Your suitcase handles. Your task list and wifi. Your womb.
Jules took three years to make. This one three months without trying. Then it went away. How are so many parents out there going through that? Blech.
When Roger Federer won a Wimbledon, his 2004 finals opponent Andy Roddick was being interviewed and said:
"I threw the kitchen sink at him, but he went to the bathroom and got his tub."That's how this year has felt, like Zeus went and got his clawfoot bathtub to throw at us. Yet driving into Fallon and onto Hawk Drive, with our house keys actually in hand, felt like everything was falling into place. We have another property investment and an insatiable desire to explore anything, like the Italian-Mexican restaurant and backroads on a wish list dune buggy with any loved ones daring to visit. We like our jobs if not love them. We have each other and at least one sweet, spunky, squishy, little family member.
Why is it so hard to keep perspective?
Every now and then I think, at least we don't have brain cancer. At least I have all my limbs. Five seconds later, I'm banging on my sticking keyboard, then later clamoring around in the bathroom as I refill the toilet paper roll, then later driving down the road worrying about my identity being hacked and someone stealing our tiny-ass nest egg.
|Nevada's official slogan and The Killers' latest album via|
After loudly switching out the toilet paper last time, I made yet another call about scheduling paint and carpet for the new place. I was really excited to pick out this foundational stuff since we usually just shrug and sign a rental agreement in whatever city or country we land in. But when your husband tells you the house you're considering just needs paint, carpet and some zero-scaping, don't listen to him.
These three, seemingly straightforward things take a lot longer and more money than you'd think. You are not an HGTV show host. Unless you've got a slice of their talent-and-budget pie – which pairs well with sides of cooking* and gardening – buy a turnkey house.
I'm only talking to myself here, aren't I? All my friends and family seem to be remarkably motivated and trendy.
The silver lining on our Silver State home is the end is in sight. That's what Cary keeps telling me to keep me from clawing his and my eyes out when escrow lasts another month...when we have five more hours to drive...when the weeds have grown so high you need a special mower and 10 men to make your yard resemble a nice field...when we have to make extra trips to base and medical and daycare and Walmart and Safeway...when there's only fast food to eat...when there's no internet or toolboxes...when we put Julesies to sleep in the hotel bathroom again, in the travel crib I can't help but think is giving her scoliosis after being in it since birth...When the baby is removed after a trimester of nausea and other unpleasantness...when I eat tomato soup in bed and spill it all over myself, the computer and the white comforter. #burnshurt #poormaids
But then there's the hotel pool within baby monitor distance, with its Crayola desert sunsets visible over the highway signs and blackening treetops – where we could sip drinks in the new quiet and laugh more loudly.
Just that made the last hotel stretch worth it.
As I laid awake our first night in the house, on crinkly gym mats pushed together, I should've been thanking God I have my thumbs still. Instead, I couldn't help but think about moving again. I'm so deeply looking forward to having my own lair back. Laying on a normal couch with plenty of pillows and blankets. Creating our ideal cups of coffee in our souvenir mugs. Gaining back our routine of bigger weekend breakfasts and maybe kiddie pool time. Walking Butters, talking and admiring homes that have better curb appeal. Good job on those lighting features! Watching the train with the round cars slowly roll by just beyond our back fence.
However we're going to drive away again in nearly four years.
You're killing me, Smalls (she said to herself).
That's a long ways off, and for now, I'm home. It's time to heal and hit the beat and make our place like John Stone's on The Night Of.