On The Move

I suck at sharing big news. I blurt it out awkwardly, say nothing at all, or make a bigger deal than I should. A few years ago, I told you I had a big announcement, and then I teased you for a several weeks prior to revealing that I bought the domain name for The Runaway Mama and switched from a Blogspot to a WordPress blog. Voila!

The process of transitioning my blog platform and buying the rights to the URL were big leaps in my writing journey, but you thought I was pregnant, so when I finally let the cat out of the bag, you were like, “Um…okay.” The ordeal left all of us disappointed because (1) you hoped I was having a third baby, and (2) I felt fat.

I have big news again, and while some of my friends know about it, I’ve yet to write about it. Frankly, it scares the crap out of me, and every time I say it out loud, it feels more and more real and I get more and more anxious. I’m a nervous Nellie on an average day, so now I’m basically a raving lunatic.

Some of you might still dare to believe I’m having a baby, even though I’m on the doorstep of forty and geriatric in the obstetrics and gynecology community. Just like my BFF, Jen Garner, I do have a baby bump, but I’m not pregnant. Some of you might be wondering if I have some kind of cancer. It’s a sad reality for many, but that’s not the news either (thankfully), which reminds me that I need to make an appointment with my dermatologist. Still, some of you might be wondering if I’ve finally written a book. If only.

Here it is.

I’m moving. Out of state. Back to the New York City area. Soon. Like, in a month or so, or several weeks, or a big bunch of days. Holy crap. (See “raving lunatic” reference in paragraph three.)

I know what you’re thinking. No biggie. Whatevs. “Um…okay.” I could live in Maine or Miami and still be the same Anxious Crazy Shopaholic Mama you’ve come to know and follow (thanks, by the way). But it is a big deal, and it’s not just because I have to pack up a house full of hoarders. It’s because I’ve lived in Florida longer than I’ve lived anywhere since I left home for college. The Sunshine State has been the backdrop of more than a decade of my life and marriage and nearly all of my 30s. I have permanent flip-flop tan lines on my feet to prove it!

It’s also where I became a mother.

If this period of my life had a theme, it would definitely be motherhood (or poop). As I throw out, give away, pack up, and prepare to embark on a new journey with my brood, I’m caught between the adventures and opportunities that await in our new locale and the sadness I feel for the friendships and support (and babysitters!) we’re leaving behind. We’re starting anew, but we’re also starting over, and that’s all kinds of scary.

I’m not ready (at all!) to deal with the emotional toll of moving away from friends and family, but I’ve started a mental list of things I’ll miss about living in Florida, including 72 degree winter days, Publix (where shopping is a pleasure), flips flops as an eternal fashion “Do,” and witnessing rain in the front yard but not in the back yard. (That never gets old.) There are things I’m looking forward to in our new locale, too, like the first crisp fall day, shopping for a winter wardrobe (boots, Baby!), and watching in awe as my boys see snow for the first time in their lives.

Of course, I’ve thought about future blog ideas, including “How to Get Your Boys to Wear Pants in 53 Simple Steps” and “Shopaholic Mama Presents: Sweaters That Flatter Every Dog.” Since moving is number three and sandwiched just below divorce and right above major illness on the list of life’s most stressful situations (revisit “raving lunatic” reference in paragraph three), there’s plenty of inspiration for blog posts right now, like “Top Ten Ways to Distract Your Kids While You Throw Out Plastic Easter Eggs, Inflatable Carnival Prizes, Deflated Balloon Animals, Happy Meal Toys, and Other Crap That Will Go on the Moving Truck OVER MY DEAD BODY.” (That title might need some work.)

Stay tuned, my faithful readers, because The Runaway Mama is on the move. But not preggers. Seriously. Not knocked up. No bun in the oven. Are we clear?

Have you done (i.e. survived) a long distance move with your kids? Tell me about it.