You Must Be This Tall

This week has been a roll-er-coaster. A rolly roll-er-coaster. 

After months of research and looking and waiting we found and bought the perfect sailboat. There were a few disappointments along the way – beautiful boats that weren’t in the budget or boats that other buyers got to first. Although we live on an island (with three yacht clubs within twenty minutes) there are surprisingly few boats for sale here. This meant being ready to jump in the car and drive five to eight hours just to see if a boat that looked good online also looked good offline; an option that wasn’t always an option if it was the middle of the week or if the weekend was spoken for. 

In the face of said disappointments, I resolved not to get too excited about any more of our maybe boats. I’d save my excitement for the day I could peek out the bathroom window and get all giddy because, um, there’s a boat parked in the driveway. On Sunday, I expect to peek out the bathroom window no less than thirty times to make sure that the boat is there and is real and is really ours. 

And then. Once upon a time a job was born. It was perfect for my heart and for my mind and for my little family. It’s possibilities made the idea of being apart from Frances for the first time since she was born almost bearable. It kept me up at night with excitement. And then as quickly as it was offered it disappeared into the black hole of internal restructuring. My heart and my mind are reeling. Rob has been wearing his most amazing papa, boyfriend and best friend sash for two days. This is good. Frances has been extra silly and squishy. Also good. 

I’m stealing one more day for sadness and disbelief and then on Sunday I’m packing it all up, along with the parts of me that have grown attached to this position over the last five months, and sticking it on a shelf. There’s a chance that the sun may be out for the first time in a week and two days is plenty of time not to be overwhelmed with gratitude for what we do have, which is so so much.