These roots, they go deep

Anyone that knows me, knows that I can be funny about change. If it's something sudden, I tend to throw myself into things without a second thought. (for example, me and the hubby eloping) But when I have time to think about things before hand, I have a much harder time with it.

Today was the kids' last day of school. When I first woke up today, I thought "Thank goodness, I can sleep in tomorrow!" I have been ready for them to be done for over a week now. But once I actually got to the school, I started to feel differently. Lindsay had a little thing in her pre-k class, (which will get its own post later) and as I sat through it, I started feeling sad. I was actually feeling reluctant for it to end. We left that, and went to wait for Ryan to get out of his class, and then we started saying our goodbyes. Goodbyes to teachers like Ryan's pre-k teacher, who we talk to often, and always has a hug for Ryan, even though he was her student four years ago. Goodbyes to the crossing guard, who has been the same one almost the entire time we've walked to and from that school, and knows all the kids' names, and always has something funny to say. And goodbyes to that walk home itself, knowing it is a walk we won't take again. And it was hard. I put on a brave face for the kids though, as they were excited about it being the last day.

I am starting to realize that moving isn't going to be all that it is cracked up to be. With all the deployments and everything, I have spent my time here not being able to wait to leave. When we found out that we really were getting to leave, I was ecstatic. Excited to move to a place where the hubby will actually get to be around for his kids for more than a year at a time. The excitement is starting to fade a bit though, as some reality sets in.

I have lived in Texas almost my whole life. With the exception of a few friends sprinkled here and there throughout the country, everyone and everything I know is here. As much as I have told myself I have hated living here at Fort Hood, here is where two of my kids were born. I complain about how crappy the house we live in is, yet this is also the house Logan and Hannah took their first steps in. When I moved in, Ryan was 3, Lindsay was 1, and I was pregnant with Logan. My mom was actually still alive, and was the one who helped me move in since the hubby was deployed. It will be hard to leave.

I know we can't stay. Staying would mean the hubby would deploy again in January, and I know the pain from that would be much worse. But I think that doesn't mean that my eyes will be dry when we drive away from here.