Hanging on by a thread

When my husband and I discussed the next step in his military career, the choice was clear. It took time and dedication for him to be chosen for his next command, and I fully support him. But if I didn’t admit that it made me anxious 1,000 times over, I’d be lying.

The reason? Flying our dogs.

Everything else? Normal. I’ve moved around a lot, and I love it. Nora has been on 20+ plane rides and is a champion traveler, and my husband is the easiest traveler of us all (he literally travels with a single backpack). But the thought of coordinating a PCS move to Hawaii with a toddler, two dogs, and ourselves felt daunting. I knew it would be stressful and challenging, and I’m not one to leave things until the last minute.

Well, today was utter chaos.

We were both trying to figure out the best option for our larger dog, who wouldn’t fit in checked baggage. Cargo was our only choice, which meant spending three times more than planned and adjusting our flight schedule since Hawaiian Airlines cargo doesn’t operate on holidays.

It all came to a head about 10 minutes before my husband had to leave for a stretch with no cellphone service for a while. I thought we had everything together—but we were missing one critical piece of the puzzle.

I measured our big dog at least 4 times but I found myself at a pet store, trying to figure out AGAIN which kennel would be appropriate for our dog. Nora was nearing lunchtime and starting to melt down, deciding to snack on dog treats (which I promptly took away—gross).

The missing piece of the puzzle? It was with my husband, who I couldn’t reach. I stood in the parking lot, cried outside my car, said a few choice words I don’t normally say, got back in the car, and cried some more. Then, I did what I needed to do next: feed my hungry toddler, who was snacking but clearly wanted lunch.

After regrouping, I turned to a Facebook group for PCS-ing to Hawaii. There, I found the exact answer I needed. It was like a massive weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I fixed what needed fixing and followed up where I had to.

Now? I feel utterly exhausted. If I could sleep for 12 hours, I would—but I have a toddler, so I’ll gladly take at least eight.

The chaos and stress aren’t over yet—there’s more to come. But with a better grasp of the tasks ahead, I feel a sense of relief.