Tag: Adulting

Break My Stuff, Before You Go-Go

Our household goods arrived yesterday, which sounds like it could be a good thing. It was getting tiresome, sitting on a mattress on the floor, to watch tv. And my washer and dryer are back, so laundry can happen in-house again, which (believe me) is exciting.

Of course now there are so many boxes, we can barely navigate our way through this house, which is feeling smaller by the second. I was getting sassier and sassier, as Justin kept reminding me, “you keep saying it’ll be fine; it’s only 11 months.”

And then, upon finding the 3rd broken item, I lost my cool. And had an epic blowup tantrum.

“YEAH! Join the army! We’ll take care of you. Give us 20 years and we’ll force you to move and break all your shit! You should be grateful that we’ve only broken half your shit! Maybe next time we can break more!!!!!!”

Justin calmly stood there and didn’t once tell me to calm down or stop swearing, which I appreciate. When I was finished freaking out, he said, “but nothing in the kitchen was broken, right??”

I guess some packing person needs a gold star for successfully packing plates without breaking any. Heck, they stole (or lost) most of our silverware during the last move, so Justin didn’t even trust them with our spoons this time. He was taking no chances.

Honestly, every move we trust them with less and less…which is kind of how we ended up in the “too much stuff and not enough uhaul” situation.

When I told him he needs to find the brackets for the kids’ shelves, so I can bolt them to the walls, he whispered, “but you didn’t fill out the paperwork to drill holes in the walls yet.” We’re paying ____ a month for a shoebox! I don’t give a shit about their stupid paperwork! “Actually Sammi, it’s [more].”

You aren’t helping!!!!!!

Justin also informed me that there is a spouse briefing at the exact same time as the open house for the middle school, which seems like terrible planning on this stupid, stupid school’s part (it might not be stupid. I might just be feeling angsty still). So guess who won’t be going to the spouse brief. This is how I get a reputation for being “standoffish.” I guess today won’t be the day I learn how to properly curtsy to officer wives, or pour tea and serve crumpets. Or whatever they expect me to do. Guess what—I’m not in the army, ya bunch of crusty butts.

:::Deep breath:::

So, this morning I am quietly sitting in my “living room” that barely fits my couch, drinking my coffee and listening to the traffic noises from the highway outside our “house.” I’m once again trying to channel Bob Marley, convincing myself that “every little thing, is gonna be alright.” And maybe we’re done finding broken items. And maybe all we have to do at this point is figure out how to get everything to fit.

Things Gone Wrong: Let Me Count the Ways…

Ok, so the drive here wasn’t the best. But surely things can only get better, right??

Wrong.

1am Sunday night, Justin texts me from his hotel room: housing needs shot records, rabies certificates, photos, and also they need to be registered—where exactly, nobody knows. Monday morning I was calling the vet asking for everything we needed, and thankfully our Georgia vet was amazing. Justin said “tasteful photos, please.” So…like…

Next: The Unpacking of the Truck. All was well until I said, “let’s put the gym rack in the middle of the garage for now.” Then we pulled out the 5’ tall paper cupboard. I then stepped backward, tripped over the rack, fell on my whole ass, and the paper cupboard landed on top of me…

…is what Justin wants you to think happened. I’m pretty sure he used some kind of mind powers to move the rack into my way, and then he threw the cabinet on top of me.

But also, as I lay there, laughing and dying, he did quickly pull the cabinet off me. While I whined, “no please. Just put it back and let me die here.” He wouldn’t—probably because he still needed my help getting the last few items out of the truck. I have bruises galore to prove that moving is not for the faint of heart.

We’re in lower enlisted housing, which is not the end of the world, apart from the fact that we pay a lot more “rent” than our neighbors, and we’re a good 10-20 years older than everyone living here. But, it’s all they had available, and it’s only a year. The house has lots of storage space, but we could do with a bit more living space. Again, it is what it is, and it’s only a year.

We went from a 3/4 acre back yard, to this. The dogs looked at me like it was obviously some kind of joke.

From there, we returned the truck, which seemed like a way bigger event than it needed to be.

Quick trip to grab items we needed, like trash cans, towels, soap—items that got tossed in The Purge.

Monday afternoon we went to the Commissary. It was meant to be a quick trip, for “just the essentials.” $300 and 60 varieties of beverages later, we determined that it is not smart to shop thirsty and sleep-drunk.

