Skip to main content

Moving to Waco: In Short


Three nights ago Felicity tried running. She was wearing her long maxi-dress, with the little ruffles around the top and the bottom. She tried with all her little might to run after her two year-old friend who had a ball. Into the long grass, she went. The thick grass was taller than her knees. She stumbled on the grass and her skirt, but stood up again, and again. She tried so hard.

Three weeks ago she took her first step in California. Three weeks ago I was living in California. Not anymore.

People ask, “How do you like Waco? What do I think of moving?”

Putting into words the experience of moving is difficult. On the one hand, there is something so ordinary about it. Yesterday, I sang to my baby and put her to bed. This morning, I went for my mile run. I dropped Nathan off at school, carpooling, the same as we’ve always done. Yet, it is different. Here, Felicity has a room of her own. The brick buildings of the classically, beautiful Baylor campus put Makita Tool company’s white, rectangular office to aesthetic shame. And the air is thick here. It sticks to you when you run. You notice it. Three weeks is not enough time to really know what I think.
As I reflect, I wonder about the story I choose to tell about this place. I find myself wondering, can I determine my experience of Waco? (Clearly, I’m motivated by the fact that my husband is a philosopher) Over the past six months, when I told people I was moving to Waco a range of responses came my way.

“It’s the armpit of Texas.”

“Growing up here is the best.”

“It’s exciting.”

"I hate it."

"I love it."

And the one agreed upon thought: "It's hot in the summer."

 One place manages to elicit a range of contrary emotions. Perhaps the place is just a backdrop. It is me who gets to decide who I will be in this place. And I can love it as much as the familiar streets of Harbor City, the eclectic eateries in Los Angeles, the winding pavement of Oxford. But to love it, is also to admit that it is not those other places. And it is OK to miss them.


My experience of Waco is a walking one. I try to run in this thick new grass, but I will stumble sometimes. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Hit the Ground Crawling

So admittedly it's been awhile since a mommy adventure has been documented via typing. The lack of stories mostly coincides with the end of maternity leave, but now the time has come to hit the ground of writing with some crawling. At least Felicity seems to thinks it’s time to crawl. Only she’s finding that her body doesn’t want to cooperate yet. I noticed she wanted to crawl when she started making flips onto her tummy to signal the end of naptime. Then, during playtime, she’d flop onto her large middle and stretch her little fingers grabbing at the toy that rolled just out of reach.  Toes push the ground, but her belly keeps her beached. And the most she’s managed is to scoot backwards or to rotate using her belly as an axis. But the crawling is coming soon.   She wants it badly. The little toes are starting to realize they need to push at the ground and determination to move forward fills her face with each passing day. At the moment, crawling is a Mueller fam...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Adventure Begins Very Early on the Morning of July 15th

Note: In-N-Out is the first place I go when I arrive back in California. The California chain tastes like coming home. My day had been planned. I was going to walk with friends. Have coffee with my mom and a phone date in the evening. Followed by my husband asking, “what should we have for dinner.” And me responding “In-n-Out.” I’ll admit it I did exercise in hopes of expediting the labor process, but as I had been told, “babies will come when they will.” So I laid my plans: Plan A the aforementioned walk etc. and Plan B— Have a baby. When my mom arrived, full of more energy than I’m used to her having (a contrast with my labored lack of energy), it was apparent that Plan B was in effect. We were most definitely not going to coffee. I was going to have a baby. Labor… it’s not fun. Epidurals… they are a wonderful invention. It was late evening. I’d hoped they’d let me push on the 14 th . The history nerd in me was caught by the idea of having a baby on Bastille D...
1 comment
Read more

Slaying Giants

Days like this begin when the night before I choose not to sleep, because I must read a few more lines from some news site or scroll one last time through the glowing screen of my iPhone instead of making good on my resolve to read quality literature and journal prior to bed. They continue when I wake up earlier than usual to teach, but finish teaching to realize that my children also went to bed later then they should. So now, everyone’s patience operates like feet hitting a wet spot on a wood floor. Bam. You loose traction. And first one then another is upset and done. That tantrum sparked another melt-down from someone else, and as I try to not join the melt-downs, and instead attempt to be the adult I hazard some words of explanation.  “Your choices impact us all.” I tell one of them.  My children’s choice do change the tenor of the room for good or for ill, but so do my choices. On days of this sort, where nothing is really wrong, other than a strong case of the grumpies...
Post a Comment
Read more