"Permanent" Change of Station
It's Not Permanent When You Still Have Moving Stickers Under the Coffee Table.
by Sarah Smiley
What a PCS is NOT:Permanent
PCS stands for Permanent Change of Station, which is quite deceptive. There isn't anything permanent about a PCS. Uncle Sam will define your move as a PCS even if you're going to San Diego for ten months and then turning around and going back east again. He will call it permanent even though your children have no hopes of beginning and ending their elementary career at the same primary school. And he will call it permanent despite the fact that the military can make you move again one month later if they so desire. In other words, "permanent" has an entirely different meaning in the military. The upside to this is that if your orders are less than perfect – if, for instance, you are being sent to a town with four people in Iceland – you can feel better knowing that it isn't permanent, no matter what Uncle Sam calls it.
In fact, maybe we should come up with a new name for PCSs, something that is more reflective of what military moves are really about. How about People Crossing States? People Changing Swiftly? Or perhaps we need a new acronym altogether. Maybe INPWYSHMSUTCT, which, of course, stands for: It's Not Permanent When You Still Have Moving Stickers Under the Coffee Table.
A Honeymoon
Many military couples, including me and my husband, Dustin, fall into this trap. Dustin and I spent our technical honeymoon (i.e.; the first three days after our wedding) driving a U-Haul truck full of my belongings from Virginia Beach, Va. to Pensacola, Fla. Eight weeks later, we moved across the country to San Diego, Calif., knowing, even then, that we would move back to Florida again in less than a year.
“When we go back across country for the next PCS,” Dustin said, “we will take our time and make it our honeymoon.”
I was delighted. An actual honeymoon? I could hardly believe my ears!
And then I got pregnant. We spent our cross-country PCS/“honeymoon” searching for all the nearest and cleanest bathrooms along Interstate 10 because I was, at that time, almost eight-months pregnant. The first night of our “honeymoon,” Dustin booked us a room at the Space Lodge Motel in the middle of Nowhere, Arizona. Or was it New Mexico? Everything was a blur at this point. Our hotel room was painted to look like a visit on the moon, complete with aliens looking down from the ceiling at our bed and moon rocks on the bathroom wall.
At 8 o’clock the next morning, I threw up ... into an alien-green toilet.
The moral of this story: A PCS is no time for a honeymoon. Hold out for the real deal, which, in the best of circumstances, is nowhere near the Space Lodge Motel.
What a PCS IS:
An Adventure
Some people wait their whole lives to drive across the country and see the Grand Canyon, or to fly overseas and live in Italy. As military families, we are blessed that these adventures are actually part of the job description. But we are also lucky to be reminded, on a regular basis, of what really matters. Because once the moving van has left and all your belongings are on their way to a destination that you hope matches your own, what you are left with is your family. You pile into the family car, dreaming about your new home even as the old one disappears in the rearview mirror. And you realize then, in that exact moment, that Uncle Sam could send you anywhere, and so long as you have each other (and maybe a future honeymoon in Hawaii), you’ll be OK.