Before our trip we visited our local library, leaving with 26 items, some of which are currently overdue (I am on my way to becoming either the most hated or the most loved library patron in three states now). One of our selections was Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are? by Dr. Seuss.  That Dr. Seuss gets me every time!  I have yelled reading The Lorax, cried reading Oh, The Places You'll Go, and now been shamed while reading this one.

A sample: 
"And suppose that you lived in that forest in France, where the average young person just hasn't a chance to escape from the perilous pants-eating plants!  But your pants are safe! You're a fortunate guy. And you ought to be shouting, 'How lucky am I?'"

Alas, that's not what I was shouting over the course of the last week.  But since I write from the other side of my epiphany, I will relay the story as if I had, italicizing the reconsidered parts. (Watch out, it's long.)

I've heard that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting a different result.  I think it might actually be something else.  For example, maybe it's driving from middle Tennessee to mid Maryland with two pre-schoolers.  By oneself. Then driving on to Connecticut.  Then coming back just a few days later (husband in tow, necessitating speedier travel).  Two weeks after relocating, long before the last box is unpacked, and right before one's husband embarks on three consecutive weeks of travel.  CRAZY.

Hi. We've been here two weeks now.  That is long enough to unpack a lot of boxes,  long enough to meet a few (awesome) neighbors and to  discover those peaches on the tree in our yard are not for eating and definitely not for putting in my children's pancakes.  It's long enough to get a new library card and find a find killer indie rock radio station (we are Music City adjacent, after all), long enough to visit a new vet and the same church twice, long enough to make my first antique store purchase, and long enough to find I really miss Trader Joe's and can't afford to shop at Whole Foods.

But really, it hasn't been long enough.  It hasn't been long enough for any of us to find our place, for me to make any friends, to figure out a routine,  how to work out when I am always with my precious children, or to determine what exactly my job is.  It hasn't been long enough to find a preschool or my kids' coloring books.

It has been just exactly long enough for Daniel and I to realize that it's easy to take our fears and frustrations out on each other, but that it doesn't do either of us much good since we're all we've got down here.

Despite our being decidedly unsettled, tomorrow we ride.  Daniel is headed to Atlanta to meet his new team, then on to meet us in Connecticut.  The girls and I are headed to Maryland with every intention of driving straight through and with a brand-new, dual-screen DVD player that totally doesn't work. (But we've got audio books!  Who are we, the Waltons?) Mosotos, the aging puggle, is headed to what I am calling summer camp.  We'll see if he agrees.

In 7 days, we will travel roughly 2,000 miles.  Having just made one leg of this journey a couple weeks ago, albeit with much more back up, I have packed loads of healthy food and drinks.  May we happily drive by Sonics, McDonald's and Waffle Houses in at least five states.  My goal is to stop only for coffee, to stretch and to pee.  I haven't tagged up with the girls to see if they concur with this plan. I have packed dry erase boards and finger puppets, glow sticks, Leapsters, cookie sheets and magnets. (Incidentally, if you have any great ideas for how to keep 2 and 4-year-olds occupied on long trips, please send them my way.)

We are so caught up in the logistics (what? Me? Never!) that we might have forgotten why we're going.  One of Daniel's best friends is getting married to a girl we adore.  We couldn't be happier, and we couldn't miss it.  And in the process, we will get to see my parents, one set of his, and most of our siblings.  I'll get to be there the day of my little sister's latest (and last?) knee surgery.  My little girls will get to see their precious Aunt Nae.  It's a whirlwind dose of the familiar, which we desperately need. We haven't been able to find that in any of our boxes.

Tomorrow, if you think of us and our first-world problems and you're the praying kind, please pray for open roads and hearts, for perspective and redeemed time.

Disclaimer - This post was written in the middle of the night, but I did not have the presence of mind at that time to locate photos, so I'm posting it now, when I'm slightly more awake.

It's nearly 4:00 AM Central time, and I can't sleep.  I've been awake for about an hour and a half.  Unaccustomed to insomnia, I have tried everything.  Changing positions, nudging my husband back to his side of the bed, then surfing on my phone.  I have trolled Craigslist, and in an unrelated train of thought, diagnosed myself with gallbladder disease.  If I know you, chances are I have prayed for you tonight.  I have prayed for myself, my husband, my children, and most of my friends and family, in detail.  I am supposed to be up at 7:00 to workout at the pool before our day starts in this new, strange life.  But I just can't sleep, so here I am.

