It’s that time of year again.
I’m blowing up the marketplace with items I don’t want to be shipped to the next house. My husband’s garage has turned into a warehouse for outgrown toys, farmhouse pieces that don’t match a desert background, and items we’ve toted from place to place but infrequently or never used. I’m sure this sounds familiar.
The first duty station I shared with my husband was Camp Pendleton, a Marine Corps base that hugs the Southern California coastline. From what I’ve heard, spouses either love it and want an extended stay, or they’d rather be far away from the hustle and bustle that is San Diego County.
Now that we’re mere months from another cross country move, I reflect on my twenty-two-year-old, first duty station self. I see how life has swelled by circumstances, commitments, and responsibilities. Today our days are colored with three children, homeschooling, what’s for dinner conversations, Erik working on his degree, and me working from home very part-time. We’re tired, we’re busy and I thank the Lord for Door County Coffee.
We’ve been to this next duty station before, between 2011 and 2015. But this time we’ve got more wrinkles, achier bodies, and two more children.
With the spare time we have (which isn’t much,) we’re making lists and prepping for the trek back. Over the years we’ve prepped our rental property for new tenants and handed keys back to landlords, but we haven’t yet sold a home. The home needs to be photographer ready, and the task gives me jitters. We have a lot of stuff. Even after selling and giving away a hefty amount of items, it’s still cluttered. If there were ever a time for a fairy godmother, now would be great. I’m having a hard time believing it’s been three years already.
But it’s that time of year again.
Why just yesterday, with a very pregnant belly, I sat and researched elementary schools. With reheated coffee, I eyeballed homes for sale, crossing out homes with first-floor masters, and obsessively refreshed the screen to see if my favorite homes had gone under contract.
This time, we won’t be able to fly out to house hunt in person. I don’t know if we’ll buy sight unseen or search after we arrive. Housing aside, I don’t even want to think of the next school year. We’re pandemic homeschoolers, and I don’t yet have a concrete plan for the next school year. Our middle one will be entering kindergarten, and it seems like such a bigger decision to not send a kid to a school than to pull one out after having attended from K-2. I should also mention my husband will soon have served twenty-three years and though I can say we’re getting closer to something, I still can’t say exactly what.
There’s certainly a lot of unknowns, but that’s really just what this lifestyle is about. And if we look at it the right way, there’s lots of room for us to blossom.
So, comrade, it looks like I have a lot of the usual coming up shortly. The forwarding of the mail, suspending services, and walking around the tower of boxes the movers will be back for later. This street will be hard to beat and easy to miss. This street has been the most incredible community and if I could pocket them, along with the other local friends I hold so dear to my heart, and take them with me I would. Camp Lejeune, I will seriously miss you.
