My parents recently bought a house in Newport Beach, which is conveniently only an hour away from us (it's about the halfway point between us and them). The last few Saturdays we've driven up to see the house and have some lunch. The season is quickly cooling down (especially on the coast), so we haven't gotten to spend time on the beach, but come summer, we'll skip right across PCH - literally, right there - and be chasing after the baby and trying to minimize the sand intake. My dad and brother are taking sailing lessons (jealous) nearby, there are loads of little shops and restaurants and delis nearby, and there's awesome shopping (Fashion Island, anyone?).
In about a year, Jasper and Henry will be besties. I hope. Unless Henry becomes awful (like many babies do) and is a hair-, tail-, and ear-pulling monster, in which case Jasper will kindly avoid him like he avoids the vacuum.
The new house is fun. Tight, but fun, and with just enough space for us to all fit. Every time I go, I imagine it furnished and with a fire burning and a Christmas tree glowing and a crockpot stinkin' the place up with something magic. And then my heartstrings pull because I miss my family and I can't wait until we're all together again.
Henry is not amused.
We're going back this weekend for some Big Belly Deli, Grandma and Grandpa time (Uncle Lane is taking the SAT - good luck Lane!), and more daydreaming about future Christmases. It seems most of my daydreams involve Christmas and family. I must have some good associations.