And reality sets in

Peeps, I think we've finally set a date.

Does that sound like we're planning a wedding? It kind of does, doesn't it?

Does anyone miss the wedding plan bit of engagement?  I knew early on that I didn't want a long engagement, and, therefore, wouldn't have time to waiver on the tightrope of indecision--blue or purple? Lilies or roses? Piano or guitar? So, technically, I started planning our wedding almost a year before we were actually engaged (and, P.S. it was blue--always blue, since I was five and decided that pink was a stupid color . . . no offense . . .).  We planned, we DIYed, we budgeted, we decorated, and, suddenly, the big day arrived and was over. Just like that.  In a flash, all those months of work vanish into photographs, wedding bands, and smiles. 

I think the move will feel like that, a little bit.
This whole thing has been in the works for over a year.  Last Thanksgiving, Chris's dad was helping him with something in the backyard and suddenly said, "You want to live in California?"
"Yes!"
"Kay then.  New job with the company's opened over there.  I'll let you know."
And that was that. 

Five months later, Chris interviewed and was told he was accepted. 
We knew nothing, besides a vague idea of location and timelines that kept changing.  We would move in June, no May--March then! January? February? Ever?

Chris called me this afternoon to announce that he had put a deposit on a rental townhouse in a lovely little town called San Juan Bautista.  It's one of those quiet little places where "downtown" is one street lined with mom-and-pop diners and antique shops.  Chris's parents love visiting when they're in the area on business. We made a brief stop there during our own exploration this past summer, and it really is quite charming.

We have to sign the lease on February 9.
Which means we'd fly out on February 8 and hope the moving truck filled with possessions (all the ones I've not managed to get Chris to throw out--anyone else have any complications trying to get men to release random objects?) follows closely behind. 

That's three weeks from Friday, peeps.

THREE WEEKS.

And, oh, um TWO weeks from today that I have to get stuff cleaned up and thrown out before the movers come to box up and load everything. 

It doesn't quite seem real, yet.  It's getting there, but we haven't really reached it.  I don't think we will until we step off that plane and find ourselves in an empty house with three furballs, two suitcases, and an air mattress. Alone.  Over a year of building anticipation, and then it's over.  

Don't get me wrong--we are SO excited.  We love the little town, the townhouse is adorable, and the complex seems lovely.  We'll be out west--something we've wanted for years but never really thought we could achieve. We'll be putting down new roots in new places, independent, creating something new. 

Still, it's starting to seem real, and that means that talking about goodbyes isn't just talking any more.  They're going to happen.  We will hug our families, exchange the "I love you" and "I'll miss you" and "Keep in touch, see you soon" and then we'll be gone.  It's not final--we'll see them at least twice a year for the annual company meetings, but still . . .

It's just weird seeing your plans finalize into something concrete.