Well, folks. We were officially moving to Nevada.
Fighter Pilot Dude had been looking at rental homes for our new blended family and finally found one about halfway between Reno and Fallon, Nevada.
Four bedrooms. Three-car garage. Plenty of space for everyone.
Sounds pretty good, right?
Oh, you sweet, innocent people.
There was an area of the garage that had been enclosed and converted into an additional room. It had a full-size bed, couch, television, and air conditioning. Honestly? It was a pretty nice setup.
Fighter Pilot Dude thought it would be perfect for his 13-year-old son.
His soon-to-be ex-wife, however, apparently thought we’d constructed a maximum-security prison.
According to her, we were subjecting her precious child to horrible living conditions.
Ma’am. He had a bed, a couch, a television, and air conditioning. We weren’t handing him a bucket and telling him to make friends with the rats.
But this was becoming a pattern. Anything Fighter Pilot Dude did, said, or suggested could—and would—be used against him.
And sometimes, against us.
Now, let’s discuss the cross-country adventure.
Because nothing says “We’re going to be one big happy family!” quite like packing up your entire life, loading up the kids, and driving thousands of miles together.
We weren’t just driving straight through, either. We stopped to visit Fighter Pilot Dude’s mother, and we also stopped along the way to stay with some of my friends.
You know. Normal things people do when traveling across the country.
Except his daughter had opinions.
Lots of opinions.
And believe me, I had a few of my own.
Somewhere along this delightful journey, my youngest daughter noticed something interesting.
Fighter Pilot Dude’s daughter was videotaping things and sending the recordings to her mother.
Oh. Well. Isn’t that special?
During one of our much-needed breaks, my youngest quietly told me what was happening.
Naturally, I told Fighter Pilot Dude.
And naturally, that led to a heated conversation.
Because what better way to make an already ridiculously long road trip even longer than adding a little family surveillance drama?
At this point, I was starting to wonder what in the actual hell I had signed up for.
I had packed up my home. My furniture. My entire life.
I was moving my two daughters across the country to start a new chapter with a man I loved.
And somewhere between the family visits, the unsolicited opinions, the videotaping, and the arguments, I was beginning to realize this wasn’t going to be the happy little blended family adventure I’d imagined.
His daughter’s behavior was becoming increasingly difficult for me to ignore. From my perspective, it was manipulative, vindictive, and downright exhausting.
And we hadn’t even arrived yet.
But eventually, after what felt like approximately 47 years on the road, we made it to Nevada.
Our new home.
Our new beginning.
Our chance to finally be together as a family.
And that, my friends, is when things really started going off the rails.
Buckle up.
We haven’t even unpacked the boxes yet.
Until next time…xoxo
Tracy
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