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.
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.
Wednesday morning—yeah, Veteran’s Day—Justin checked his email on his work phone. “Well, I guess they didn’t accept my request to stay here. I just got an email that I need to rank my options for our next duty station.”
Another “choose your own adventure?!” But I thought this was the final adventure!?
I spent the past 48 hours going through the stages of grief: Denial and anger were obvious, and expected. The bargaining stage was…unexpected.
“Justin? What if you have a profile? They can’t PCS you if you’re injured, right?? So…who do you know that could sham a profile long enough for us to stay here until you can drop your retirement packet??”
This is when I get the you’re being ridiculous look. “Sammi. I can’t do that.”
“Ok, but what if I break your kneecaps?? Or maybe one…what injury could you stumble upon that would be enough to keep us here, but not bad enough to cause permanent damage…what about that shoulder of yours? What about that hamstring tear—is that something we could reenact??”
Desperate times call for desperate measures, and while it really isn’t that desperate, I’m being a big whiny baby. I don’t want to move. I feel like we just got here. Can’t we shout COVID and just stay here long enough to retire from here?
Of course not.
An army wife friend of mine shared this last week. And I almost spit my coffee everywhere.
This morning, Justin texted me to notify me that he had ranked his job options from 1 to 50. The top two would keep us here (yey). Then there are some university gigs: Alabama, Montana, Pennsylvania. This chapter of the adventure book is somewhat new, since Justin usually gets three options to choose from. Ranking 50 jobs and then holding your breath while duty stations fight over you? This is new. Or do you rank your jobs and then battle the other soldiers who chose that same duty station. Is this when Justin can put his combatives skills to the test? Is this like a Pokémon battle, Army duty station style? Fort Carson! I choose YOU (just kidding—everyone wants Fort Carson)!
As every soldier or spouse knows, nothing is set in stone until orders are in hand and the movers are at your door.
In the meantime, Justin and I will be looking at houses in Tuscaloosa…for funsies.
And now we come to stage 5: acceptance. I might not love the idea of moving again, but if it has to happen, might as well suck it up and embrace it…eventually…around March…when we actually find out if and where we’re going.
Emphasis on the If, since we definitely did the unthinkable when we spent six years at Fort Knox.
Last month, my sister Alissa texted in our “Sistas” group chat, “What are you doing June 4th??” Well, let me think…….Staying at home, like the rest of the world. Like we’ve been doing? Pre and Post Coronapocalypse, my schedule is always pretty open. “Mark your calendar for a sisters night!!! We’ll FaceTime and celebrate your birthday!”
Sure, ok. I can take time out of my busy schedule of reclusing to FaceTime.
Of course then later that afternoon, Alissa tagged me in an instagram post, promoting a Live Instagram Party on June 4th! I’ve been duped!!!!!!
Being the rather un-savvy human that I am, I saw “Live Instagram Party,” and I pictured “100 random people, mostly from CNY, meeting up in mud masks, for the world to see!”
So then the text: Oh Alissa no!!!!! Dirty trick! Social distancing party with random ass strangers?!?!
She talked me down, and promised: “You’re alone in your house watching an Instagram Live as she sits in her house doing a facial. You’re watching someone doe the facial and tell you the steps and she’s also hilarious and plays music.”
Honestly, Alissa, I love you, I do. But had I known the details, I would have RSVPed NO.
But, I was suckered into girl time, and with my sisters both over 1,100 miles away, it isn’t like we spend a lot (or any) time together. I can suck it up and deal with whatever painful experience this is about to be.
Alissa, whatever happens next, don’t get offended.
This socially distanced girls’ night was still weeks away. In the interim, Justin and I decided to take on the overwhelming project of pulling up our upstairs carpet and installing vinyl plank flooring (this project hasn’t started yet, so be on the lookout for either an SOS or questions on how to dispose of a body–from either Justin or me. Things will most likely get intense). When we received our shipment notification, well, wouldn’t you know, it was being delivered June 4th! This could potentially be my justified out–the last time we received a freight shipment, it came at 8pm, so, a girl can dream.
Of course, that wasn’t the case, and it was dropped off at 1:30. Which not only gave me plenty of time to make it to my socially-distanced nightmare, but also left me alone to carry 1600lbs of flooring into the house. One. Box. At a time.
I need to back up. Yesterday was crazy (in terms of Sam’s Usual Schedule). Honestly, this entire week has been wild–I’ve left the house more times this week than there are days in the week. Don’t judge me, that’s a big deal. Morning vet trip with Bruce. Home to wait for flooring. Forty-five minutes carrying in a million boxes (ok, there were a lot of texting breaks). Make dinner so we can eat before gymnastics. Gymnastics. And then home again, in time to cut watermelon, take a shower (because, the boxes. And the heat. And the sweat. And I’m gross), and wait…
I should probably jump in and explain at this moment just how very different my sisters and I are. They’re……pretty girlie. I will admit that Alissa has toned it down in the last 5 years (I’m being honest Alissa. Having kids has changed you, for the better…don’t hate me). I will not ever be the mani/pedi girl. I cut my own hair. I’m not low maintenance–I’m no maintenance. That’s….probably not true. I did shave my legs last week, so some maintenance went into all of this (me–all of me).
