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It's like coming home...


Fifty-eight weeks ago I promised myself I’d write more… guess how many journal entries, dear diary moments, and blog postings I’ve successfully executed since that self-pledge... FOUR! That's an average of about once every four months. Ridiculous.

Even though it’s only been a little more than one calendar year, I feel like I’ve aged a decade; we’ve moved four times together, he’s moved twice without me, all in the name of work. I’m done moving – totally over it. The best part is that all of our belongings are still in storage (where they’ve been for the past 15 months), and everything has kinda mushed into itself, which is only going to add to all the fun I’m looking forward to having when it comes time to unpack. (Yay for me…and K and P who get the pleasure of helping me!)

I’d say the most revolutionary piece of the past little while has been the ever-morphing transformation that is our relationship. Sometimes it seems like our moving away was inevitable; we HAD to go off on our own for a minute just to gain some stature and perspective between the two of us because it didn’t matter what kind of a move we made while staying at home – nothing seemed to really connect us to each other. I’ve heard many married couples talk about their own particular season away from family, friends, and the element of familiarity (unintentional alliteration). They always get this faraway glassy-eyed look that just glazes over their entire face. It never really made sense to me, but I’d always just nod and be my typical agreeable self in those uncomfortable social encounters. Now, having come through our own set of experiences away from everything and everyone we knew I too catch myself giving that glazey stare when I’m asked about our time away from home. There’s no doubting I suffered through a devastating case of homesickness, however, I wouldn’t trade hardly anything for the past few months we’ve shared. I’m a better wife and stronger woman because of it. 

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