paper slowly dwindled. I was still breathing. It all passed as always. It’s just that it all happens in one split second and BECAUSE it’s PCS season, it’s all magnified by a million. See, I’m not all together. Gosh, I wish I were.
This time next month, I should be sitting in a hotel in our new city waiting to move into our new house and waiting on HHG to arrive. I should be laughing at all of this. I know I will. It’s normal. It’s what we do; we military wives, we just deal day to day and we live through it.
It’s just PCS season right?
F18s doing their thing - Motto Monday -
5 hours ago