We moved in September. Once I got over the emotional trauma of not living 2 miles away from my bestie, I was able to recognize how great our new place is. With the exception of some key people and our pediatrician, I prefer our new location over the last. However, there is one very real area where our new home can't compete.
Every Monday and Thursday morning, Jonas was motivated to stop his crying by loud crashing, rumbling, beeping sounds. The boy loves him some trucks. Big trucks. Little trucks. Car-trucks (SUVs). And especially garbage trucks.
When we heard the garbage trucks on the next street, he would yell,"TRUCK!!" and run to the door. Every morning, he pulled up a seat for himself on the garden stone and watched it drive toward us then drive away, picking up all the trash on the street. It was a great morning distraction that he looked forward to.
We aren't afforded that same luxury here, which is fine. Though I sometimes miss that semi-weekly distraction.
(On a side note, the life of a garbage man is way worse than I thought. Please don't balance leftover food or used Kleenex or glass bottles on the top of your precariously-stuffed trash can. It will fall. And they have to pick up every last bit of it. Gross.)