I can't believe I just typed that. It's freaking me out.
(And yes, I know that at 37, I don't really fit into the "girl" category.)
We moved last Friday. I don't recommend moving a family of six less than a week after running a marathon. I do, however, recommend having friends and family like mine, because MAN, they have been REMARKABLE. I have dozens of thank you notes to write. Those of you who deserve one? Let me just remind you that while I'm full of good intentions, it takes me a really long time to act on them, so plan to see one in the next month or so. (Or it could mean you'll get one next year, or it could even mean that I'll find the heartfelt thank-you note I wrote you complete with stamp UNMAILED in another year after that. Yes. It's happened often.)
My friends painted my house, packed my junk, brought me dinners, watched my kids, listened to me cry, told me I could do it, packed up their cars with my stuff, cleaned my house, and loved me even as I prepared to leave them and our little corner of paradise. If I ever find friends half as wonderful in this neighborhood I'll count myself lucky. I wish I could write enough to do their acts justice. I can't. I can only say thank you. You are dear and kind and good.
I like the house. This is good news. I miss my old neighborhood. This is to be expected. I'm trying hard to reserve judgment on my NEW neighborhood until much more time has passed, because of course right now nothing will match up with what I've left.
There are many children on the street, and they've welcomed my kids with open arms. I had five neighborhood kids in the basement and backyard this afternoon. That's good. There will be more good, I'm sure. I'll wait to see what it is.
So anyway, I'm back-ish. And now, for more boxes. And laundry. And organizing.