I’m stressed about leaving. Moving away from my comfort zone. From my friends. Everyone here knows that I give you way too much information, know that one of my children will greet you with a hug and, quite likely, a grope, at the door and that another one of them will flip you off (not intentionally, right?) during Sacrament meeting. They know that I flake out a lot because I’m somewhat of a homebody. They know that there are times when I’m too frazzled to make a whole lot of sense, but listen anyways.
But I’ll be back to all of them in a year, right? Nope. Not this jerk:
This is Erin. I call her E. It used to be E-Hos, but I got even more lazy. She’s nuts. She’s the one that came in and exchanged all of my pictures in my house with ones from members of the ward. The one we’re having the table war with (fun fact: they used the table to make a pedestal for her new washer and dryer). We’ve warred over many things. Have you seen the freaky rabbit creature that we keep hiding in each others houses? Yeah.
|Our Cinco-de-Mayo party in my bathroom.|
They’re going to be moving while we’re gone. So this whole thing is stupid permanent. I can’t handle that thought. I hate it with all of my heart. I didn’t want to deal with it, so I tried to keep it pushed to the furthest corner of my mind. With beads. Stupid beads. It didn’t work.
We talk a lot of smack between the families. I shake my fist at Clint any time he’s up on the stand at church. Erin and I have a unique way of saying ‘hello’ to each other. Clint and E aren’t afraid to razz you right until the point of tears (first laughter, but then you go home and realize they weren’t laughing with you...). Which is good. I’ve lost thirty pounds because of her (okay, not because she made fun of my weight. She has lines, I think. But she did actually help me to lose the weight by starting this big bet thing. I lost it, but only by a little). But then they say the nicest things ever. When Clint does it it totally throws me for a loop. I think he’s toying with me. Today they said I have nice legs (then followed it up with, “we just never get to see them because they’re always covered by sweats…”). I love anyone who has the guts to make fun of me. I think it’s hilarious. Makes me feel like home.
But it’s not all pranks and sarcasm. I adore their kids. ADORE them. Each one of them has a crazy unique personality. They’re funny. They’re kind (one of them may or may not be a kleptomaniac) . Like their parents. Our kids match up in age pretty well, and their oldest, even though he’s 11, does a good job of putting up with hanging out with the younger kids. We’ve spent Thanksgivings, Christmas, Fourth of Julys, etc. with them. We’ve been on two vacations to the coast with them. They’re family. (Erin is contractually obligated to sing at my funeral if I go first. She should read the things she signs before she signs them)
It sucks that we are moving for a year, but it sucks worse that they are moving away from here during that year. They’re terrible people for it. I hate our Navy. Another friend bites the freaking dust. I hope they get sent to Georgia like the last traitors we loved so much did.
I’m not sure what I’m going to do without them. Really, truly. At least with everyone else I’m so sad to leave, I know that I’ll see them again when I get back. Ug. I’m depressing, right? Someone buy me some beads so I don’t have to feel sad anymore.