J. cleared CIF. I mean, he turned in all of his equipment and managed to not get charged $3 million and four dollars. It's funny: I'll kinda miss using acronyms as a second language. LES, OER, DTY, BAH, CONUS, COLA, FOB (well, okay, don't miss that one). I have to keep reminding myself we've made the best decision for our family at this point in our lives. The other day we were sifting through J.'s papers and reminiscing about all our adventures. He found an identification record he was assigned before going to Iraq this last time. Talk about creepy. A piece of paper with personal identifying information about him that was the only thing Delta Force or Special Ops would have to confirm his identity should they be called in to rescue him from a kidnapping (apparently MITT teams are more susceptible than larger units). There were spaces for them to fingerprint him should he be found dead. That brought me back to reality a little.
The movers come in a little while. People sifting and sorting through all my things. It's so uncomfortable for me. Anyone else get like that? I walk around like an anxious twit just wishing everyone would put the stuff down.
When I get crabby like this I remind myself of all my blessings (this is a grounding exercise for me), so here goes: My husband is alive and well. We have a beautiful, really cool kid. I'm preggo with another cool kid (I'm assuming the baby will be pretty cool, since he or she is ours). J. found a great job. We're moving to warm weather. I have very supportive friends and neighbors who I love and will miss, but feel grateful for having known. God has always taken care of me, and I don't think he's going to quit now. And my husband is alive and well (it's worth repeating).
And you have all been kind and supportive, which is very cool. I wish I had more time right now to email everyone that stops in. Just know I read your comments and love them.