moving parentals

So, my little sister is freaking out because the parents have decided (and by decided I mean signed Very Important Paperwork) to move to a nice, albeit oldish, house in Madera. Ok, I know my perspective on this transition is skewed, because I don’t live with my parents and never will again (God willing), but it does seem like everyone freaking out a little more than necessary. After all, Whitney’s only going to live with mom and dad for – what, 18 more months, tops? It seems to me that it’s rather extreme for her to assume that her (still relatively short and easy) commute should factor that much into their living equation.

I, personally, am much relieved. I have been so scared this entire past year that I’m going to try and call my immediate family only to discover that all the phone lines have been disconnected. I do not like the idea of my parents camping without electricity because the bill is $1,200 a month… even if they are camping in a lovely ’stepford’ homestead. Plus, I don’t think it would be a bad idea to remove Andrew from his current environment a little bit. Maybe a move into a more rural area will make him “focus.” Let’s all cross our fingers.

Plus, the house is not bad. It’s an old valley house (read: neighborhood without sidewalks), that’s the truth, but it’s a big floorplan and a massive fenced yard. The place is in good repair, and with little more than some thoughtful paint and decorating, it could be really great. Plus, it’s solar equipped, and the PG&E should run them less than $100 a month. A. Mazing.

Not to mention less money in rent. I realize it’s a big change and the decision was made on the fly… But since when isn’t three days enough time to make a life-altering choice? That’s how this family rolls.

Not that I’m not a little sad. But what can you do? Spilled milk is spilled milk.