We’ve been full-timers now for 4 months. A total of one hundred and eight days on the road.
On the one hand it’s gone by so fast. It seems like last week when we drove to Ohio from Michigan to pick it up. I remember having to drive back to my in-laws house in a torrential downpour. I was a nervous wreck. The next morning, I called my friend Elena, who has experience with driving mammoth vehicles (she was a firefighter in Miami) hoping she would pump me up or at least give me some good advice. “Don’t worry about hitting parked cars on the side of the street downtown” she said, “I used to do it all the time. If those people are going to park close to traffic, they deserve to get hit. You’ll be fine!” That’s what I needed to hear.
On the other hand, it feels as if we’ve been full-timers for a lot longer than 4 months. Maybe it’s because Greg and I are getting the hang of the duties we have quietly assumed responsibility of. We know the drill both when we park and when we’re packing up to leave. I have the few things I do, I won’t bore you with the minutia, but suffice it to say we are work in tandem. It’s a true team effort. We are simpatico.
We have also officially gone one month without a “date-night”. I am missing our old babysitter of 4 years, Amanda, right about now. I missed her before, but I REALLY MISS HER NOW! Greg is great about letting me go to a movie or whatever I want once or twice a week and vice versa. I don’t often take him up on it, because what I really want is to be alone with him and enjoy a nice conversation without being interrupted or having to take someone to the bathroom, or having to ask someone to sit down, stop yelling…and eat your food. But once a month I do take him up on it. For instance, the other night I bought myself dinner from Chipotle and snuck it into the theatre. I sat in the very back row, silently ate my dinner and enjoyed alone time in a dark practically empty theatre. It was lovely.
Other than the occasional missing of date-night, family and friends, life on the road is going swimmingly. Every time we enter a town Greg begins his “How long before Angie Beth says she could live here” countdown. I keep falling in love with all the little small towns we find ourselves in. Mount Shasta, California has my heart at the moment. It’s sunny 80% of the time, but if your looking for snow or mountains, just drive 10 minutes up the mountain, bring a blanket, snacks and toys for the inmates (aka children) and take in the view.
If you want to visit the beach, just drive 10 minutes south and you will find yourself in the middle of a beautiful state park with a long sand bar, beautiful blue water, a view of Mt. Shasta and let the inmates run around in their swimsuits until they can’t run anymore. The best of both worlds.
I had always heard that about California. During my short times visiting the state, if I was at the beach I never made it to the Mountains. And if I was in the mountains I never made it to the beach. I was always on someone else’s timeline.
4 full months and there is still so much to see it’s overwhelming. To think there are other little untouched gems out there waiting to be discovered, loved and appreciated blows my mind.
Date night or not, I am loving life today and am annoyingly happy.
(It was very difficult not to put an exclamation point after happy, cause happiness can be annoying)
One hundred and eight days on the road. So hard to believe. I find myself lost in “I can’t believe we did this” thought.
It’s a cool 54 degrees as I sit out by our campfire in Tillamook, Oregon. 10:30 in the evening and everyone but little ole me is sleeping snug in their warm beds. I savor the opportunity (to reflect on our days) the nighttime gives me. I am just out enjoying a glass of wine thinking about earlier today when Greg was helping me do laundry. We pulled up to the laundromat and as I opened the car door, I made a mental note of the slippery parking lot divider curb thing…but the mental note eluded me as I proceeded to get out of the car, ultimately slipping and falling on the slippery parking lot divider curb thing.
