Somewhere along the ticker, the calendar flipped, and we found ourselves scrambling around, back and forth, tinkering with our house in the city, living in suburbanland, all while layering up for sub-zero and running between the car and the heat.
I high five Kari as we switch and she takes the next shift at the house and I take the next shift with the kids and then we high five the next day and switch again, acting as single parents and general contractors and doing a below average job at both.
And it's February and The Year Of Slow is off to a fast start and the new years post I've had spinning circles in my mind has lost the race against the intrepid nature of time.
So we're here. Living in Indiana.
Some days I'm not sure what exactly we're doing. I miss the San Gabriels and the way they perfectly frame Los Angeles and I miss the freakishly consistent warmth and good lord do I miss the kids and late night beverages with friends on our thrifted lawn furnishings.
My three year old is homesick, and among other manifestations, has been insisting lately that her former housemates are actually her real brother and sisters. FOR REAL DAD, she screams in frustration, crossing her arms in a desperate attempt to keep them close. Poor kid. She has slept in six different homes and two different hotels since we left Los Angeles six weeks ago, all while trading daily outside adventures with her friends for the lifeless indoor playground of Chic Fil A.
The promise of a tree house and turtle at our new house can only take her so far. Soon, I tell her. We will move into our new home soon, darling.