What makes a temporary thing so alluring? Why is it that if I know I’m going to be here only for a few years it takes the pressure off? Knowing there's an end date means that I don't have to consider ten years in advance when I ask a fellow mom a question on the playground?

It began with a toy not packed. Midway there was a shirtless, furious seven year old stomping alongside a park road alone. At the end there was a thunderstorm worthy of its Texas roots.

In the meantime, I am treading water with a stitch in my side. There is no timeline of knowing it worked. Any normal person would be smiling and excited in this situation. But the fact is, I am a worrier. I wish I could rearrange those vowels. Because a warrior did appear when it was time to make the decision for this change and I’m grateful for her arm-twisting. But I suppose her work here is done; she hasn’t showed up much in the time since.