Well moving is time-consuming. Moving from California to Colorado with three kids and a dog, by car, while enduring an injured ankle and a car-malfunction, is EXHAUSTING.
I meant to write more frequently. I had plenty of inspiration along the way, from the movers that I wanted to punch in the face, to the family whom I dimly asked "what are you all dressed up for?" at a Best Western in Utah, on a Sunday morning. (It took me a moment to notice the unit was ten strong and carried a super-sized bible.) There was the 10 hour lay-up in Beaver, Utah due to a "check engine" light on the old Toyota Corolla (which I had warned my husband repeatedly was not fit for long distance travel.)
And of course there were the reunions. With my sister and her family. The nephews who grew so much since I last saw them nearly two years ago. My friends whom I have been only loosely in touch with over the past few years, but within minutes felt an instant reconnection. With our home. The house on Bryant Street, the dwelling we picked out when expecting our first born.
The journey has been exhausting, physically and emotionally. There is a part of me that wants to explore every inch of the neighborhood we left behind almost four years ago, discovering the new shops, restaurants and playgrounds,
|Stuck in Beaver. D'oh|
while revisiting some of the old favorites. There is another part of me that wants to lock myself up in the bedroom with my bum ankle and sleep for 72 consecutive hours. I suppose the truth lies somewhere in the middle.
In the weeks and months to come I hope to post more often, but if not, you know it is because either a) I am so consumed with Denver life or b) I am in hibernation, still recovering from our adventure east from California.