It’s been over two months since we moved from Virginia Beach to San Diego, and we’re still getting settled. Two months seems like a long time, but I’ve come to understand a PCS as more than just a physical change of station; rather it’s an entire season that extends well before and well after the move itself. A season that begins with finding renters and purging your house and endless change-of-address forms and goodbye parties galore. A season that continues in your new home with furniture Tetris and school registrations and finding new doctors and childcare and friends. It’s a hard and slow process, and it’s harder and slower with a toddler.  Which is why I’m only getting around to posting this now.

As any military family will tell you, something will go wrong with your move. It is an inevitability. My favorite PCS mishap was when we moved to England in 2020. We arrived safe and sound in the UK, but our Express shipment did not. An “Express shipment” is a shipment of essential items that are shipped ahead of your main household goods so they will arrive overseas at the same time as you (think linens, cookware, some clothing, school supplies for the kids, etc.) Because this was peak Covid, we would have to quarantine upon arrival. I had very carefully packed items that I knew would get our kids through two weeks of isolation in a basically empty house. Yet our shipment was simply… missing. After many days and many phone calls it was finally located – in a warehouse in Virginia. Where it had been sitting since it had been packed up months ago. “This will be funny someday,” we told ourselves.

Miraculously, nothing major went wrong with our actual shipment this time. The movers did drive off with my youngest daughter’s bed still in the truck – how you miss unpacking a bed, I don’t know – and Damon did have to drive an hour out of town to meet the truck and retrieve the furniture. Other than that, all went smoothly. It was the before and the after the packout that went sideways.

It started with puking. Our family was packing up from a getaway to one of our favorite spots in Virginia when my son, James, threw up. “It’s fine!” I thought. “Heat exhaustion! Think nothing of the throw up!” We loaded up the car and hit the road. Then my oldest, Elisabeth, threw up. “Car sickness! She’s fine!” Then James threw up again. “He does this a lot! He’s a pukey kid! No big deal!” We eventually made it home, everyone seemingly recovered. Good thing, because our friends were hosting us a big neighborhood going-away pool party the next day.

The next morning James and Kate were watching television on the sofa when Kate threw up. Like, a lot. No ignoring it. No blaming heat exhaustion or car sickness. Kate retreated to her room while Damon and I game planned how to attend our own party. Then the thunderstorms started. A minor inconvenience, as my dear friend Kristi offered to move the party to her house, not realizing there would be something like thirty-five children in attendance. That minor inconvenience became not-so-minor for Kristi, but she and her husband, Jason, handled the unexpected house party with aplomb. Damon took the healthy kids to the party while I stayed with Patient Zero (Reader, this is foreshadowing) and we swapped out later.

 

 

And that was it! The thunderstorms and sick kid on our going-away party day had to be the thing that went wrong with the PCS.

But then.

 

Monday night James spent the night as his twin friends’ house. I woke up to a text message around 2AM frantically describing how James was vomiting. Like, a lot. Heather, my friend and unfortunate host of this sleepover, described it as a “puke massacre.” The timing was, once again, not ideal. The following morning Kate had an adenoidectomy and ear tube surgery. Oh, and the first round of movers were arriving. Oh, and we heard from our upcoming Airbnb host that a sewage pipe broke and the home would probably not be available for our stay. It was fine. Everything was fine. We’d regroup. It’s what we do.

 

 

Kate’s surgery went well, and we were home and researching new AirBnbs within a few hours of our middle-of-the-night sick child retrieval mission. I did not realize that I would have to administer pain medications to Kate every three hours for 48 hours, but whatever – it’s not like we were sleeping much anyway. Wednesday morning arrived, and with it the news that the stomach bug had taken out Heather, and with her, two more social events planned for that week. Whoops. Heather, if you’re reading, I’m still so sorry. (But seriously, couldn’t we just enjoy our weepy goodbyes without a Norovirus outbreak? Was Covid PCS 2020 not enough!?)

With our social calendar suddenly cleared, Damon and I hunkered down for packout round 2. (The first was long term storage, the second was our household goods shipping to San Diego.) This involved Damon spending all day that Saturday removing everything from our attic in sweltering heat and humidity. We had an event that night, which Damon had to leave early because he was feeling ill. When I returned home Damon was puking. Like, a lot. “Please only be heat exhaustion. Please only be heat exhaustion. Please only be heat exhaustion,” I prayed, now extremely sleep deprived and on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Our movers were scheduled to be there Monday. We could not survive Norovirus Round 2 right now.

It was only heat exhaustion! I never thought I’d be so relieved for my husband to be crippling ill from severe dehydration. He recovered quickly-ish and we were ready to tackle our last few days in Virginia Beach. Surely after that hellacious week everything would go smoothly moving forward.

Au contraire.

Besides the actual moving out, the big event of our final few days was my eldest’s going-away party with all her school friends. Her going-away pool party. Naturally, the forecast called for thunderstorms. Friends, not just thunderstorms. But possibly a tornado. A tornado had recently ripped through a Virginia Beach neighborhood not long before this, and residents were (understandably!) still a little traumatized. But you do know who would be traumatized if I canceled her going-away party? My 11-year-old daughter.

Being torn away from your friends to move across country on the cusp of middle school stings. This party was the least I could do for her. My husband – who was unable to attend due other move-related responsibilities – assured me that should a tornado descend upon Virginia Beach, the pool clubhouse would actually be a pretty safe place to be. I will admit that the thought of being stuck in a pool clubhouse with 12 preteen girls during a tornado sent me spiraling, but these are the things we do for our kids. Am I right?

 

 

Despite the weather all her friends showed, and we hunkered down in the pool house during a tremendous thunderstorm. But – no tornado. We counted that as a win. The skies cleared and the girls enjoyed a beautiful afternoon with the pool all to themselves.

The next night was our final, more intimate going-away gathering. AND THERE WERE MORE STORMS. At this point the hosts basically said, “Screw it! We’re doing this thing!” and threw up a tent. We got a little wet, but more from tears than rain. (Was that too emo? Sorry.)

We got to Coronado and within the first two weeks there was a once-in-a-lifetime hurricane. Really. And then there was a scare that our water supply was contaminated with E. Coli. And then my preschooler got Pneumonia, because of course she did. I’m beginning to think the mayhem of PCS season is meant to be a distraction. Because while the stomach bugs and storms and even surgery cause a lot of undue stress and sleepless nights, the real burden of PCSing is an emotional one. That heartache at saying goodbye mixed with the apprehension of starting over somewhere new mixed with a little excitement at the unknown and possibility of what’s to come – it’s a lot, man. But you can’t dwell on it while you’re cleaning up vomit or stocking up on bottled water.

 

 

Ultimately, all this madness has a distinct “This will be funny someday” vibe. Except the heartache part, which will probably linger awhile. Now, on the other side of this PCS, we still have a few more boxes to unpack and pictures to hang. But we’ve been busy building our new life. Those boxes can wait a little longer.