They were hanging out waiting for the perfect wave, and meanwhile were evidently bored, wet, cold, and wasting their time. How ridiculous.
I thought about this for a minute.
"Yeah, but isn't that a bit like us?"
For years I've been talking about moving and leaving an apartment that has for different reasons never quite fit my dreams. It has, at the same time, been perfect: the right place to rent when we arrived here from Boston, the right place to buy when the occasion presented itself. It's on a quiet street, and the sun streams in through all the windows from morning through late afternoon. The closets are big. The kitchen is huge by Parisian standards. There's a parking spot and a basement storage unit, and a grocery store a block away.
But we're feeling a little bit... root bound, with two kids, two bedrooms, and two thousand-odd books at last estimate. Legos, CDs, stuffed animals, preschool art projects I'm too sentimental to get rid of. Three bicycles. Four car seats. Lots and lots of baby clothes.
For at least two years now we've been idly following online real estate announcements, but for one reason or another it was never the right moment. We're big on unnecessary reflection chez Parisienne: for example, we started making lists of baby names back before we were married, none of which, incidentally, came close to making the final cut. We're also big on to-do lists before we leap into the unknown. In order to consider a move farther out of Paris, I had to get my French driver's license: check. We decided that it was not a good idea to move in the summer right before I started back at work at the end of my maternity leave. Now we're wondering if we should move this summer or the next, for the former will mean that we'll have to find a new nanny for Mademoiselle.
As wave after wave crashes on my head, I'm clinging to my board and dog paddling. And I'm getting sick of it.
This weekend we're visiting a house and an apartment. I doubt either will inspire us, but I'm not sure that surfers make to-do lists, either.
Hold on folks, that may be a whitecap on the horizon.