For starters…

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My Dad was an actor.  When I was a senior in high school he attempted his long-held dream of a dinner theatre.  It was to be called Swanky Franky’s; but the city decided that sounded too much like a strip club so it was given the more acceptable appellation of Swank’s.  Swank’s was a brilliant flash of light.  Less than a year later it experienced its demise and I watched as my parents struggled through the loss of a business and a dream.  It was then that I began praying that my future husband would not be entrepreneurial.

But, six years later, God, being the comedian He is, introduced me to James.  And five months later we were married.  In our first year my husband had four different careers.  I realized very quickly that my husband is, what I once called, chronically entrepreneurial.  But, since it turned out he’s rather good at it, I now call him an entrepreneurial wizard.

Since we’ve been together my husband has been a massage therapist, financial advisor, chef, caterer, private chef on a yacht, day trader, real estate agent then broker, property manager, etc.  He even had a short stint raking in the money as a meat salesman.

Once for our anniversary he bought me a business. Not joking.

I love watching my husband do business.  It’s his medium.  Work is fluid, something to be molded and improved upon.  And the business world is his canvas.  Now he has been doing real estate for five years and I think he’s really found what he loves.

But that doesn’t mean we’re done making changes, folks.  James is answering the siren’s call to work real estate in San Francisco and we are going with him.

This last year has been an all-chips-in wager.  We sold our house, found out we were pregnant with baby number three, moved in with my Mom, commuted to the Bay Area every day for months(James), got incredibly morning sick(Me), had home birth number three, and for a year were a family of five living in my Mom’s upstairs.  Thanks, Mom!

And now the gamble looks like it will pay.  My husband is looking for a one-bedroom San Francisco apartment for us, all of us.  The move is imminent.  We’re trading in a huge backyard for the city parks, flat suburban sidewalks for sea-view hills.  And because San Francisco is so much more fun without cars we’ll be getting rid of those, too, which means bus rides and city streets with the kids.

And, after a year of waiting, most of the anxiety has worked itself out of my system.  I’m almost pure excitement at this point, almost.

And I’m starting this blog to document the failures and successes the loneliness and awe of being a mother and an artist in a beautiful city by the sea. Also, probably at least one episode of losing a child in a crowded public place.

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