Once upon a time, I moved to Florida…against my will. I liked my life. I liked my town. I liked my friends and family. I liked my home. But, I loved my husband more and I knew in my heart that making the move was the right decision not only for him, but for our family. So I went, kicking and screaming, knowing that I would probably never live again in my home town. Call me small-minded, call me provincial. What can I say? There’s no place like home (and the shore).
We made it back, as promised. I’m not back in my home town, but I’m close enough and that’s ok. They say timing is everything. When I moved down to Florida, summer was right around the corner and coincided with my second pregnancy. Nothing like feeling nausea in ninety degree weather. When we moved back up north, it was right in time for winter. Nothing like being trapped in the house with two toddlers for a few months.
I complained a lot in Florida. It was hot. I was lonely. I missed the seasons; I missed my family and friends. Frankly, I don’t know what all my fuss was about. Florida’s not looking too bad right now.