Every four years or so, Mr. MG is up for orders. The navy is kind enough to give us a window of opportunity to choose from what’s available, but it’s a bit like “Let’s Make a Deal.” The new billets come out once a month, and you get three months to make a decision before they choose for you. Do you take what seems to be your best bet this month or pass it up, hoping something better might come along? There’s a little more to it than that, but that’s what it boils down to.

Through a lot of haggling, negotiating, and Mr. MG sacrificing his sanity, we have been in the same town for ten years. Both sets of our folks have moved here. (Which – among other things – means I have never had to hire a sitter.) I have a talented hairdresser, a truly gentle dentist, and an honest mechanic. If you’re not military, you may not realize what an anomaly this is. We are a navy family with roots.

But it is looking like our streak is at an end. For a while it looked like our choices were Southern California, Virginia, or Japan. Tense doesn’t even approach the feeling floating around right about then. My nerves were like piano wire with a 50-pound weight dangling on the end. But now we are finding it will most likely be a closer move – about three hours from where we are now. I am so grateful to still be near family. I am relieved that we don’t have to part with our felines and cut our library in half. And I am happy to remain in my mossy, green, adopted home state of Washington.

But I am still in mourning. I’ve waited for years for my kids to be old enough to go to our church’s truly fantastic youth group. (It’s that awesome.) I hate the loss of having family five minutes from my front door. I am not a people person, so living that far from friends and connections is horrible to think about. And I love this house. I had hoped to live here past paying off the mortgage, until it fell down around my ears.

I know I am being whiny and more than a little ungrateful. Three hours’ distance is a whole lot better than across the country or across an ocean. And it’s not a done deal, yet. Until orders are signed, we could pretty much end up anywhere.

I tell our kids that if this place is so incredible, and yet God sees fit to move us away from it, how amazing will be the next place he puts us. I am trying to believe it as much as I am asking them to.

But that doesn’t mean I have stopped praying that we will stay put.

Last Thursday was the final recital with Mrs. J (the Princess’ teacher for five years, and the Bear’s for two), one that we had been looking forward to for weeks. Months, really, since there wasn’t a Christmas recital this year. (I was also dreading it quite a bit. With my penchant for getting drippy, I was going to wish I has a ski mask in m pocket by the end of the evening.) Both the Bigs had their pieces memorized and ready to go.

Then the Bear and Moo popped up with sizable fevers and it was clear they would have to stay home. What’s more, I was feeling yucky, too. Mr. MG had school that night. Grandma and Grandpa were on vacation. So the Princess went with Grammy and Grandad, and the rest of us missed it. She got the finale slot, her favorite.

(Thanks, Dad, for recording it for me.)

He felt too miserable to care at the time, but a couple of days later it occurred to the Bear that he had missed out. Poor little guy, it just tore him up – no clapping, no rush from the performance, and no cookies and treats afterwards. Having his mama take a video at home just isn’t quite the same, but it will have to do until the next recital in May.

(On a side note: boy, is it time to upgrade to a real video camera. The video mode on our 2003 Kodak Easyshare is really terrible.)

So I missed seeing the Princess play and I didn’t get to give big hugs to Mrs. J, but I also escaped blubbering the entire time. An ill wind, and all that sort of thing.