We are in the midst of PCSing right now to Fort Bragg…which I must say is not just the act of moving from one place to another… Rather, it is the doggie obstacle course of life where jumping through one hoop just leads to another…and another…and another…and occasionally a tube that you are supposed to fit through to get to the other end.

So, before we even leave Pennsylvania, we obviously have loads to do including selling the house, getting our stuff packed up so the packers can pretend they’ve packed it, making sure my daughter’s medical equipment gets picked up and ensuring she has equipment down in North Carolina, and saying so long for now to friends and neighbors. That part seems easy compared to the arrival.

First off, let me say that Virginia needs more rest stops on 95. Need I say more? Having my blind, toeless, toothless cat, our Beta fish, and two kids in the car…someone needed to take a break at least every two hours. Sometimes a gas station doesn’t really do the ‘potty’ trick- especially not for a two year old…

Once we got down here, my online directions my husband dutifully handed me before we left didn’t seem to take into consideration that there is a giant barbed wire fence around any decent sized military installation. SOOOO…after driving around Robin Hood’s barn, trying to find a gate, we finally ended up on post and I desperately searched for our new housing by trying to match up some kind of road to the directions. Of course, the road that matched up was a one way heading in the other direction. This time, I needed to pee and the kids were all too anxious to get out of the car.

After another 20 minutes of driving around, I finally found our house. It was still being worked on and the men were smoking as they came in and out of the house. Fortunately, I knew the air purifier was in the back of the car and that the oxygen for my daughter hadn’t arrived. I must admit, I wish the oxygen had been there. Those guys would have gone up like Fourth of July fireworks and hopefully reconsidered smoking in other people’s houses…but I digress.

In the long run, my point is that there is so much to do when we move and I don’t think we give ourselves enough credit. I only got through the first part of PCSing. I didn’t even cover changing Primary Care Managers, handling the packers on this end, trying to figure out what to do with the inordinate amount of garbage from a move when on-post housing is so strict about putting boxes on the curb, enrolling kids in school, in-processing, etc. We are amazingly resourceful people. If I can laugh about each move, without wearing a straight jacket and having men in white coats carry me away, I feel I am all the more successful about being a military spouse.

Over and out…