Surviving the Move

PUZZLES & CAMO BY SHELLY HUHTANEN

Sometimes we just need a fruit roll up and the hope of all the pieces falling into place. Sometimes being ready is all relative.

Our long PCS list of things to do makes any seasoned Army mom’s stomach churn. Our list consists of updated IEP’s, finding a good pediatrician, working on referrals, and jumping through hoops to meet DOD school requirements. I’m already checking how far the distance is from Broden’s school to the ABA clinic on MapQuest so I can see how much time I will clock in on the road while we are at our new duty station. Call me Army wife, mom, taxi driver, chef, transportation specialist, carpet cleaner, just to name a few. While holding these titles, raising a special needs child, I’m thinking I can put the word “Super” in front of my name as well. Super Mom, Super Wife and Super Taxi Driver sound pretty good right now. Can’t you already tell I’m in PCS mode? Bring it on. I’m ready, I think.

Going through a PCS move with a special needs child puts things into perspective, doesn’t it? This process certainly isn’t for the weak. Do we receive a “get out of jail free” card for each move that would exonerate me from any tantrum, or time, when I need a time out due to not playing nice with others? I need that card desperately for this move and I would have already used it by now when the truck delivered our goods at 2 pm, with no intentions of leaving until after 10:30 at night. As I sit in the car with our boys on the street attempting to appease them, while three men put boxes that belong in the basement two floors up into our bedroom, I contemplate on how many more moves will I be able to endure before losing my mind. I thought if I stood by while Broden screamed at the top of his lungs for an hour it would make the packers move quicker. I obviously was mistaken as I keep reminding myself that I was “ready” for this PCS move, so I thought.

For an Army wife with a child with autism who craves any sort of control over her life that she can muster, getting through a PCS move with limited psychological damage is quite a feat. I equate an upheaval from what we know to a new place full of what we don’t know as a freight train traveling at record speeds; a train that we are not driving. Of course, we aren’t strapped in and we are flapping around out of control, but I am still persistent about trying to control something in my life. I need to take lessons from my son with autism. For the most part, he has had such a nonchalant attitude about this move as long as his immediate needs have been met. If he has a life supply of fruit roll ups, an iPod and iPad that work, and a bed to jump on, he has surprisingly been doing pretty good, minus a few tantrums. Two weeks before we moved out of our home in Texas, I was actually bragging to my husband about how well the carpet had held up in our home on post. I was starting to think that we would be able to move away unscathed with a huge bill for house repairs. Broden quickly put me in my place a few days later when I walked into his room and found a new red stain in his carpet. A sensory toy he had been playing with broke open and red dye had spilled on the carpet. While Mark and I screamed in horror as we scrubbed the carpet, Broden sat down next to us and said, “Fruit roll up.” I thought, “How on earth can you eat a fruit roll up, knowing that your carpet is now dyed red!?”Looking back, he’s the smart one. Obviously, the damage was already done. There was nothing we could do about it but sit back and eat fruit roll ups. If only I could learn to look at life the way he does. Broden was right and everything worked out. We were not charged for the stain and, in the end, we weren’t charged for any damages to the house.

As I look over and see our broken treadmill, just one of the many sacrifices from this move, I remember that years from now these experiences will be stories told around a dinner table, long after my husband has retired. Hopefully after a few beers, these stories will garner up a few chuckles as we reminisce about my husband’s time in the Army. Again, PCS moves are not for the weak, but remind us all that we can’t be in control of every facet of our lives. Sometimes we just need a fruit roll up and the hope of all the pieces falling into place. Sometimes being ready is all relative.•

Sometimes we just need a fruit roll up and the hope of all the pieces falling into place. Sometimes being ready is all relative.

Surviving the Move
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Shelley Huhtanen is an Army wife with two children, one with autism, whose husband is currently stationed at Fort Hood, TX. She is an autism advocate and currently the parent liaison for the Academy for Exceptional Learners.

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