Did I know what I was getting myself into when I became Navy wife? Yes. Does that make it any easier? No. Do I have any right to complain? Absolutely not. Like I said, I knew full well what I was getting myself into. But moving my young family for the first time is not an easy thing. And transferring is a hell of a lot easier when you hate where you're stationed and can't wait to leave. I felt that way last time. I don't feel that way this time. I push the stroller around Kailua on a breezy day, or play with the kids in the water at the Hickam sandbar and look around at the scenery, and I think - anyone who wants to leave here is out of their f***ing mind.
And when we get to Japan? Deployments. Short, but frequent. Which, I am told, is the way it's going at most of the duty stations DH could possibly be assigned to. But there's a kind of intangible difference between 3 weeks on the road and 3 weeks on a ship. Nightly phone calls, for one thing. Am I complaining? No. Can I handle it? Abso-f***ing-lutely. Am I looking forward to it? No.
I can spout off phrases and quotes that fit my situation 'til the cows come home: "God has bigger plans for you than anything you could come up with for yourself." (Does anyone have the exact wording of that one? I think it's Oprah but I can't find it anywhere.) "Let go and let God." "You don't fight the wave - you can't fight these big waves, Co!" Etc. Etc. Etc. But having a store of wise words filed away in your head doesn't make you wise. Being able to say the words doesn't mean that you know how to live them. I've mentioned before that I believe that military life is the single biggest test of your ability to live your yoga off the mat. I guess it's time for me to put up or shut up.
62 days = 2 months. 2 months from right now, I'll be waiting in line at security at Honolulu International Airport, popping a homeopathic jet-lag-relief pill, double checking that we all have our Government No-Fee Passports, and trying to keep Jack from running away from me when I fold up the double stroller to put it through the X-ray machine. And then stepping onto a plane, stepping into the unknown, and trying my damndest to be a pillar of strength for my children, who will be leaving the only home they've ever known.
I just hope that Jack isn't "that baby" who cries, screams, and kicks the seat in front of him for 8.5 hours. Because there's only so much that one human being can endure all at once!
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