CONTRIBUTED BY MEREDITH NOVARIO
When I don’t get enough sleep because the stray dogs outside my window are having a turf war or I discover an ancient sippy cup full of something formerly known as milk or blood gushes from the foreheads of offspring or anyone at all, I react. Sometimes I implode. Sometimes I explode. I mix it up. Even I don’t know which way I’m going to go. And for giggles, sometimes I hardly react at all. Sometimes I am plain old calm. And every once in a while I hyper-ventilate. I’m a potpourri.
So do not invite me to your crisis. I will not be useful. I’m more likely to become another crisis than be an ounce of help. Once a friend and I saw (and HEARD!) a man get pinned underneath a truck. My friend immediately ran, got his adrenaline groove on and lifted the truck off of the man. That was the first time I hyper-ventilated. Now it’s one of my signature moves.
(Spoiler: this post will not end in any real hyper-ventilation)
This morning my father called at a totally reasonable hour. Three cheers for Dad! The boys were quiet when he called. He asked about where we were going next and I told him we still didn’t know. And as I spoke those words out loud, at that exact moment in time, I had had enough of not knowing.
TIMBER!
I imploded. Done. Coincidentally the boys were also done being quiet. Something about a book that turned into a weapon that turned into tears and the loss of said book and ended in a thunderous time-out and one slammed door.
My personal implosion + Eli’s melt-down + phone conversation with suddenly silent, decidedly uncomfortable father = an urgent desire to wave a surrender flag at whoever is waging this war and crawl back into bed without the phone or the kids.
Instead I just sat down and checked my e-mail. There was an e-mail from Joe. Rather an e-mail Joe forwarded from his monitor. It went like this:
Your orders will be out next week to Quantico, VA.
As easy as a sentence. We have a destination, friends, and it is a good one for us because it is near family. Particularly close to my cousin, whom I love with cherries on top even though she got to meet and chat with Katie Couric last week. I will let the jealousy slide this time.
We can get a house with more space for running wild. We can shop at Target. We can go to a different grocery store every day of the week if we want. We will be the perfect version of ourselves, of course. Newspapers instead of TV. Oatmeal instead of Corn Pops. It is a good thing overall.
But I am also sad. My throat is tight. It’s high school all over again and you broke up with me and don’t want me to call again. Not even e-mail! My feelings are hurt is all. Tomorrow I might sob at stop lights or have to remind myself to breathe because my toothbrush went down the drain. Not sure.
I know you get it.
Now, how about Quantico? Where should I live?
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All the posts in Meredith’s “Me & My Big PCS” series: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XIX, XX
For posterity’s sake we have left this universally euphoric, terrified, confused, “what am I doing?!” series on Okinawa Hai. However, we have closed comments for future readers. If there is relevant information for all readers to benefit from, we have taken elements from this series and created new posts, which we’ve linked to from the original text. Thank you for joining us on this ride.