We’re back from Boston and wicked exhausted.
Even without the kids, we still managed to make typical blunders and put Murphy’s Law to the test.  We had memorable moments without a camera on hand (like seeing a friend of mine from Junior High that I hadn’t seen in 20 years), were tripod-less in the moments when we really needed it, and had excellent weather only on the days we were stuck inside for the conference. But all that really didn’t matter because in the end, we really, Really, REALLY loved Boston. (Don’t even get us started on how much we loved the North End.)
Although we admit having a bit of 4-year moving itch (just try moving after 4-or-less years for your whole life and see what it does to you) we have no grand illusions about moving to Boston. I don’t remember the area much from our days in the late 70s Boston burbs, but my parents nostalgically relayed some of the key points for us. Like when I almost lost my thumb to the big, heavy, steel-interior front door. And The Fourth of July when they gathered wood for a fire to keep out the night’s chill. But if we had to spend some time for, say, a post-doc or something? We’d at least consider it, with excitement. The more likely scenario is that we’ll have to move up there since Massachusetts is the only State to offer Universal Health Care (something so tremendously important that it gets capitalized).
As is the case when we return from any foreign country, our re-intry into the Gret Stet of Looziana has been a bit rough. Tomorrow is coming hard and fast, filled with teaching English, Doctoral Seminar, late working lunch, and then swimming practice. My parents were extra awesome for helping with the kids AND leaving leftovers for dinner tomorrow. Seriously above and beyond the call of duty… especially when you consider they came here directly from the airport after spending a week in Vegas, having at least four car break-downs during the weekend (including one half way between here and Mobile), and with today being the first day of my Dad’s new super-CEO job. (Go, Dad!)
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