Be – Horrifically calm.

So here I am on my back deck, in my beautiful back yard, surrounded by the swishing aspen groves and the nature Potter keeps eating and barfing up in our giant walk-n master closet and my neighbor’s gurgling water feature that kind of makes me have to pee…

I look at myself in the mirror of our GIANT master bath each morning and think “who are you… where the hell are we?”

There are drawers in the kitchen (which I will start producing “eat” segments in soon, I promise,) that have like one spoon in them, because I can’t even comprehend the amount of space I have in there to just put stuff…

It just feels so opposite of everything we have been until now.

And yet I love it.  I know it.  This is where I am from.  This town raised me while it was raising itself.  I can’t deny that I am at home here.

On weekends while Junior sleeps in his car seat, I drive all of the backroads that I used to know like the back of my hand, reacquainting myself with the roads between here and Boulder that still blessedly have farms and open space trailheads and memories of evenings spent driving and listening to cheesy 80s new wave with my friends, or days filled with my Dad and 56KLZ on the AM dial heading out to regional rodeos….  there may be a few new crossroads to confuse me – but it is all still here.

At night I plug earbuds into Jr’s monitor and poach off his white noise machine to drown out the erie quiet so I don’t strain to hear any noise breaking the silence and I marvel about the almost creepy safety I feel here.

No sirens, no clinking plates and muffled gathering noises from the patios of the highrises around us, no dread that the new treat Potter is enjoying will lead to a late night upset tummy walk up and down 7th ave with my senses on full alert for potential harm while worrying about my pooch’s poo.

So normal, and yet so not who I thought I was.

This will be Jr’s hometown, just like it was mine.  His Urban Baby 1st year will be lost on him, I suppose.

Today I spent time with a coworker from the Boston area who “went to school with some people who own some restaurants out here….  Vesta Grill and…”

“STEUBENS!!!” I screamed,  “WE LOVE STEUBENS!!!”   Steubens was the first place my kid sat in a high chair…. the place my husband picked whenever he got to pick where we were eating…  the menu I actually spent time trying to recreate when he was laid off and bummed out about our financial situation.

The place that used to be just down the street from us.

But it isn’t.

And though I love it – I am actually ok with that.  And with not having Lala’s walking distance from us (ok, I die a little when I write it, but I have Wine and Cheese just around the corner now.)

Part of me still can’t believe I am even OK with this move – let alone that it was me who first suggested it.

But here I sit in our backyard, thankful that the rain of last week watered the flowers I am still learning that I have to take care of, listening to the rustling of the wind through the aspens and Potter snarfing the nature he may barf in my closet, and feeling pretty damn good about the whole thing.

Gobsmacked – I tell you what.

 

 

 

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