For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a bit overprotective. Whether it’s guys in a bar coming on too strong to my friend, a friend in the 8th grade being pushed around, or some clueless fairweather Cubs fans who don’t know the rules of bleacher seats at Wrigley, my Momma Hen just comes out. (One of the people who ended up on the receiving end of one of my tongue lashings called it something decidedly different, but that’s a whole ‘nother post.)
When I started the blog I was about 10 years behind the trend, but figured I’d been blogging in my head for about 10 years and I figured why not make it official? So here I am. And here’s my story.
My name is Larisa and I grew up in Pittsboro, a small town near Chapel Hill (aka Blue Heaven), NC, in an idyllic setting with rolling green pastures, schools where everyone knew each other since preschool and next to the town where Aunt Bea lived in her retirement after Andy Griffith. (And yes, there really was a Mayberry. It just happened to be a restaurant in that town, not a real town itself.) After reading Dr. Seuss’ “Oh the Places You’ll Go” I decided it was time to venture out into the wide open air and went to Boston University and attended the College of Communication, where I promptly decided I would never go into PR. (This becomes important later.)
My senior year, I went on Spring Break and met the love of my life. No really. In Cancun. I’m serious. Quit laughing. And he just so happened to be in law school in northern Indiana and Chicago was one of the top destinations on my short list after graduation. So, I moved with my best friend from college and after a brief stint in college admissions, decided I should go into PR. Yes, I know, never say never. I worked at a school, then a mid-size agency and then one of the biggest and best agencies in the world, where I moved into technology and B2B PR because, hey, it was 2000 and tech was the place to be. So I rode that wave and watched it crash a bunch of people into the rocks, but lived to tell about it through 10 more years.
Hatchling #3 was what pushed us over the edge to move. I tell everyone it was the most unselfish thing I’ve ever chosen to do, aside from becoming a mom. If it was up to my husband and me, we could’ve probably lived in Chicago forever, or at least that’s what we said on good days. But the truth is, the traffic, the crowds, the commute…all that added up to a pretty stressful daily grind. And we were basically living for the weekends, to just see and enjoy our kids and each other. It was getting hard to fit it all in and our amazing group of friends and network we had grown there were getting harder and harder to see on those short two-day, once a week occurrences. And with three kids, it was increasingly difficult to be so far away from both our families, because, let’s face it, family is hugely important. So when my husband got a job offer near my hometown, we hesitated only to briefly lament and mourn what we knew our decision would be. And in a six week whirlwind of Christmas, New Year’s and my daughter’s 5th birthday, we packed up and moved with a 4-month-old, an almost 3-year-old and the aforementioned 5-year-old. In a snowstorm.
Now we’re here, blazing the trail for multigenerational living with my parents (known as Granny and Gramps) in the (thankfully large) house I mostly grew up in. Living the dream, as my husband says, because who wouldn’t want to move back in with the parents and start all over in your 40s?