Why, Georgia, Why

Disclaimer: In this world of oh so fantastic political correctness (is that word?,) I feel the need to say the following:

I am not actually an Eskimo. I was born in Alaska. My parents were not. Therefore, no actual Eskimo status. It's a nickname. That's all. I was semi-raised there, then moved to Oklahoma. Started wearing boots, listening to country music, insert additional midwestern cliche' here if you must. Married a Marine, now I live wherever they tell us to. Which brings me to this post.

Why, Georgia, Why  

Back up several months. I married my wonderful husband. Seriously, I don't deserve this man. He puts up with my mediocre cooking and housecleaning skills and reminds me where I put everything on an hourly basis. Luckily, he finds me charming. He started recruiting school what seemed like nanoseconds after we said I Do and we waited to find out where we'd be stationed. In a bit of wishful thinking I had our wedding photos framed and hung in our place in Oklahoma. He filled out form after form and we had phone call after phone call discussing where he would put in for first, second, third etc. choices to be stationed. Guess what?

Waste of time

In my mind's eye it went something like this. "Hmm. They want to live in Oklahoma, Texas, Tennessee or South Carolina?" "Nope. We love sending people places they know no one, how about Georgia?" Considering that after his recruiting gig is up we're looking at three years in Japan, its possible that I should be eternally greatful for its mere 15 hour driving time from "home."

So in the spirit of painful adjustments, below is my list of things I love and not so love about Georgia:

It looks like this. Pretty much everywhere. Just beautiful. Oh, hi there Jameson.
On the other hand, it seems as though I've gone through 1.2567 million tablets of Claritin since we got here. Excuse me while I sneeze, again.
This is my porch. I sit here with my non fancy hot chocolate that my husband makes fun of me for making in the Keurig. Sorry we don't all like old man coffee. I love waking up before the rest of the house and praying in this swing for a few minutes in the morning.
When she lets me sleep long enough to actually do the above, I'm sure I'll have something more insightful to say.
In case you've never moved, it takes a long time. There are boxes and boxes and more boxes to unpack. I'm a creature of habit. I like things to stay the same. So my plan was to move all of my furniture into the exact same spot it would have corresponded with in our old house. Only the house layout wasn't exactly the same. Where there was room for the beautiful buffet in the old house, not so much in the new. Insert mini meltdown related to everything being different expressed through sobs about my writing desk.
So we've hung mirror after mirror, pictures and more pictures. By we, I mean, Willie. Eventually this will make it feel like home. Right now it just feels like all our stuff is in the wrong house.
We basically move every three years. Which means buying a house everytime we move isn't the smartest idea. So we rent. The thing about rent houses is, they usually aren't super clean. Which means there's been a lot of cleaning to do. I'm seriously considering leaving it to Cianna. She obviously has a better handle on it than I do.
As far as the town we live in, I still don't know much. We attempted to try the contemporary service at a Methodist church this morning. That attempt ended in turning around after Cianna projectile vomited all over her Sunday best. Oh well, I'm sure Jesus understands. Good intentions and all, right?
The worst thing about Georgia is that they have no taste in sports. No Thunder bandwagon KD shirts even. Georgians, I'm finding, don't even care that much about their own team, the Hawks. Don't feel bad if you've never heard of them, I hadn't either. On none of our hundreds of channels have I been able to catch one Thunder game since we got here. I'm considering asking Santa for NBA pass.
By far the best thing about Georgia though is that my family all lives under one roof. I can make Grandma's old recipes for my family and pray they taste even remotely close.  It's our first time really living together and we're learning a lot about each other.
"Cianna, don't eat my train tracks!"
"Wait, you watch football how many times a week?"
"We're married, you're stuck with me, now I can fart in front of you."
That last one was courtesy of my husband, I promise.