You know the joke: “My husband wanted a cat but I didn’t want a cat. So we compromised and got a cat.”

Replace “a cat” with “to move” and you’ve pretty much got it.

For us, this move has been a long (secretive) time coming, but given the startled pause and then “PORTLAND?!” that I get when I tell people, I’m guessing it’s coming out of left field for most of you. So, some ‘splaining.

A long time ago, two barely legal high school sweethearts got married. In the girl’s mind, this was just the next logical step on her “marry an engineer, become a teacher in Hanover, settle near Steinbach (maybe go so far as Winnipeg), have four children, and live out her days on the prairies” long-range plan. At the time, the boy thought this was just fine with him.

But as they grew (up, apart, and then back together), the sweethearts realized that they approached life very differently. For her, it was about rootedness and perennials and predictability. For him, it was about adventure and novelty and excitement.

It’s pretty challenging to find a life plan that meets the needs of two such disparate outlooks. But what seems to be working is a relatively quiet pace of life for her spiced up  with occasional (and often solo) adrenaline-filled adventures and travels for him when all the “oh, let’s just stay in tonight where it’s cozy” gets to be too much.

However, when it comes to where we live and for how long, that’s a tougher one to compromise. To his great credit, he’s stayed here for several years longer than he wanted – not because he doesn’t like Minneapolis, but because he likes the thought of “what’s next” more. And to my credit, I was pretty quick to give my blessing to a non-Minneapolis job search when I could see that he was starting to get really squirmy.

(Marriage pro tip: When you can have only one of two options and you each dislike an option, try to pick the one that brings the least unhappiness. For us, moving is definitely that option – I’m less unhappy being uprooted than he is unhappy staying in place.)

So once you’ve become open to the possibility of relocating, the question is where.There was talk of Europe, but that’s a logistical nightmare (especially when you’re green card holders, which limits the length of time you can be out of country without having to start over). Plus, it’s a whole different ballgame with kids.

The Left Coast has been on the radar for a long time – we’ve both visited (me multiple times because I’ve got some amazing extended family out there) and we have always loved it. In fact, when we went out two years ago for a road trip we even did some casual reconnaissance to Eugene (location of one of the only two public French immersion schools on the coast).

In the end, it kept coming back to Portland and Seattle – close to Canadaland and extended family, tons of options for outdoor activities, no snow (The Husband has decided 40 years of snow is plenty for him) but also no crazy heat (because I get wilty). It also seems like a place where a couple of beer-drinking, coffee-loving, book-reading, socialist-adjacent vegetarians might just find some like-minded folks.

And once the two cities were in the running, it “just” became a matter of applying for jobs, chasing leads, flying out for interviews, and then finally getting an offer.

We’re excited. And I really do mean “we” – all four of us are on board. The kids are pumped, and I’ve realized I can be content wherever I am as long as I’ve got Team PM by my side. Our move to Minneapolis was *such* a good thing for our family (and for the two high school sweethearts) and I have every reason to think this move will be, too.

This is a good compromise. Which is not to say that I’m not going to require an “I’m moving again for you” treat. Last time we moved, I asked for a house. This time, I’m angling for that cat….

Happy Birthday to The Husband! He’s OLD (aka 40!!!!) today.

Your present: I’m moving to Portland for you.

You’re welcome.

XOXO

PM

Look who’s back and off on another adventure!

When we last left our heroine, she had run out of things to say. These things happen when you move to Minneapolis and start a blog to keep in touch with your family and friends back in Canada (and also because you can’t remember who knows what so it’s easiest to just dump the news in one place and let them sort it out). And then you find jobs and schools and buy a house and suddenly it’s all same old-same old and you’re writing yet another “gosh, I’m the worst blogger ever” post and eventually you break up with your blog.

Not much has changed since then, so consider yourself caught up.

But! Another thrilling chapter beckons! The Peitricia Mae family is packing up the ol’ covered wagon a la the Ingalls family and heading West.

(Well – I am packing up the wagon. Someone else – i.e. Pa – has already headed West. A fair division of labour, yes? [Anyone who’s read Little House on the Prairie knows exactly who did the lion’s share of the work. And it wasn’t Pa.])

And so, back to dumping the news in one place we go! I considered using one of those new-fangled thingeys like Instagram, but a) I am too old for hashtags (per my kids) and b) my pictures are so terrible that no filter can save them (per me). Also, I’m a big fan of the long form. I’m a writer by trade – ain’t no 2200 characters that can contain me! But I ponied up for a real domain name, which means this is totally legit.

So, the ground rules:

1. No hashtags, no filters, no music, no blinkey lights. I know me and I know my audience.
2. There will probably be pictures. They will be bad, but they’ll get the job done.
3. There may be videos. No promises. Words are my jam, and I’m no Spielberg.
4. Posting may be erratic. Probably lots at first (because moving is oh-so-exciting) and then it’ll drop off. Let’s try for threeish a week?
5. I reserve the right to use the one-sentence-paragraph (indeed, even the one-sentence-blog-post). This means I have half a chance of hitting my goal in #4.
6. We’re going Canadian spelling. You can take the girl out of Canadaland, but you can’t force her to give up her superfluous “u”s.

Saddle up, friends! Westward ho!