Military Moves Suck! -- The Real Truth

Admittedly there had to be a more eloquent, graceful or even more pithy way to say it, but frankly there is nothing remotely graceful about moving. Perhaps if you broke it down into a slow-mo segment for YouTube and set it to some Tchaikovsky? Oh, yes, I can see it now the troupe of hot, sweaty and stinky movers (good thing there’s no smell-o-vision), our bedrails aloft (yes, airborne) down the stairwell and a crescendo when the dresser plummets on the grassy knoll at the bottom of the driveway. Ah, yes, no one wants to see this production.
Alas, we made it to Alabama relatively unscathed, very much in denial that we’re leaving good friends and so much that we love about DC. However, like every other family that moves every 1, 2 or 3 years we arranged, rearranged and re-re-arranged furniture once more. Unfortunately, I can’t picture it until it’s actually in place. (Sorry, Honey!) Now, we trip over all of the items and boxes that we have absolutely no idea where they will call home. All of the random coffee cups, squadron memorabilia, kitchen gadgets that I “had to have” and more “talking” kids toys that you can shake a stick at. The clutter and confusion in this house right now closely mimics what I envision the inside of my head to look like. So, I choose to compartmentalize and take one thing at a time and instead of unpacking, re-re-re-rearranging. (Honey is quite happy about this.) Instead, I procrastinate by writing – or as I’ll term it for now -- therapy. Yes, as I say, go with your strengths. Let’s face it, I would medal in procrastination if it were sport – a virtual trophy case filled to the gills rewarding my avoidance. But, in the end, it’s all about finding the happiness in each day, each move and finding a little treasure in each freaking box. Did I mention they packed our recycling? Good times!