It’s been so long, this blog has acquired a patina.
It’s so out of date, I might as well label it “Vintage.” But instead of fixating on sorry appearances, I’m just going to jump right in and start writing. That’s right, I am. It might be messy and chaotic and contain typos and not be at all important or tremendously well-written, but I’m going to write it. Mostly because you’ve caught me riding the emotional roller coaster that happens after we relocate to a new state. Again.
Okay, to be fair, Massachusetts isn’t exactly new to us, we’ve just returned after a six-year hiatus. This time
I demanded we chose a nice house in the ‘burbs rather than the heart of Boston. What can I say, I wanted to live near the beach this time and own a car without dents, dings and gouges. I wanted a driveway instead of street parking and neighbors who probably don’t sell crack. Also, we have these three little kids and it turns out good schools are pretty much a big important deal. Huh…who knew?
So we’ve landed on the South Shore in a town we liked to visit back when I was first pregnant and Dave was still in law school. We’d drive down here to hit the beach during heat waves and wonder what it would be like to live in this place. If you’d asked me, I never would have dreamed I’d be sitting at a kitchen counter in the same town ten years later, rocking a little bit of a paunch and having birthed two additional kids.
I’ll never fail to be amazed at how, just when I think I’m comfortably settled somewhere, the universe throws a curveball our way. As it turns out, Maine didn’t want us anymore. Or maybe all the reasons we landed in Maine in the first place had simply run their course. After all, it was our move to Maine in 2010 that threw me onto the emotional rollercoaster that resulted the birth of Narragansett No. 7. And this silly little blog led me to grad school in Maine where I befriended some of the most important and supportive people I’ve ever had in my life. These are people who read some very raw work – memories of childhood buried so deep, that as I began writing my memoir, it felt more like projectile vomiting than any type of creative process. And they still love me, but grad school has ended and we have all retreated to our laptops.
Last fall, as I was attempting to throw myself into a post-grad school routine, I took on the home preschooling of our youngest daughter. Remember Kate? The one with a penchant for the filthiest of potty words? Anyway, it seemed our formerly cooperative preschool had begun to turn into something resembling an MMA Cage Match. For one thing, I wasn’t really into mandatory parent meetings where parents called the other parents “fuckers” and routinely threatened legal action over a case of head lice. Uh, uh… these are the preschool years, people. PRE. SCHOOL.
So, I fantasized about a nice, mellow year. One where I’d help Kate learn her upper and lower case letters, make sure she could count to at least 50. A year filled with play dates to keep her (us) socially involved and away from rabid women hell-bent on mandatory fundraising via lame calendar raffles. I thought, Oh , I’ll totally have time to write! Hell, I thought I’d be done with this memoir and sending it out to agents by spring. I conjured the image of a stress free summer in Maine.
Well, that’s not how my year went. Not at all. You see, as much as I thought Maine was our place – no matter how much I adored our beautiful home – it seems the universe had something else in mind. When we stopped paying attention to all the little messages that it might be time to move on, the universe or God or whatever force always seems to put David or I right where we need to be when we need to be there, started making Maine far less lovely.
From Dave’s insanely shitty job to the loss of friendships, missing cats, dead pet lizards, Joe’s continued difficulty in the school… It all piled up and pointed us to the door.
So here I am, sitting at the kitchen counter of a home in a suburb south of Boston – the one where I never imagined I’d live – and I’m wondering what the universe has in mind this time.
It feels good to come home.