A sign?
There have been a few signs that we might want to move out of the city: Astronomical real estate prices in our neighborhood; Kindergardenblogger’s constant begging for a yard. (Always at 7pm, always when the bigger kids are playing out back in their yard which he can see from his bedroom). But last night might have been the clincher. Around 1:30am Fatherblogger and I woke up to the sound of retching. We sat up and jumped out of bed, he ran to toddlerblogger, I ran to kindergartenblogger. Both were sound asleep. Then we looked out our bedroom window and there was a guy, linebacker-sized, puking in front of our house. He was really letting it all go, practically all over my little tiny flowerbed. We stood together in the window and watched him bumble across the street. “That’s gross,” Fatherblogger said. And we went back to bed.
The next morning, as we were dealing with the school day hustle on the front steps of managing a scooter/backpack and toddlerblogger’s stroller, the dog got out of the house and made a beeline for the street, to be more specific he made a beeline for the vomit in the garden and was eating it before I could run to stop him. I washed the dog’s face with a baby wipe, turned to Fatherblogger and laughed and said, “That might just be it.” And he said, “Yep, it just might be.”