I’ll be the first to admit – it was a glorious, beautiful thing we had back in Illinois.
My husband and I both grew up there, and raising our own children within 15 minutes of nearly everyone that we loved was an absolute blessing. We saw both our families at least once a week – but often many days in a row for work, pleasure, or a lovely combination of both.
Anytime we needed support – our families were there.
At least once a week they would take the kids for hours on end – often overnight – so we could have some quality alone time. Many times, after a family dinner or daytime hangout, the kids would beg us to let them stay longer, just for the fun of it, and Pat and I would drive away wondering how to fill this delightfully unexpected alone time together.
We were spontaneous. We could fully disconnect, knowing that the grandparents had everything totally under control. We were free to be together – not as parents, but as adults, lovers, and friends.
Glorious and beautiful, indeed.
Then, last winter, we decided to pack up our lives and moved 2,000 miles west, to northern California, completely alone.
We knew our new adventure would be nothing other than a life-changing leap into the unknown – filled with magic, rebirth, self-discovery and the forging of a newer, brighter, more fulfilling life.
And that has proven to be 100% true. But I’ll be the first to admit…
Raising kids away from family blows. More…