I Am A Tramp

So, I have to be honest, I've become a bit of a tramp.

No, not THAT kind of tramp! Yeah, so I had two babies 18 months apart, so what?

What I mean is that I am thinking more along the lines of "carpetbagger", and less "boyfriend bagger"... no matter how hot he is... or how good he looks in a pair of jeans and a tight white tee that fits just so... Wait, what?

Anyway, back to my point: since we sold our house, anytime I go back to the metro to do simple things like Pediatrician appointments or court for a speeding ticket (purely as a hypothetical example), it's a major ordeal.

I have to pack everything, from toiletries and a pillow to snacks, figure out what I'm going to do with my kids, drive two hours, and then hit up one of my lovely friends to put me up for a few nights or get a hotel room.

In short, I am the world's biggest mooch.

Right now, I have spent a minimum of a day, every week, for the last three months in the metro. Each time it is a precisely-timed trip in and out, with complex rendezvous points and extensive itineraries.

I have a detailed packing list I go off of, a second set of toiletries I never unpack and a permanent drivers tan on my left side. I am the queen of the relocation blitzkrieg.

I feel bad for the kids, they sit around blinking dazedly like tiny little owls every time there is a change to the schedule.

Which is often.

I like to tell myself that this is good for them because it is teaching them to be flexible, but I'm pretty certain their therapist(s) will see things differently.

Just as an aside, I am writing this as I sit in an appointment with my husband that we drove an hour and a half to get to. And oddly, in my mind I think of this as a "quick errand" in comparison to many of the other errands I have done lately.

Which is why I am ready to give up my lifestyle as a tramp. A traveling nomad, an urban gypsy, living out of a couple bags and a pillow case.

Because I am more than a little sick of paying tolls and racking up speeding tickets. And working on that driver's tan.

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