Today I drove through the town where I’m going to raise my children. And holy fuck, did I about have a panic attack.
You know when you’ve been building toward something – and planning, scrimping, saving, sacrificing, bleeding, believing and cheering for something to happen… (dot, dot dot) and then it does ACTUALLY happen? I simply want to fall over like one of those fainting goats.
I’ve been calling to the heavens for some forward motion, and wowsahs, did heaven heed my call. We’ve got forward motion. We’re moving. Literally. As in, we’re going to move all our worldly possessions (somewhat resembling a nicer Goodwill) and settle in the greater Tampa Bay Area.
K. is following a dream and taking over the family business. I am so relaxed about the whole thing, which is strange since I should have at least five, maybe six, spreadsheets going — and I don’t have one.* K. has a firm handle on what needs to be done and is plugging away at acquiring the skills he needs and honing the ones he does have. (On a side note: my husband is hot when he gets all responsible and leader-y. Holy. Goodness.)
I think it’s time we buy a hat and hold the F onto it.
*I have one tab on one existing spreadsheet. I’m relaxed, not dead.