Boxed in

There are, of course, many reasons I find my wife awesome.

Somebody once said the headline, "Best sex I've ever had" over a story about Donald Trump, was the most libel-proof headline ever. Similarly, in spousal annals, my lead may be considered something close to the best way of staying out of the dog house.

I realized yet another aspect of my wife's awesomeness today, and it has to do with packing boxes. Our house in State College, Pa., sold, very unexepectedly and, to be frank, very unwelcomly, in August of 2009. I say it was an unwelcome development because, well, we had nowhere to go and nothing to do when we got there. (Yes, I quit my job before I knew I was in the foreign service.)

Still, that's when the packing started. Fourteen months ago. Packing boxes have been a permanent part of our transient life ever since. We've basically been living out of suitcases. With the promise of New Zealand on the horizon, that may sound easier. When you don't even know if you have a job, believe me, it is very far from being easy.

Now we have arrived in our new home - permanent for two years - and our boxes of stuff have just been delivered. There are, once again, boxes everywhere. Add to this the fact that I was conveniently back in the states when said delivery was made and that I was still greeted at the airport with a smile, well, you get the whole awesome wife thing.

It has, of course, also been hard on the boys. There was really only one thing they were looking forward to arriving, the 42-inch screen TV for their video games.

It arrived smashed to smithereens - and still they remain unfazed by the crazy Nomadic existence which has cut all their anchors to familiarity.

I can truly say that this new life, that of a foreign service officer, is wonderful. But you absolutely have to be surrounded by a strong and flexible family. Because living with boxes turns out to be the least of your concerns.