“Think of something happy,” I  said.

“Huh?” Dad replied. He couldn’t have been more surprised if I’d advised dancing around the barracks in a tutu. Minutes earlier, I’d bitten his head off when his whine fest interfered with my pity party.

“Think of something happy,” I said again. “Think of something you want to do when we get there. Maybe it’s something with the guys. Or maybe having your friends over for a cookout. Just think of something to remind yourself that this isn’t going to last forever.”

It’s funny, but the closer we get to the end of the current chaos, the more it feels like it is going to last forever.

We’re so close we can see our new home – literally. Dad sent the guys cell-phone pictures yesterday of the duplex, along with images of the pool with the giant red polka dotted mushroom that sprays water.

It helped the guys tremendously to be able to see where we’re going, because right now all they can see is confusion.

It’s not been a good summer. I can’t remember one as bad since I was 17 and in a hospital for three and a half weeks with a broken leg. But that didn’t happen until August – at least I had a few good months.

Not so this time. Fun in essence ended July 4th, when Big Guy broke his wrist. A few hours later, I was hospitalized with a collapsed lung. The next day, a round of puky stomach flu started rampaging through the house. It’s not exactly how Dad planned to spend the second half of his two-week leave.

Dad’s now reported to his new post, where he’s just finished wading through a pile of paperwork high enough to vex anyone. For Dad, who has little patience with such things anyway, the frustration level is Sears Tower high. Particularly since he’ll have to do much of it over again when we join him in a few weeks.

For me, rushing through a round of doctor’s visits, organizing paperwork for Big Guy’s new school – his food allergies make this more complicated than a normal transfer – and dejunking the house have meant constant vertigo.

The guys are frustrated because there’s been little time in the middle of all of this to do the things we normally do. Trips to the park. Playing in the pool – not that Big Guy could do that anyway with his cast.

Dinner has devolved to “I guess I should fix something.” Or fast food, as too many Happy Meal toys littering the house will attest to.

“Quality time” with the guys consists of sorting through household goods in the garage during the wee hours – for some odd reason, they actually like this. It probably has to do with getting to stay up late.

The happiest moment in recent weeks came Saturday, just before the Build-A-Bear frenzy as Dad and I stood in Sears and daydreamed. We looked at the grills and patio furniture on sale and imagined them at our new home.

“I want one of those fountains, too,” Dad said. “It’ll be an escape from the desert.”

That flight of fancy made it easier to make it through the rough part of the weekend, when Big Guy wept as Dad got ready to leave.

Yes, Dad, think of something happy. And we will, too. We’ll get there again.

Someday soon.

Copyright 2009 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.

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