Tuesday we ran to the post office to pick up our mail key. The postman informed us that the previous tenants didn’t return the mail keys, so we would have to wait 7-10 business days for them to come out and re-key the box. Let’s go ahead and add it to the “things going well” list.

I figured out where to register the dogs, and that was relatively painless. Although, while waiting I listened to a Baby Soldier tell and Old Crusty Soldier that he and his wife keep their dogs locked up outside all day. OCS: “you realize we are in Texas and it is way to hot for that.” BS: “nah, they love it. Even my husky! Besides, we have great AC, so they can cook off when they come in.” FYI: it’s gotten up over 110° nearly every day we’ve been here.

We went to multiple stores, in search of bar stools, since we have no furniture until the 26th and have been using a mattress as a bed/couch/lounge area. No luck finding stools, so we decided to go to Walmart to pick up a sunshade for my van (because, over 110°), and possibly stools?

We settled on folding chairs and a table, and went to grab a sunshade……and the power went out. We were now in the back corner of a very dark and terrifying Walmart.

Honestly, there comes a point where you just start laughing at all of this. How in the world can this much keep going wrong? This is some kind of joke, correct??

Wednesday we looked up the address for the on-post laundromat, since we hadn’t done laundry in over a week. After driving around for 30 minutes, We found the correct building, only to find it was abandoned. I called the housing office to ask for the correct location: “oh, there hasn’t been a laundromat on post in years.” Then why is it listed in the directory!?!?

Thursday, Justin said, “how long is it supposed to take for the freezer to make ice?” I told him maybe we were using it faster than it was being made, but I did point out that the cabinet next to the fridge was extremely water damaged. By yesterday morning it was obvious that the ice maker was sounding like it was filling, but no ice was being made. Maintenance was called, and thankfully showed up within a few hours. The hose had come undone, the pipe had frozen, and now all should be well in the world.

Perhaps things are turning around, but honestly, Justin and I are very much laughing at how comical everything has become. Every time something goes sideways, Justin says, “do we put this on the list??”

Absolutely.

So far, this move easily ranks number one on the Worst Moves Ever list. If it continues like this, I can only assume the movers will arrive Tuesday with a truck full of broken everything.

BUT…I’m staying positive. It’s fine. We’re fine. It’s only a year. And it’s adding a whole new level of comedy to our lives. And, there was a lizard in our yard Wednesday. So maybe my Alabama Amphibians sent word that I’m cool.

Gather round, so he can tell you all about how awesome I am…in the amphibian community.

Moving Right Along

I don’t like moving. I know there are some military spouses that get “the itch,” but the only itch I have are my red ant bites.

Let the record show that I am not usually around for the move-out portion of any relocation. I typically pack up and run away. But no matter how many times I said, “Justin! I have grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle that requires I not participate in this,” he has only rolled his eyes and told me I’m spoiled.

It’s true. I won’t deny it.

Yesterday, after a thoroughly restless night of making and checking off lists in my head, I took my van in for an oil change. After signing the paperwork, I grabbed my keys and the dealership’s copies and headed out. “Ma’am. Those are my copies.” Of course they are—why would you make me sign papers meant for me.

From there, I headed to my next stop on my whirlwind tour of errands: the UPS store. I parked and looked at the store front, thinking, “why would the UPS store have tv moving boxes? Why did Justin want me to stop here??”

Oh yeah, just kidding—I was supposed to go to the UHaul store. So, off I went, to my actual stop on my tour.

While purchasing the magical tv box of transportation, I got a text from Justin, about an issue with our truck reservation. I paid for my box, thanked the lady, and walked out….all the way across a giant parking lot to my van…where I realized—I didn’t actually take the box. I turned around and the tiny cashier was chasing after me with the massive tv box. I have Moving Mush Brain.

Also, I’m beginning to wonder how Justin always does this by himself. I’m supposed to be the one with anxiety who freaks out about these things, but this man is in full panic mode.

Also also, I miss Bruce. So no less than 10 times a day I ask, “we made the right decision, didn’t we?” “Yes Sammi. He couldn’t breathe. You know that.” I do. But he’s been my travel companion on these adventures since just before I turned 24. He’s always been my copilot, and now the front seat will be empty (because I still won’t let my kids sit in the front seat, and Rufus & Emma are way too squirrelly to be up front. I don’t need a 75lb dog trying to sit in my lap while I drive).