Alissa sent me a list of items I would need, since my facial kit didn’t arrive in the mail on time. Bowl of hot water? Towel? Cleanser, exfoliated, steamer (my rice steamer was still on the counter from dinner, but I don’t think that’s what they had in mind), mask (like, “I wear a mask to protect you; you wear a mask to protect me?” Is 1,100 miles not enough distance, socially speaking?), toner (now I’m thinking Jane Fonda workout videos from the 80s). Step 6 says “treat,” and Justin didn’t bring me any candy, so I guess this party just got ruined.
I jump on this FaceTime call with my sisters, and away we go?? I don’t know. “Sign into Instagram and start her video!” Ok, but swear to me that I hit this button and random people aren’t going to see me? “OMG No. Just do it.”
The video didn’t work. I cried the tears of a thousand heartbreaks. “Sam! Get your cleanser!” “I’m not doing that.”
Is it just me? Am I the only one who thinks it’s weird to wash your face for fun, in front of…anyone? This isn’t a Neutrogena commercial, and I’m not washing my face out of a bowl, in front of my computer. Weird.
I understand the sentiment, I do. And Alissa, your heart is always in the right place. But an ice cream eating party is a little more in my wheelhouse. Ben? Jerry? You’re both invited, but only if you bring the flavors.
Meanwhile, of course, Alissa and Erica are really getting into this. And I’m really trying not to laugh myself into a crying fit. “Sam! Where’s your cleanser!?” It’s here–see me, pretending to be doing anything other than laugh.
I hear through my phone, from their viewing of the Instagram Live (that never loaded on my end), “get your steamers out, girls!” JUSTIN!!!! Where’s your uniform steamer?? I’m going to need that…for my face.
We’re already up to enzymes. Let me pause for a moment and say that there are two reasons I don’t eat yogurt. 1. The consistency. 2. It’s Alive!!! So now, Alissa informs us that the enzyme step burns. Is it because microorganisms are, perhaps, eating your face?!?!
“Sam! Get your mask.” “No.”
Sometimes (sometimes) I throw a face mask on while Justin and I watch tv at night. Never (ever) do I sit in front of my computer and talk to people with a face mask on. Because……I guess I’m not fun. Also, the number of times my skin has reacted to one mask or another, leaving me looking Hot Tamale Red–sisters or no sisters, I don’t really want to talk to anyone when my face is burning.
At the end of it all, I got to catch up with my sisters, who I rarely speak to (not for any reason other than I’m here, and they’re there, and, I’m more a texter than a talker). We talked longer last night than we probably have in years, so, thanks Liss….even if I didn’t mask up!
The problem with Stay-at-Home orders across the country isn’t that I can’t get my hair done, or can’t do any of the other things I never did anyway. The problem with the Stay-at-Home order, is that everyone else is home to see me be…well, me.
Yesterday I was mowing my front yard. It seems like a relatively straight-forward task. Until–HOP!!! A giant tree frog hopped away from my mower. Instantly I stopped, and spent the next 2 minutes chasing it across my yard. While talking to it. “Stop. Jumping! Let me catch you so I can save you!”
Is this the first time I’ve stopped mowing to save an amphibian? Of course it isn’t! Last week I temporarily relocated 2 toads and a salamander. It happens pretty much every time I mow. I am not about to commit Amphibicide.
The only difference now, as compared to 6 weeks ago–my neighbors are all home to see me running around my yard, harassing Kermit’s family members. And also, rather than finding new amphibifriends (kissing them to make sure they aren’t under a witch’s spell), and setting them free, now I’m running to my house screaming, “Shea! Xander! Look what I found!!!” Like the adult that I am.
Ok, I don’t kiss frogs–or any other amphibians. But I do get overly excited when I realize last season’s tenants have moved back in to the usual tree frog locations. underneath a small overhang above the back door. In a nook in the shed. And now my random amphibian trio living underneath a splash block.
Georgia is getting ready to ease up on their stay at home order; Alabama isn’t making any changes yet. Honestly, I want everyone to stay safe and avoid this horrible virus. Maybe I can just get sign for my front yard: Caution–This Homeowner Rescues Frogs.
What would the Lorax version for Amphibians be? That would be me.
I’m just going to keep saving my frogs, and relocating them to the back yard…where I can talk to them without the random neighbor seeing me!
