Oh, ffs, this thing.

Yeah.  So.  Where was I?

Oh, yeah.  My husband's TT job has resulted in moving 40 miles NW, closer to LA proper.  We can see the downtown skyline from points less than a quarter-mile away.  It's surreal to me, for reasons I still can't quite articulate.

Anyhow, we moved spring of last year into an apartment with paper-thin walls, windows that rattled and failed to keep the chill air out, and a manager who'd had the complex dumped on him when his resident-manager brother went off to the Central Valley about a girl.  There were ants coming through the front, and cave crickets creeping out the plumbing.  The master bath had a shower so tight you could only clean it properly if you wore a bathing suit and rubber boots.

In short, it was less than ideal.

At the same time, my mother was entering the final months of her life.  Suffice it to say that I'm glad I'd already lost one parent, so that my brother and I could make the hard decisions my mother's husband couldn't stomach.

So, yes, that sucked.  The best part was when my son and I came down with Norovirus the day my mother died and the day after (respectively).  His began spectacularly, as he vomited profusely in the booth where we all (husband, son and I, plus bro & SiL, mom's widower & his friend) were attempting to eat something.  We left rather quickly after that, and I drove while my husband, too exhausted to be behind the wheel safely, sat in the back as our son continued to vomit every 25 minutes the whole 2-hour drive back.

Fucking awesome.

I got sick about 20 hours later, shortly before my son had diarrhea all over the bed.

Nothing says "losing a parent" like gastrointestinal disease stories.

After that, I proceeded to get sick three more times in 2012, with a repeat bout of the same GI "fun" three weeks later (Halloween!), then two lingering head colds, one for Thanksgiving, and one for Christmas.

I got done with that habit around the time I got knocked up with my daughter.

Oh, yeah.  I have two kids now.

And we live in a house.  We moved about 10.5 months after we'd moved in, though we officially rented for a year (I neglected to mention that it was an unbelievably low rent--then again, you get what you pay for, amirite?).  We bought the house off a family that we know--their daughters play with my son--and now we have a house.  With AC.  And our own laundry machines.  And stairs.  And no carpets.

Teal deer version:  We have settled into the city where my husband has a TT academic job at a SLAC, buying a house and having a second child.

I am reading a fair bit these days, going back and forth between science fiction/fantasy (the kool kids call it specfic now, but whatevs), and, well, science.  Mostly viruses, bacteria and other pathogens.  Considering some kind of healthcare career.  Maybe even med school, after all.  Not immediately, but eventually.  I might as well enjoy these stay-at-home-parent years while I can.  The baby's adorable, my son is bright and funny, though taking longer than my nerves can handle with potty training, and aside from getting a little OCD-twitchy about dirt while letting the chores pile up, I'm mostly fine.  Life's as good as it's going to get for now, and that's actually pretty fucking awesome.

Settling down is totally underrated.