Sometime this month marks 20 years since I moved to Richmond, VA. In the first 25 years of my life I’d maybe visited Richmond fewer than ten times even though I lived less than an hour up the road in Fredericksburg.
I followed a gal down here to finally finish school. The gal didn’t last, the school took a bit longer to finish, and for the first five years I felt like I was visiting.
Richmond just didn’t feel like home.
Until 15 years ago this month when I met my better half. Suddenly Richmond started to feel a bit more comforting. A bit more like home.
13 years ago this month we got engaged (kinda, July 31st, but still).
12 years ago I was sending her pictures of items at the grocery store that would expire after we married in October.
10 years ago I was sending her pictures of the piles of baby clothes I was buying instead of pants for myself for the little dude who’d arrive in September.
7 years ago two-month old little dude two learned how soft and grabable our then 17-year old fluffy white princess cat was, the same cat who’d pass away a month later.
5 years ago the first little one started kindergarten, getting way too big too fast.
4 years ago we sold our first home, where we started our family, where we found out the day after we moved in that the first little one was on the way, where we brought both of our babies home.
2 years ago the second little one started kindergarten, impossibly big and chatty.
This month the oldest started fifth grade, the end of elementary school, and just weeks away from turning ten (TEN!) years old.
Twenty years of Augusts in RVA have been pretty interesting. Some point between then and now, Richmond became home in so many ways. It’s good to be here.