I've had a few moments of missing that little Denver bungalow lately. I miss the old farm sink in the kitchen (that had a garbage disposal!) and washing vegetables that Trevor and the girls had just plucked from out back. I miss the big tree in the front of the house and the way it would sound as I worked from the front porch during nap time. I miss turning the dog and kids out to the fenced yard for some fresh air. I miss the floor creaks and those lovely old windows and the arches in the doorways.
But even as we have had to let go, watching a dream unfold has been equally emotional. This past weekend, we brunched in Manhattan and then strolled the High Line; and I could just barely believe that I was doing it with my whole family and that it was possible because we live here. I've walked that very path before and wondered what it would be like to cruise above the city, us four, just for something to do on a Sunday. But there we were, up the stairs and to the magical walkway that is the High Line. We... started from the bottom [at Bubby's], now we're here. (Had to.)
We drove through downtown while the girls snoozed and I had a New York moment or two, big cheesy grin on my face. And then we stopped through Greenpoint for a romp at the playground and some Mom and Popsicles.
I love that here the whole world is our backyard; and sometimes all it takes it a turn around a corner or a quick subway trip to the next neighborhood--or even a walk up in the clouds, above the buildings and streets below--and your whole perspective is refreshed. That's a gift. I like remembering that when we're out as a family. If this city continues to reveal that magic to me now, and time after time, I can only imagine what it looks like to little girls. And I like that they have that.