In what amounted to the full efforts of a transcontinental move, our family has relocated itself. Ten minutes down the road. If you had asked me in January where I saw myself by the time pre-school started, I’d have answered in the same spot. I couldn’t have imagined how roughly true that was.
It’s been a strange move. We are officially in a new town, but we go to the same church and grocery store. The only major difference to our out-of-the-house routine is which Target we go to. Our new-to-us neighbors are finally realizing we don’t need tips on what’s what in NoVa.
Preschool started up this week for both girls. They go to the same learning center. They are in new classrooms with new teachers and loving it. We see their old friends out on the playground, and we’re quickly making new friends.
One, a mom, was trying to figure us out. She eventually approached the subject directly when she realized we were parked right next to each other. She thought maybe Wren was my black husband’s child from a previous relationship because there was no way Wren had white blood in her.
I actually get that a lot from people I haven’t seen in ten years… Surely I’ve remarried as one does.
The thing is Wren does have a white great grandmother. I shared that with the mom of the girl in Wren’s class. When we got home, I asked Wren if it bothered her that I talked about her adoption. She’s still very quiet on that subject. Maybe I should take a cue from her.
Yes, I realize the irony that I’m blogging about it.