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The docs are signed, the money is transferred, and the county has been notified. It’s official. We’re massively in debt. Good God, I hope the golden California sun continues to shine on the Silicon Valley home market.

Financial panic aside (everyone around here assures me that it will subside into a dull worry that can be pressed into the recesses of my brain where it’s more easily ignored), we’re excited to have a home again. And a lovely one at that.

We love it.

We move in July 7th, and hope you’ll come visit us soon.

We’ve been in California for 6 weeks already now.  Not a post in sight all that time, so here I go:

It’s really pretty here.  Whenever we walk to the park, down the block, to the store or library, we get to enjoy enormous trees, lush plants, oodles of flowers (the roses are enormous here!), and the Santa Cruz mountains as a backdrop, and we’re only 20 minutes from the ocean.  It’s all lovely.

The weather is always perfect.

Did I mention that we can actually walk to places we want or need to go?  How great is that?!?

If you blow through a red light you’re lible to get a very random fine, like $281.  Huh?

Everything is expensive.

To this midwestern girl, I have to admit that the people are very nice out here.  In all honesty, I was kind of skeptical about it, but we’ve met some wonderful people who have all been very helpful in our transition.

It gets *really* cold at night, at least to us.  And especially since living in Texas for 10 years.

Flying anywhere takes a long time being this far west, as evidenced by my recent trip to Chicago with both kids.

Everything is expensive.

HOV lanes rule!  I almost always have at least one of the kids with me so we get to fly by all of the single-occupant vehicles during rush hour.

We’re riding our bikes again.  Seems we never got the muscles to do that in our hilly neighborhood in Austin.  Reid is lightening fast when he wants to be.

All of the schools have outdoor hallways.

There are no fire ants.  At Reid’s soccer game the other day, I paused before sitting in the grass and then quickly remembered that I could.  And the grass is really soft.

I miss my friends in Austin and elsewhere on the planet.

There are song birds in our backyard.  One of them is singing a lovely tune as I write this.

Oh, and everything is expensive.

One of the hardest things about leaving Austin is leaving the kids’ preschool. The Rise School of Austin and all of the people working there that have touched our lives has been nothing less than transformative.

In the few short months that Reid and Ava have attended Rise, they have grown in ways that I could hardly imagine back in August.

Reid has learned the invaluable lessons of patience, understanding, and acceptance. When he first started at Rise, he was pretty uncertain and, to be quite frank, a bit annoyed with one of his classmates who has Down syndrome like his sister. There were several times at afternoon pick-up when I learned that Reid had been reprimanded for poor behavior toward the young man. We talked about it a lot. About how people learn differently, at their own pace, and that ultimately people will do what they want, when they want. It wasn’t all just talk about the other kids in his class. It was about him, too. He’s asked so many insightful questions, that I’m amazed they come from the mind of a 5-year-old. Questions like: “Is it okay to be bossy?” “Why can’t some people talk?” “Can I have a wheelchair? I want one!” I am pleased that his opinion of his classmate has gone from one of annoyance to that of sheer joy, talking about him and asking to have him come over to play after school. I feel like his experience at Rise will carry-through with him, into not only appreciating differences in our society, but celebrating them. It’s an experience for him that I wish I had as a child. Imagine what the world could be like if everyone experienced the joy of differences.

And Ava. My, oh my! She has turned from a boot-scooting baby into a full-fledged, walking toddler. She’s now saying “open,” “up,” “down,” and knows most of her colors. It’s incredible. Every morning she literally runs into her classroom. It’s so funny: she takes turns on which teacher she hugs first and then laughs before making her morning hug rounds. I know that a lot of what she is now doing is because she is ready to do it. But I can’t say enough about the positive influence the Rise classroom has had on her. The love, joy, patience, and unrelenting positive reinforcement and expectations of her is astounding. And yes, her teachers have expectations of her. They only expect the best and because of that, she is giving them her best.

I can only hope that the environment, people and schools in California will give Reid and Ava what they truly need: the space, time, support, and energy to explore whatever it is they want to explore, at their own pace, with classmates that celebrate and accept differences. I’ve done a lot of research and have made contact with many people in CA already. I know there is much work ahead of me, just like there was when we finally found the Rise School.

With hard work, persistence, and ingenuity, I know we’ll get there. But I’m still keeping my fingers crossed and hoping for the best.

Why is it that everyone with a cute, little, yippie dog seems to bring them along everywhere they go?

There was a woman at the mall yesterday with one of those long-haired chihuahua (sp?) pooches. She was carrying it around in a sparkly, pink bag, and then letting it roam all over the place. People were oohing and aahing the thing.

I really don’t understand not only why people bring their dogs with them all over town, but why in the world businesses let them. Has Paris Hilton-esque culture become the predominant factor in our society? If so, Lord help us all.

Today is ending up being rather emotional for me. The fact that we are leaving Austin is becoming very real now. In all of this chaos and doing and planning, I have also done a lot of reflection.

One thing I’ve thought about quite extensively is that even though we’ve lived in Tejas for 10 years now, it’s really only seemed like HOME for about 3 or 4 years. I wonder why that is. I have very strong Cancerian tendencies to root and reminisce, nest and be homey. My environs play an enormous role in my emotional health and well-being. I know that. And I know I can be pretty anal about it sometimes, too. To the point of annoying.

But part of that nesting and rooting is what makes me ME. I love to tinker around the house, organize things, move furniture around. Things that might seem like adding to the chaos, but that for me make things more homey, more comfortable.

I know I will find roots in California, that I will nest and explore and enjoy. It’s just always hard for me to leave home behind. And in all of this, I am coming to realize, once again, that home is within me, with my family, with my stuff, with the spirit of those I love that are near and dear to me. So even though we are leaving Tejas, all of those things will come with me, to my new house which, in time, will become my home.
So…. I guess I better get back to packing.