We've been in the new house for a week now, but it doesn't feel like it.  We stayed with my parents for several nights before making the trip.  It was-- say it with me-- bittersweet.  It felt very strange to be between homes.  Emerie, our little homebody, kept saying (as she often does), "Okay, Mommy.  I ready a go home now."  I wonder what place she envisions when she says "home."  I wonder if this feels like it yet.

We said good-bye to our old house and finally started our journey to Tennessee a day later than planned in 104-degree heat with two vehicles, three adults, two kids, a dog and a lot of toys and snacks.  The movers did not call to tell us what day our stuff would be arriving until about halfway through our first travel day.  It was days later than they had initially promised.  Daniel, ever our advocate, helped them to rethink their timetable.  Ahem. 

Traffic was terrible that first day, and with no reason to make it all the way there, we stopped in Knoxville.  It's not easy to travel long distances, especially in extreme heat, with a dog.  There are not many places you can go where everyone can be together, and not many places you want to go that offer outdoor seating on 81.  So I had my very first Sonic experience.

That night we found a pet-friendly hotel suite that had two rooms.  Mirabella slept in the closet (both children actually fought over that honor).  Our goal for the kids has been for them to find this whole experience to be a great adventure.  That night, we succeeded.  We ate from the sparse continental breakfast in the morning and played in the small outdoor pool before heading the rest of the way to our new place on the southern side of Nashville.

As we approached Nashville, Mirabella asked me to tell her a story.  I had been in the habit of telling her stories about a girl named "Pinky" (she chose the name).  Pinky, as it turned out, was also in the process of moving with her family to Tennessee.  She just so happened to be getting ready to see her new home for the first time on the same day as Mirabella.  "How do you think she might be feeling?" I asked her.

"Like she wants to be in two places at once," she replied.

"Where?" I asked.

"Maryland and Tennessee."

"What else might she be feeling," I asked, cringing.

"Like maybe this might start to feel like home, after a little while."

When we finally arrived, the kids explored and ran circles around every empty room.  Daniel set up their tent in their room.  We unloaded the car and cranked the air conditioning, then went to dinner downtown. We stumbled upon a local place with fantastic food, a great band, and room for our girls to dance.  I watched them twirling and whispered to Daniel, "This might be okay." We slept on air mattresses that night and awaited the delivery of over 385 boxes the next day.

When the movers arrived the next morning, Amy and the kids and I ran errands, delivered lunch, then went to the pool.  It's hard to keep two preschoolers out of the way.  When we got home there were boxes everywhere.  Professional movers do not pack the way you do.  One four-foot-tall box labeled "Kitchen" had three shelves in it (destined for the garage) and roughly 200 sheets of packing paper.  Some rooms were more straightforward than others, but there really was no systematic way to unpack, and the boxes seemed to multiply.  In those first days we met new neighbors, but unfortunately, only the ones who are on their way out of the neighborhood and wanted our empty boxes.

Thanks to Daniel's gracious boss and colleagues allowing him a laidback holiday week and Amy's selfless help, we are now unpacked in all the places that matter most. We spent the Fourth of July at a fabulous festival in our new town, watching the fireworks from an expansive open field.  We have been to the pool most of the days we've been here, we took the girls to see Brave, and tonight, after playing out back with our nextdoor neighbors' six and nearly three-year-old girls, Mirabella prayed, "Thank you for my new friends and for letting us move here."

I've been to two new grocery stores, two farmer's markets, two new restaurants, a frozen yogurt place, and a new church. We have endured 109-degree heat, anxiety over lack of familiarity, money and routine, countless meltdowns from our little ones, and a couple from their parents. Saturday after we dropped Amy off at the airport, it started feeling more permanent.  Today we were both out of sorts.  Unsettled, I guess.

And now it's nearly 5:00 AM, and I sit wide awake at a computer that's stacked on top of three cardboard boxes. Send your prayer requests my way. In a strange turn of events,  I've got nothing but time.