I’m homesick. I’m sick of being here.

I’m not really into seeing my friends either, since the more I explain why I’m here, the more real it becomes. But I’m restless. That’s the thing about being an expat. You don’t fit in the foreign city you adopt, and eventually you don’t fit in the home town you left. But I love my Mom’s house. Even though she moved in right before I left for France, and it’s an hour away from Sacramento, it still feels like home to me.

Press play on all three videos. This is what it sounds like in my head right now.

I haven’t really left the house in two weeks except to go to the dog park, the hospital or to get groceries. I have hardly talked to my husband, much less anyone else.
My Mom is doing better but not well enough for me to go home for ten days while my friend visits, so while she is in Paris, David is coming here. I feel bad, but she’s a smart girl and she has her boyfriend with her, and she knows how to get around in unfamiliar cities.
We tore out the front yard completely, and are going to start again with all new plants. We had a house full of college kids here yesterday helping us. The yard has been driving my mom crazy since she moved in, so seeing it getting done is making her happy. So maybe instead of a Paris blog about renovating an apartment in the 15th arrondissement, this might be a gardening blog in Stanislaus County for a while. I can only hope.


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