I have become resigned to the idea of moving to Dallas. (In fact, I have become excited about the idea. I'm just as shocked as you are.) Having spent hours on the real estate web sites looking at potential homes in our price range, I'm ready to start packing today.
We're moving in 18 months, minimum. It may be a tad bit too soon to begin putting our lives into boxes and choosing paint colors for our new bedroom. I need to slow those horses down a tad bit.
I love moving. It's a sickness, you don't have to tell me. Raised in a Navy family, I relish the idea of new places, faces and experiences. I get jittery every 2 years or so as my mind tells me that it's time to go. I'm a nomad, a gypsy. I like change.
The rest of my family disagrees with me. They would love nothing better than to spend the rest of our lives in the same house, in the same town, surrounded by the same people. They thrive on stability and continuity.
All except my mini-me, sweet #4. My shy baby is eager to leave. She chirps along about new houses, new parks, new libraries, and just the wonder of change and excitement. Who knew that Miss Invisibility would want to embark on a great adventure?
I like to think that we get it in a way that the others don't. The best kind of adventure is the one where all the people you love get to come with you. Leaving without each other would be hard, going together could be the most amazing thing ever. My intrepid explorer and I smile at each other across the room when her siblings start to complain. We know that they will be fine and we will be better. We're squealy excited about all of the wonder that is to come; we hope to inspire the rest of them.
I'm ready to go today, so is she. We have to wait until 2011. Somewhere we have to find the calm patience to make it until then.