In the flurry of all-things-doing-to-get-ready-to-move, Mom and I yesterday removed the stained glass from the windows next to our front door.

The windows have a story of their own: custom made by Dad, he gave us six for the first Christmas we spent in our new house in Austin.  I hated to sound ungrateful, but I reminded him that we had ten, not six, windows to fill with his colorful creations.  His reply?  “You get the next four when you’re legitimate.”  It was funny and perfect coming from him.  I reminded him of his promise the day we got engaged and four more windows were part of our wedding gift.  He couldn’t help but make one of the Texas flag and one with a light blue cross.  We put them on separate sides of the front door, in keeping with our constitutional right of separation of church and state.

So the windows are now gone, after nearly 10 years of filtering the light into our living room.  It’s very strange.  I keep thinking the front door is open with all of the bright light coming in the house.  I can actually see people approaching our front door, and they can easily look inside and get a gander at the mess that abounds.

And it’s loud in here, too.  Pictures are coming off the walls.  Things are being boxed up.  Rugs will eventually get rolled up.  We actually noticed an echo in our bedroom yesterday evening.

After living in one place for 10 years, I have mixed emotions about moving, selling, moving on.  There are a lot of memories that will always be here, always colored by the light of those stained glass windows.

Mom packed up the windows yesterday.  She said, “I don’t know what in the world you’ll do with these at your new house in California.”  I know exactly what I’ll do: find the perfect spot for them to color all of our new experiences–and keep the treasures of the past with us always.

You know the song: California here we come, right back where we started from, du du du du….

I have memories of that being sung by someone in my family (though I can’t remember who; my pop?) when I was just a wee lass.  I have no idea what it’s from, but it seems that most people know the song.  Anywho….

The gig is up, the word is out: we’re off to California. (That could also be put to a song that I’m sure you all remember, too!  Was it by Styx?)

I’m starting to get really excited about the move.  I keep coming back – both in my mind and in conversation – to the trees and grass.  My native midwestern sensibilities are getting the better of me, and I can’t tell you how excited I am for soft grass that you can walk on BAREFOOT without it scratching your skin to bits or releasing myriad bugs to gobble up your toes, and trees that actually produce decent amounts of shade and have leaves on them that are larger than my pinky finger.

Don’t get me wrong.  The past 10 years in Austin have been amazing.  We’ve made friends here that are more like family, have created a home for our children, and have found success both personally and professionally.  I will sorely miss the familiarity that is now Austin (which was also once so foreign to me).

Every so often it occurs to me that we live in Texas (“Texas?  Yeah, Texas.  Jeez.”) and that still, after all of this time, it kind of freaks me out.  I mean, come on, I’m from the Land of Lincoln where statues to Confederate war heros on very respectable university campuses and state capitol lawns are unheard of.  And despite never quite picking up the use of “ya’ll” (something I’m admitedly proud of; I prefer the less regional (?) “you guys”), and never really getting used to wearing shorts on Thanksgiving, I’ve adapted to the Lone star State quite nicely.  Believe me, once you figure out the “loop back” concept on roads, you really CAN get somewhere.

I like barbeque.
And breakfast tacos (one of the best inventions ever).
And Shiner Bock.
And Hippie Hollow.
And Eeyore’s Birthday Party.
And the general quirkness that is Austin, albeit Austin with many growing pains.
And all my friends–dearly.

But I’m also looking forward to exploring a new place; seeing what it has to offer; figuring out “the system” “out there;” meeting new people and making a few good friends; going on adventures with my family to the ocean, and beach, and mountains.

It’s a change.  And in all of the details that have to be attended to to make this change happen, I’ve come to realize that I like change; I invite it.

When I first met Sean, my life functioned in 2-3 year cycles.  Graduated college, worked a lame job in Chicago, taught English in Slovakia, moved to Austin, took a job, but then went to graduate school, etc.  I haven’t had any major change in a seemingly long time (though some might argue that becoming a mother of 2 is quite a change).

I feel like this one is not only for me, but for all of us.  Me and Sean and Reid and Ava.  We’re doing this together and I am so looking forward to what the future holds.  In making the move together, we are each going to have our own challenges, adventures, discoveries.  The cool thing is that we’ll all be experiencing it together, but in our own unique ways, and we will have the chance to support one another in our endeavors.

Now that’s something.

So sing it with me: California here come!  (Not quite where we started from…) Du, du, du, du, du, du, du, du, duuuuu, du, du….

One of the very first things that Amy and I recognized following Ava’s birth was that we were now members of a new club. I don’t mean that in a trite kind of way. I mean that we realized that we would be forever and profoundly connected to a new group of people. Just after her birth, I might have said, “People who have been affected by Down syndrome.” Or perhaps “afflicted.” Now I say, “People who have been blessed by Down syndrome.” And I don’t mean that in a trite or saccharine kind of way. I mean that I have not only accepted with gratitude the fact that Ava has Down syndrome, but that I and many others around us have been reworked into better people. At times that process has come with joy, and other times with great pain — but better all the same.

Yesterday I received an email via this website from another so connected individual. Her message, with permission, is below.

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I’ve been looking at your website. I was interested in reading about the birth of Ava, and the many things she has already taught you. The poem by the young teen was so touching and so true. The subject of Down syndrome is especially close to my heart because my oldest brother had DS. He grew up with the rest (6) of us on a homestead in Alaska. He passed away in 2001 at the age of 56, having held a job for many years, and enjoying many friends in the church and community. After his death, I wrote a book about him, in the hope that it would encourage other families who might relate and/or learn something from our experiences. If you’d like to take a look at my website, it’s www.fireweedtales.com.

Thanks again for your interesting website.

Mary Perry
Anchor Point, AK