See how well Rufus fits in my lap? I could totally drive like this…….

This is the point in moving where I just want to be driving to my next location. Let’s get this party started! 20 hours to El Paso, baby….except….we still have 3 more days of “prep.” I’m accustomed to a certain lifestyle! One that requires I not deal with any of this.

See?? Spoiled.

You Should See Me in a Crown

It’s been an eventful birth week. I saved two turtles, got my first crown, and Shea received her first covid vaccine! She was not as excited as I was, so I tried to sell it with perks: “According to some crazy on the people on the internet, you could become magnetic!”
“Mom, no.”
“Or become your very own wifi hotspot!”
“Mom. Stop. That’s not a thing.”
Xander then chimed in, “I can’t wait to get it! I really want magnetic blood!” Fingers crossed!

He was as long as my forearm!

Saturday, as we were driving to pick blackberries, I spotted a giant turtle in the road. “Oh no! There was a turtle! And you didn’t stop!” Justin offered to turn around, but I lamented that he was most likely dead, since 3 vehicles passed us. Justin turned around anyway, and it’s a good thing that he did, because I got to save him! Or her. I don’t know how you tell with turtles. The photo really doesn’t do it justice, but Justin was frantically beeping at me because “cars are coming, and I’m just parked in the road while you take pictures of some random turtle!”

My second turtle rescue happened without photo evidence. A little guy that fit in the palm of my hand was in the road during my dog walk yesterday. I was actually having an “aww, poor dead frog” moment when I realized there was a live turtle that definitely needed my assistance! Of course then my family ruined it when then told me I didn’t really save him, since I put him in the ditch closest to where he was. I was supposed to relocate him based on where he was headed. “I was going to bring him home to show everyone, and relocate him to Isbel, but I didn’t want to take him away from his friends and family.” Justin responded with, “I don’t think turtles work like that.” Sure, that’s what you think, until you relocate a baby 2 miles from his home and announce like the dentist in Nemo, “and I saved him!”

Back to Monday night. I picked up Korean food for dinner, which should’ve been a straightforward task. I just had to walk in and pick it up. But then the woman at the counter asked for my last 4. “Umm….” Panic “the last 4 of my phone number??” I received an eye roll and a yes, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember my phone number! In that moment, I stared at her like a deer in headlights, with Justin’s social, then my social, running through my head. “Wait—I know this. 706-…wait…882…wait…” it was an awkward 2 minutes as I ran through my brain’s Rolodex of every phone number that has ever been mine, or anyone related to me. I was even going to look up my phone number in my phone, but I couldn’t remember how to do that either! Do I call Justin and ask him to tell me?! This is painful. “OH! Wait! It’s…” and I remembered. She was not as impressed with my memory as I was. Please, laugh off this awkwardness. Nope, not even a grin. I also noticed a We’re Hiring sign, and while I would love to work at a Korean restaurant (can I just make kimchi? Teach me how to make everything), I decided that now probably wouldn’t be the best time to ask about it. “How would you like to hire the girl who can’t remember her own phone number!?” Also, I’m not looking to make that mistake again.

Tuesday was Crown Day. I broke a tooth on a peanut butter cup blizzard. Which seems strange, because I don’t know how one breaks a tooth on ice cream. But here we are. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the fact that I grind my teeth and am not always good about wearing my night guard. So, once I was good and numb, the dentist said, “we’re going to try and cram this entire massive contraption into your mouth.” I wished them the best of luck, and tried to open wider and wider and wider. “This isn’t working. I don’t think we can get it in.” That’s fine, because I don’t think I could breathe with a 3-in-1 bite block/tongue guard/suction contraption in there!

When I told Justin this part he said, “what the heck!? They didn’t care that it didn’t fit in my mouth! They just went ahead and crammed it in there anyway!” 
“Didn’t you feel like you were choking/dying?!” 
“YES!!!” And THAT is why you avoid military dentists at all cost (apologies to any military dentists out there, but Justin only ever has horror stories).

While I was waiting for my crown to bake, they temporarily moved me to the waiting room (an x-Ray machine repairman was there to fix the machine in the room I happened to be in, and it was beeping angrily–the machine, not the repairman. I didn’t hear him make any noises). I decided this would be the ideal time to apply chapstick….except that I couldn’t feel half of my face. And there was another human in the waiting room. “Act cool, you can do this,” I told myself, as I attempted to apply chapstick to my mouth when I wasn’t even sure I could locate it. He was most likely watching and thinking, “why is that woman putting chapstick on her chin??”

