Hello again

Apartment hunting su-hucks. Not that I don’t love pouring over craigslist until I go all squinty eyed, or viewing potential apartments with a squirmy toddler. But I think the most depressing thing is just that the home that I want to live in doesn’t exist. At least not in this immediate area. Or, if it does, it costs $12,500 a month. Seriously saw a house that cost that much. Um, how about we come live in one wing, and you won’t even know that we’re there. We can be quiet, really.

Because what I really want is space. A living area big enough for Violet to run more than two feet without running into the furniture. Or the wall. And I want a yard. Oh, what I would give for a yard. Not a big one. Just a teeny little plot of grass with space for a flower or two. And fresh air directly accessible by our back door. I get all giddy and twitchy just thinking about it.

We spent last weekend in San Diego, sharing a vacation rental house with some friends. We hid some eggs in the back yard for Violet to find, and she ran yelling around that patch of grass like a Pilgrim who just discovered the New World. And we realized that that was probably the first time she had ever run around in a back yard. Maybe that’s no big thing to people who grow up in cities, but to someone who practically lived in her back yard as a kid, it was kind of shocking to realize.

Sure, we spend most days at the park. Or the beach (which, hey, can't complain there). And we are ever so appreciative of all the beautiful playgrounds and public spaces that we have easy access to. But you know, sometimes a girl just wants to sit out on the porch on a sunny day while her little girl frolics through the green grass. Or runs around screaming in it, as the case may be.