I’m none too fond of laptops and cramped keyboards, but my husband graciously left his with me, in Ohio, while he makes his way to Virginia to take possession of our new home and hopefully gets our furniture and other stuff delivered.
How was the pack out?
We have a lot of stuff. I don’t like that, but I keep reminding myself that we have a lot of people in our family too. And homeschooling takes up plenty of room, too, between the library, the manipulatives, the supplies, and the games and puzzles that I feel we should have since I have six kids at home 24/7.
But all the stuff made it on to the truck, save for that dinner fork (yes, one of ours) which I packed with my clothes. I had hoped for delivery of our stuff no later than this Wednesday, but that just might not happen. I’m praying for a miracle, and I refuse to worry about what will happen if that just doesn’t work out.
How was the drive to Ohio?
Well. Um. I’m pretty sure I could have (should have) been cheerier. We had vomit, and the barf bag didn’t make it all the way from the front of the van to the back of the van in time. We had many many many many potty breaks. We had a car with a burning oil smell, cause still unknown. We had an unhappy baby. We had a child unable to sleep, but desperately wanting to do so, and demanding a bed in a shrieking sort of way at midnight (which was actually 1 am, since we had crossed into Indiana by that time) causing a (finally) sleeping infant to awaken and add to the din followed by the awakening of a toddler who was also unhappy about being awake.
After some sleep, the drive into Ohio was better.
Visiting friends was wonderful. Living in suburbia, I forget just how quiet a farm is. A bustling city is fun, the suburbs are convenient, but when I spend a few hours on a farm, I can remember how to relax, how to slow down, how to breathe. I think, when this army life is over, I will live on a farm.
And now, finally, visiting with family is the best. The kids are still a bit out of sorts due to the trauma of a move, less sleep than usual, adjusting to a different time zone, more junk food than normal, no real routine, and living out of suitcases. Petey keeps asking to go home. The kids keep saying, very sweetly, “We don’t have a home, Peter,” which gives him fits, and I had to tell them to quit it. We’ll have a home soon.
Bill keeps saying, “Life is a journey, not a destination.” This is certainly true right now.