Seven years ago we moved from the suburban South Shore of Massachusetts where I was born and lived in the same town my dad and grandparents were born and lived in- to Austin Texas. It had been a particularly awful winter where on more than one occasion the snow had completely buried the cars in our driveway and I’d started taking the greyness of February pretty personally.
So now that everyone has amazing friends, schools that they know how to get around in and we are starting to fix up our ridiculous cookie cutter one-story it makes perfect sense to talk about moving back. No, I know, when I put it that way it seems awful, I’m trying to be mindful of how my kids might be viewing the possibility. (They are excited, and nervous and wondering if they can spend vacations with their Texas friends- yes.)
Our fun Austin lifestyle is not lending itself to a plan for the future, we have three years to start paying for college, seven years until they’re both in college and my husband and I like each other enough to want to start planning for a fun- travelly- empty nest retirement. I got an excellent job offer that will even wait long enough for us to move over the summer rather than shake the kids up and make them jump in mid school year.
So Boston, again. But with goals, giving the girls a start free of student loans, and for us a tiny Key West bungalow with a shop and lots of high jinks and old age adventures because while no one promises us tomorrow it’s good to have a plan.
(Being a grown up is exhausting!)
(Hopefully next month I’ll have a good story about the abandoned asylum turned luxury apartments that I want to live in!)