MOM! My shoes.

Leon ran out of the house yesterday for science camp and immediately shouted, “MOM! My shoes.” I thought he was grabbing his shoes, he thought I was grabbing his shoes, it was a whole thing. He put his hand on my shoulder after I made him go get them, because I will not be doing that to his future life partner: “It’s okay, mom. You have a lot going on.” As frustrated as I was that my to-do list now included reminding him to put his shoes on, he’s right. Objectively, I do.

We have finally reached the finish line, and we are moving to San Francisco next week. I’m attempting to pack, work, write, wind down one life, spin up another, all while reminding my sons to put their shoes on. Moves aren’t for the faint of heart, especially when kids are involved. I’ve taken a page from Hunt, Gather, Parent, and am trying to have my boys pack their belongings. Best of luck to their toys. If they get lost or fall out of their boxes, I cannot say I will miss many of them. Especially those with batteries.

Once we get settled, I have to find my new routine. My grocery store. (Open to suggestions near Noe Valley!) The ideal hour to telephone my sister, a walking route that minimizes hills, a bakery to stop at (also open), and a park to loiter at with my kids. And unpacking, ick. I want to do all of this while still trying to write and make you laugh here, but I think I’m going to put my oxygen mask on first and give myself some space to get settled. Lest I forget our passports in a closet in Chicago. I will see you on the other side as a NorCal resident.

Leaving Chicago feels surreal. I’m semi-refusing to acknowledge it. Maybe it’s because I know I’ll be back, but also because I don’t know when that will be. Either way, my midwestern sensibilities are coming with me.

The room that brought you the Performance Plan, half disassembled.