Anytime you or your spouse come down on orders, it’s a stressful time. Depending on how long you’ve lived where you have, whether you have a degree or working on a degree, maybe even have the job of your dreams, it gets ripped right out from under you in a matter of months. And guess what? It’s that time again. My husband is on orders and has been for a few months now. The best part – it’s the busiest move season for the military known to man.

The losing of your precious memories that were poorly packed away. The breaking of your brand new bed set destroyed in front of your very eyes, the gorgeously pristine baby set fawned out on the new lawn that doesn’t belong to you. The late arrival of the packers, the late arrival of the delivery, to the weeks of back and forth and unreturned phone calls from claims. The brand new physicians, brand new bills, brand new providers. Brand new everything. Sound fancy yet? Because I’ve only just begun.

My husband is on his twilight tour. No more sea, no more long weeks away from family, no more kids asking, “Is daddy coming home today?” Just no more, “Ma’am, unfortunately, we can’t take your money because we don’t have permission from your husband.” Yeah, that was a thing for a while and when I tell you it was incredibly arduous to not lose my good will natured mouth, it was like bashing my moon-sized crater head into a brick wall, chipping away at it oh so very slowly. Bit by bit, phone call by phone call, visit by visit, renewal by renewal.

So my wonderful pectoral partner has been sitting on his orders and move date for quite some time now, well actually, since January, but who’s keeping track. It’s now the beginning of June and he waited way too long to start the whole military comes and packs up our belongings process. So looks like we get to move ourselves and pray for the best, thankfully U-Haul has some pretty gnarly deals and we’re making it work. I mean, it’s only six hours and a lot of Jesus. To top things off, two days ago we found out we’re expecting satan spawn numero tres. I honestly really enjoyed watching him bash his head into the dryer while staring at the very positive pregnancy test. Just to say, “I can be mad at you if I want!.” I smiled and walked away, but now I’m miserable, moody and in pain — already even though this is supposed to be a “happy” moment.

I mean, we’re happy, well I’m happy, he adjusted to the fact there may be another spawn in the house. I’d rather just sleep all day and cry at horrible lifetime movies then experience the insane amount of constant cramping I currently am. But I digress, the reality is, no matter what happens military moves suck. You have to change your physicians, get more referrals for absolutely no reason outside of “Tricare” needing to have them, new base new rules, and best of all — you become the new kid on the block. Where all the wives would rather stare and whisper than introduce themselves.

The canceling of all the bills and explaining to them, no you don’t offer service where we’re moving or else we wouldn’t be canceling, just to be offered a discounted plan to keep us as customers. Apparently, the customer service representative didn’t hear the part that we’re moving and you don’t provide service where we’re moving to. Then having to pre-pay a month in advance because they don’t do monthly contracts, which I’m still trying to understand as I’ve never ever had to pay money up front for a service that hasn’t been provided yet. We have to buy a dining room table and a washer and dryer, which should be an absolutely amazing experience, said no one ever when shopping for large appliances with my husband.

But we have everything together, well for the most part together, and we’re starting to finally accept that not all moves are created equal. That this move, this final location may be the best thing that’s ever happened to our little family. But the reality is, only time will tell. So here’s to fun times, tear filled stuffing boxes fests and massive redirection and distraction with the spawns.