Home with Hives and a PCS

I knew it would happen. I even told myself that I needed to be prepared. But, as usual, it didn't work. I am beginning to stress. The move is quickly approaching, and I am not ready. I knew it would hit me this week. Karate is over, PWOC is done, AWANAS is finished, we've been "farewelled" as a family at evening chapel, Dan's been "farewelled" at the Regiment, and school is winding to an end. And, I am no more prepared to pack up and move than I was a year ago. This was going to be my week to start. To start taking pictures down (the packers don't do that), to start organizing and putting away my scrapbook stuff (the packers don't know what that is), to start taking things to the thrift store (the packers don't do that), and to start putting aside things that we are taking with us (the packers don't do that). I know some of you are wondering why I didn't start this week. What is my excuse? It's a 2nd grade boy who's missed 3 days of school with a major case of hives. We even went to the doctor yesterday. The best part is, we don't know what's causing them. Being parents of an "allergic" child has made us amateur detectives in some ways and mini-medical experts in other ways, but this one has us stumped. Hives all over his arms, legs, hands, and face. The doctor says "contact dermatitis." We say, "From WHAT?" We have racked our brains, and we cannot come up with anything new or different that he's touched or eaten or been exposed to. Oh well. With Elijah, you learn to accept the unexplained. And, I hate that. I know that's why God gave him to me. I like ANSWERS, and with this boy... sometimes there are no answers. Anyway, he's got enough ointments, creams, and potions to grease up the entire neighborhood. So, with him home, not much "packing" or "preparing for packers" gets done.
Which leads me to my main complaint. The term "PCS." The Army loves its acronyms, but this one irks me. "PCS" stands for "Permanent Change of Station." Ha! Their version of "permanent" is 2 or 3 years, and then you do it all over again! I really don't mind this way of life; I even encouraged Dan to stop talking about it and join. But, I would like the Army to be honest about it. Call it what it is. A "temporary" change of station.
So, I sit here typing a blog with Scooby Doo blaring in the den, and I haven't begun to prepare my house for the packers. That is another misconception. They should be called "Dumpers" instead of "Packers." They love to take the carefully sorted and organized contents of a cutely color-coordinated plastic bin, and DUMP them into a large cardboard box. Then, they pack the cute empty bin in another box. Then, they label those two boxes with some random wrong description. I am sorry if anyone out there is a professional packer. I am sorry if anyone out there happens to love a professional packer. I, however, have issues with them and their methods. So, I will arm myself with about a trillion Ziploc bags, and I will begin to prepare my worldly possessions for dumping and mislabeling and breaking (I can't even talk about that aspect.) But today, I will have the assistance of a greased-up, red-speckled, itchy, Benadryl-infused 9-year old. Wonder how much I'll get done?