Monday was our big move day.  Can it be Friday already?

A truck arrived at our house around 9:00am and it took almost six hours for everything to be packed and stacked by the moving company.  It was a hot day.  All the doors were wide open, letting in heat and almost no breeze.  We ordered McDonalds and ate lunch on the floor while the men packed up every square inch of our garage.  I couldn’t wait to get out of there, fidgeting impatiently.  It wasn’t a proper way to say goodbye to my sweet little house.  By the time I signed all the movers documents and hit the road, it was after 3:00pm.  I knew we’d get to the Bay Area after dark, and I loathe driving up the state in the dark.

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Every thing and everyone seems to have arrived safe and sound.  We are now living in my parents’ house, (Oh yes, the bedroom I had as a teenager!)…for a little bit.  I wish I could say for only two months, but I cannot be sure.  This was the plan.  The in-between place.  After all, my goal was to be closer to my family.  I know I have been keeping busy for the last 5 days, mostly feeding the kids (SO many sandwiches) and looking online at neighborhoods where we could possibly call home.  The kids still call this place “grandma’s house”, which is what it is, even though we are sleeping in our own beds and watching our own TV.  The dishes aren’t ours.  The back porch is full of boxes.  It was always an odd plan to do it this way, and so, it feels odd.  But it’s going to feel good someday soon.  Our house in Glendale is sold.  I have been looking forward to being a Northern Californian for a few years now.  So, here we are, friend.  Here we are.

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