Home

A week after Mike and I arrived in OK, my parents brought our kids out to us and stayed with us for the weekend. We played and lounged and talked, and the days melted away until they had to leave. It's like they have lives elsewhere or something. Weird. I loved having them here with me in my new home. When they left, we stood on our front porch and waved until we couldn't see them anymore. We went back in and I sat in our front room in sweats and cried like they were leaving me alone in my dorm room on my first day of college (I mean...I didn't cry then...I'm totally mature, independent, and, um...stoic). Jude brought me books and toys to cheer me up, whispering in my ear how much he loves me, smothering me with hugs and kisses (maybe I should be sad more often?). We've lived around family for years and now it feels as if we are alone in the wilderness. But only a few days later, Pete and Meags called to say they had booked flights to come and see us. Friends! In Oklahoma! The weekend was bliss. Mostly, we just played in our yard (we have a yard!), broke in our fire pit (we have a fire pit!), and swung madly on our tree swing (we have a...!). In the evenings, we got wild and watched a BBC series and ate Blue Bell ice cream. Just like old times. With loved ones here, in our space, even though they eventually leave, this place is beginning to feel like home. 

 Ring around the rosy in the mexican food parking lot

 The fire pit!

 The swing!

 Cousin buddies eating S'mores

 Chloe and the S'More

Gabe uses our tornado shelter (we have a tornado shelter!) as a slide and lion pacing ground

The Edge

Two weeks ago, Mike, the kids and I moved to a new house--a house that we bought sight unseen in a small town in Oklahoma. The town occupies four square miles, a booming metropolis compared to the blips of civilization we passed in blinks driving our moving van through the arid deserts of New Mexico and Texas. The Air Force wives tell me that one starts to feel claustrophobic in days. After two weeks, I began to wonder if I would eventually feel constricted, if I could feel it creeping in even now. So when our errands took us a few minutes rather than an hour because everything is so close, I decided to drive around, and eventually drove west of our house until I hit the edge of town. Only a few blocks away. The kids and I sat in the car starring at the edge of things. Before us spread a dusty plain, whirlwinds of dirt gusting across empty, barren land, some railroad tracks disappearing into a blur of heat, the sky a hazy blue. I've never been on the edge before, never come to the point where something ends, and nothing exists beyond. We sat there in the idling car squinting into the sunlight, feeling strange.