The other day it dawned on me it’s been a decade
since we moved from Washington state. Just days into the new millennium we up
and moved to Phoenix, leaving the place I had lived most of my 32 years. Now
2010 and five houses and five states later, here we are on the East Coast, a
place I never in a million years imagined I would live. And despite the
craziness of the past 10 years, I’ve somehow developed a sort of a tolerance
for change, for new things and somehow just “going with the flow” when
otherwise I should be damn scared about what is happening around me.
It began in 2000, with me flying to Phoenix alone
with a 2-½-year old and a 5-week-old. Passengers and crew avoided me like the
plague as I struggled with two babies and all their paraphernalia, all the
while tears rolling down my face as I wondered if I was really leaving Seattle
and all my friends and family forever. Things only got worse when one kid
pooped her pants and the other puked all over me. I was in full-blown tears by
the time Dan met me at the gate in Phoenix.
But lo and behold Arizona, although crazy hot at
times, was new and exciting and I even learned to appreciate rain. It was an
event the few times a year it actually rained. Even better, I met one of my
best friends, Kelli, who taught me that it’s OK to drink the occasional Corona
or four in the afternoon, but on her side of the street, because that’s where
the shade is. We’d let the kids play in the driveway and wave to everyone who
drove by as we sucked down our cold ones. Kelli even helped me break the living
room window (I think it took three tries of throwing a huge rock at the window)
when Annika locked me out of the house. And it’s been nothing but good times
since. Fortunately we both moved to California at the same time, so it wasn’t
so hard to leave.
As for California, I loved the house and
neighborhood but leaving was one of the hardest things I ever did. The clan of
Coutos, McMahons and Dalys owned the cul de sac and the entire neighborhood
envied our fun. I could go on, but then that’s when, well, tears develop in my
eyes.
As for Wisconsin, I think I lamented enough the
past few years; I still find the upper-Midwest culture--if you can call diehard
Packer fans, John Deere fanatics and Miller-beer swigging Wisconsonites culture
(OK fine, there’s more to it than that)--a little twisted. Always known as the
“people from California,” it seemed like Dan and I were only accepted by those
like us who were not natives of the cheesehead state (a few exceptions, of
course). So nonetheless saying “sayonara” wasn’t hard. Neither was flipping the
bird to the entire state as I crossed into Illinois on my way to New York.
Needless to say, the move to New York was
inviting; however the unknown was a little daunting. And now that we’ve been here
a year-and-a-half, that 2-1/2-half-year-old is now 12 and taller than me and that
5-week-old is 10 and somehow knows more than me.
I do believe the girls are better off because of
this geographical journey. They’ve seen many major cities in the country—New
York, Chicago, San Francisco, LA, Phoenix, Boston, Seattle, Nashville to name a
few, even exploring states to the south between Wisconsin and Florida (that was
the “let’s-escape-the-snowstorm-roadtrip to Florida of 2008”). Most importantly
we are all probably much more adaptable to new situations, flexible to what
life holds and open to doing and seeing new things than we otherwise would have
been. I can only anticipate what the next decade holds...yikes.