Thursday, January 19, 2006

His home is where his beer is.

On top of finding a new church this year, we will also be finding a new home. Sounds like no big deal to most people, but to us it has almost been traumatic even reaching the decision to do so.

My husband was born and raised here while I was like a gypsy the first part of my childhood, moving from state to state, ending up in a small town here in Texas before moving away on my own to the big city.

When my husband got a new, incredible job nearly an hour and a half drive away, it was a no brainer for me to move. In fact, I'm restless to do so considering we've lived here five years, that's like 20 years in gypsy terms. My husband, on the other hand, is like a see-saw in his decision about moving.

I'll get SOOOOOO excited after we've looked at new neighborhoods or old homes we could redo. I'll gush about all the Starbucks drive thrus, the shopping, or the schools (Okay, maybe I should work on priorities). He'll be right along with me, then the wind will blow and he's mopey again about moving from his beloved city and home.

How do I pry my darling husband's fingers from the bar at his favorite BBQ joint? Or drag him away from his favorite downtown Tex-Mex? Or coax him into trying one of the five other restaurant-style movie taverns? How do I convice the man I love that we CAN still drive to his city any time he wants?

Oh, yeah. I'll just let him keep driving the hour 1/2 to and from work each day as he curses in ways his daughter will never hear, gesturing at the cars moving so slowly you could get home faster by walking.

1 comment:

Amanda Sue said...


please see my freudian slip in the previous post. :)