I’m not entirely sure why I am still awake other than the fact that E is still up and chattering away at midnight and no matter how hard I try, I just can’t let myself go to sleep when I know she could be getting into some sort of crazy mischief even while in her own bed and room. Since midnight is just about ready to roll around, I am guessing that tomorrow we are going to have to skip nap time altogether in an effort to re-synchronize into a normal sleep schedule. The fact that we put her to bed a full two-and-a-half hours ago does not bode well.
Anyway, while I lay in bed waiting for the inevitable to finally happen, I can’t help but feel the anger that has been building up the last few days about our late departure out of here. I’m not sure with whom I am the most angry: whomever didn’t do their job a few months ago or the current regime. It’s probably more a combination of both. Obviously, there is no way to know what class date S would have ended up with had his paperwork been sitting on his branch managers desk a month ago (or more) as originally planned. Or even if the current chain of command hadn’t insisted on him redoing his original request dates, thus delaying the whole thing even further. All I know is the information that I have which is: he had requested earlier dates than the other officer in his unit had, his paperwork got there two days later, and while the other guy got something on his list (and his second out of three choices, at that), S didn’t even get his third choice. He got a class 2 dates later than anything he requested.
I’m probably being stupid for being angry–there’s nothing I or anyone else can really do about it. And being angry doesn’t accomplish anything other than making me want to cry, smash things, or otherwise act like a petulant brat. I could pull the ultimate cop-out and just blame pregnancy hormones, but let’s face it. I would be angry even if I weren’t hopped up on extra estrogen or whatever else is running through my veins (although we know it isn’t adequate, home-grown thyroid hormones, wink wink). I just wish I wasn’t staring down an almost-8-month long wait to get out of here.
I know, I know. Same song. Same annoying tune.
I’m still holding out hope that something else comes up; any reduction in that pregnancy-length wait would be like some sort of cosmic gift, and it will mean that perhaps a lot of the intense cleaning I have been forcing my family to do over the past 10 days won’t be entirely in vein. The past several nights, I have forced S to not only rearrange our great room, but to also pull everything out, clean it, sort through it all, and put it back together. It still doesn’t look as nice as I would like it to, but I blame the horrible floor plan more than I blame the actual cleaning–it’s very, very clean right now (with the exception of the dog area. I might tackle that tomorrow while he’s at work). This evening, we pulled apart the pantry to clean and rearrange. And it looks so, so much better. I already have plans to finish the downstairs only to start on the upstairs, again.
I have a feeling this is what the-person-who-stays-at-home-with-the-kid-all-day is supposed to be doing all along, but let’s face it. That hasn’t been happening.
Anyway, when I started this whole must-clean-all-of-the-things trip, a part of me was getting ready to vacate. Now that vacating isn’t happening any time soon, I am faced with the dread that I will be doing this again come late-March.
No matter how you look at it, S has proven that he is ready to get the hell out of here, as well. He received his RFO (request for orders) yesterday, and has already managed to get the actual orders printed out (the way he explained this to me is: human resources (branch) puts an RFO in his file telling his current duty station to cut the orders. He then has to go request the orders be cut, they look at his file, and then do so). That’s right folks: had the RFO for 24 hours, and already has orders. Sitting. Waiting to be used. In 8 months.
We’re not impatient around here or anything.
P.S. I’m not sure what this giant ramble was about other than to unleash some frustration. I’m not sure that I really accomplished that, but E did finally go to sleep, so I guess it accomplished something, if not the intended goal.
