Orders

Once Joe got here to South Korea, he learned that he could submit paperwork to extend his tour here. That would mean a bigger paycheck and, if he could get me here with him, it would mean a longer time we were guaranteed to be together. He got me here and then submitted the paperwork. It didn't go through. He tried again, and it didn't work that time, either.

We were waiting to hear news on the fourth submission of the paperwork when we instead got the news of his projected next station: Maryland. Just hours from our families and our hometowns.

Our options were to try to cancel the extension paperwork or to keep waiting for it. The choice was clear. I hated cutting short our adventure in another country, especially when I didn't know when we'd ever be able to have another, but we decided to try for home.

Five days later, today, Joe came home early to tell me he couldn't cancel the extension paperwork. It had already gone through.

In those five days, I'd thought up a list of what we HAD to do before we left Korea, and what we had to see, and thought of when we could fit everything in. Then I'd started to think about having my car again. And sitting on our couch again. Buying a house. Having my own walls to paint. Wondering if we'd ever see another foreign country. In the dark, falling asleep, asking, "We're going home?" to get it cemented, to hear his tone so I'd know if this was good.

Then the news. Now, we have time. Now, we can still explore and experience. Just today, I noticed how close to Russia we are. And China, and Japan, and even India. (Kinda.)

Now, I have months before I get to see the amazing sister I don't talk to enough, or attend a family gathering. Now, we have months before we see our dog or my birds or Passat again. Months before another Wal-Mart or Ruby Tuesday or Lowe's.

Now, instead of choosing the house we want, we'll be renting for at least another year. Forming the walls of all my days, all around me, surrounding me everywhere I look will be wallpaper I didn't choose in an apartment like a hotel.

Now: Permanence. Safety. Stability. Eighteen months? Seventeen? Two years, total?

I finally started settling in tonight. Started thinking about what needs to change to make this home and not temporary. Of course "DISHWASHER" immediately came to mind, but first things first: We'll need a Christmas tree. It won't be the one we've used every Christmas - we'll probably be without our things as long as we're here - but I guarantee as long as I have that tree to look at, I won't even notice the wallpaper.