In two weeks, my husband, my daughters and I are moving to Santa Monica. YYAAAAA! I'm going home, yo.
This was The Thing that Husband did not want me to blog about. To most, a move may not seem like a big secret, but Husband was superstitious until all the details were solid. I respect that; I even kinda buy into it. But god, I would have rather emotionally blahblahblah all up in the blog about it all. Recapping now about all the shit we've been through in the last six weeks since we made the decision is anticlimactic. It's like I don't have the energy any more now that things are golden and all set.
Transitioning four lives to a place that's an hour away without taking off any work or without missing our regular activities was not easy. It has been high pressure and Husband and I have been impressive. We are tremendous under this kind of pressure, especially as a team. While many couples would fight and get on each others nerves during stressful, action-packed times, we hunker down and do our best in such situations. In the last six weeks, we have nailed down good jobs (he has an excited new one and I convinced my current one to let me work from home and commute),we researched and hand picked the best schools, scoped out markets and local shops; we found activities for the girls and ourselves, and we chose an exact neighborhood where we wanted to live. Because we were uncompromising about where to live -- a four square block area-- finding a place caused us the most stress and dragged out a little more than was comfortable. I found the baby mass in my breast during this housing limbo and I sat at my desk those two days before my doctor's appointment unsuccessfully trying to quell the pin pong ball of anxiety that bounced around furiously in my chest and head. With only 2 weeks left in our lease here, we just nailed down our apartment only yesterday. But it's perfect. The patience and stubbornness paid off.
The stress has calmed and the excitement has kicking into high gear. I'm trying not to think about the fact that we will move only a few days before we leave for the Junior Olympics in Atlanta. Oh well, Husband and I will handle that well too I'm sure. The last time we moved, the people that said they'd help us flaked out at the last moment and Husband and I moved IT ALL ourselves including getting our refrigerator up to our second-floor apartment. I'm so excited about getting to Santa Monica, in two weeks you can strap the fridge to my back and I'll run it up the 405 freeway on foot.
No more gag order. I'll keep you posted.