The itch.

The itch. It’s when out of nowhere you start get all sorts of ideas about how your life should be. All the sudden you’re selling your car and moving your family to Europe to live off the cobbled streets and eat cheese every single day. One of you works as an English tutor while the other one teachers the toddler French phases and strolls the market. You live in a house the size of your bedroom but you don’t care because you’re happy and adventurous and exploring and LIVING. Or your spending your days staying home with your babies managing the house and play dates and the budget and teaching the color Red and what you can cook with apples. Your Husband comes home and dinner is coming out of the oven and the lamps are actually dusted and your house is a home and life is good. The itch takes over every practical thought until you’ve traveled past the glorified version of this scenario into the realistic questions like what about health insurance in Europe and where will be store all our pointless things while were away and how can we secure financial security when we return and how can we hug Grammy over Skype. Or how can we pay all our debt and save enough money and afford life on one income when we are patiently waiting for our next paycheck to arrive to pay off these months bills.

And then the itch is slowly subdued by life’s reality and you come back down to exactly where you were ten minutes earlier while you consciously file away that itch with all the others on the top shelf of your brain.