The Life and Times of a Navy Husband

Back at the end of September (!) I posted about my trip to Norfolk to find housing for our February move. I also hinted at another story at the end of the post. I think I’ve teased you long enough.

Sean and I stayed with friends from the old neighborhood while we conducted our search. I gave Meg and Tim literally two days’ notice that we were going to be in town, but they swore they didn’t mind and opened their home to us. We spent the week laughing and telling stories just like we used to, as if it hadn’t been three years since we last saw each other.

While Sean and I explored apartments, Meg and Tim and their twin five-year-olds went about their day. It worked out great. Then on Thursday, the day before we were going to head home (having successfully found a place to live), Meg got sick. She did her best to keep from getting anyone else sick, but we knew it was time to let them have their house back.

So Thursday night I packed up everything we wouldn’t need that night: toys, laptop bag, stroller, diaper bag, etc. Then I went to bed with my Kindle, my phone glowing softly on its charger, alarm set for early the next morning.

Tim was already awake when Sean and I got up and showered and went downstairs. He watched Sean while I went out to load the suitcase in the car…

…Only to discover that the glove box was open. That’s odd, I thought, before remembering what else had been in the car. A quick survey of the back end revealed the laptop bag had been taken, as well as a pair of my shoes. (I wouldn’t realize until the next week that the stroller was also missing.)

No windows had been broken. Which means either I stupidly forgot to lock the car, or someone was very handy with a slim jim.

I was so pissed off. We were in a nice neighborhood, parked in the driveway, and still, nothing’s safe. The part I found completely inexplicable was the shoes. Just a pair of beat up L.L. Bean camp mocs. Maybe they were the right size.

To cap off the day, Sean started really complaining when we hit the Palisades Parkway. Pulling his knees up to his chest and crying. I thought he was just sick of the car seat. But when we stopped for dinner (at a Barnes & Noble—he likes the quiche), he got sick in the high chair, even before he’d had a bite to eat.

We were in Norwalk, Conn., about three hours from home, but he kept getting sick. All our clothes were dirty (including the ones we were wearing), so I carried the little guy into Old Navy so we could get outfitted for the night, then I booked a room at the Doubletree.

Three hours from home. I watched “The Hangover” and Sean fell asleep in my arms.

He was fine the next morning. We had coffee and pastries at the Starbucks in Martha Stewart’s home town. (There were more than a few exceptionally nice cars in the parking lot.) And then we finally went home.

Next up: Why USAA Is the Greatest Insurance Company Ever