I was also reading Jenny Lawson’s book while I waited, and I was on the chapter full of awkward things people have done in public, so I was laughing to myself, which I was trying to stop, so it turned into me smiling like Jack Nicholson’s Joker, while crying. Stop it, eyes! Act normal!

By the end of the morning I was the proud owner of one Unbreakable Princess Birthday Crown—or whatever. Who’s no longer going to cut her tongue because she can’t leave her chipped broken tooth alone? This girl! But really, it’s just one more item in my mouth to worry about. I have had zero teeth emergencies in my life, and while I did chip the corner off a tooth that then required a crown, it was destined to happen eventually. That doesn’t stop me from constantly worrying that I will break a front tooth, knock out a filling, or who knows what. Laugh so hard my permanently cemented crown comes flying out and hits someone in the face? It probably can’t happen, but maybe it could. I don’t know. Weirder things have happened.

With a Little Help from a Stranger

I’ve started running again—or at least, I have started working toward running again. My calves and my tibialis anterior are swollen and angry. I’m almost definitely doing everything wrong.

Sunday night I asked Justin a most serious question: “the whole time you’re running, is your brain just telling you to stop? Like, how do you stop your brain from trying to convince you to stop running??”

“What?? None of that is happening. I’m just thinking 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3. The entire time.”

“That’s it?! Oh my gosh, at about :30 in, all I’m thinking is, ‘that’s enough. You can stop now. This wasn’t a smart idea to begin with. You gave it your all. How long has it been? :45?! There’s no way I can keep doing this.’ And on and on, until I eventually give in and stop.”

Another day, another run. I already wasn’t feeling it, but I know me: if I skip one day, that’ll be the end of this…again.

It started just like any other run: 2 minutes of walking, and then away I go. As usual, nothing was really going on. There was a woman walking her dog, and a little grandma walking to the end of the street…with mail??

Suddenly, I was being flagged down. “Excuse me! Can you help me??” This little Italian grandma, in a raccoon sweater was standing in the road, with papers and an iPhone. “Can you help me make a phone call? My daughter left me directions, but I do not know how to make this work. And my real phone isn’t working, so my daughter told me I have to call this number, but it won’t let me make a phone call.”

Psh. Between my two moms, I am a professional when it comes to assisting with what some might consider easy. Making an actual phone call might be the easiest task I have ever been asked to assist with.

“She said type this number in. And then look!? I can’t make a phone call! There’s no keypad! Where do I type in the numbers.”

Easy grandma, one step at a time. I point to the phone icon, and explain she has to click this. “Oh! Ok, now this is the number. I cannot really read it.” As I was about to type the number in, I realized she had obviously made it to this step at least 3 times. The long line of numbers across the phone was proof of that. I deleted, deleted, deleted, until I got down to one phone number.

“Ok. That’s the number—now you just press this button.” I point to it, and let her complete the final step (it’s like with kids—you want them to leave feeling like they accomplished big things). We hit a brick wall.

“See?! It will not let me call! It just says this!” I honestly don’t know what she did, but she lost her button pressing privileges. I backtracked and hit the button, and you would’ve thought Bob Barker just announced that she was the next contestant on The Price is Right!

I continued on my run, having only made it one minute into the damn thing when I got flagged down. For the rest of my run, my brain switched between, “oh my god this is terrible,” and “what the hell was that little old lady going to do if I didn’t run by?? Do you think she was going to flag down a car? Do you think she was going to cross the street and start ringing doorbells until someone answered and helped her with the most impossible task of using an iPhone to make a phone call?!”

On my way back, she was no longer standing at the road, so I’m guessing she managed to contact the phone company.

Word of advice to any children/grandchildren: if you need to assist someone with using a smart phone for the first time in their entire life, do not just write directions on a piece of paper and think they’ll be able to follow along. No matter how large you write the words, and no matter how simple the task is for you, this will most likely be the most difficult task they have to complete all day. Remember: this is the generation that left their VCRs blinking 12:00, because no one could figure out how to set them. They deserve patience and understanding.

I’m adding “patiently assists seniors with iPhone issues” to the skills section of my résumé.