I've always been frustrated by my friends and acquaintances who profess their hatred of this military lifestyle. You know the people - always complaining about everything. First, I don't think it is that bad, and second, (don't throw food) it is a choice that each family makes. Sure, you've heard me complain about waiting for 45 minutes to get a doctor's appointment, or the lines at the commissary are sometimes really long. In general, however, I enjoy this nutty life. I like meeting new people every few years. I like derive some sort of satisfaction from putting on the cape of responsibility when my husband is gone.
And then we move.
Seriously, the physical act of preparing to move is going to be the reason I throw in the towel. I am over it. This will be our third move in three calendar years (no record, for sure) and it isn't getting any easier. I swear, this stuff just brings itself into our house when I'm not looking. On Monday, we got rid of a couch, a refrigerator, and a piano. You can't even tell! There is not one room that I can go, and sit, and not look at piles: this stuff to go to the consignment shop, this stuff to go to the thrift store, ... I've already given in, and hired a handyman and a painter. (I'm no AWTM, that is for sure.) I need to clone myself if there is any chance that this stuff is going to get done. For me, moving is the breaking point.
Upon reflection, other peoples gripes make a little bit more sense. Moving is my breaking point, theirs is something else. There are probably even people who enjoy this pre-move stage. They can have it. I'll be in the corner, going through piles and complaining to anyone who will listen.