The continued tale of the fate of the Victorian

I woke up this morning snuggling with Quinn and Kenna and loving the Victorian. It's snugly. It's tight. It's home.

Last night we went to visit another house. Pros and cons to come. But the gist is, I feel on the horizon we won't be roughing it anymore. Sniff, sniff. At the very least -- more storage space is a coming. That is hardly a normal life, but why is my heart breaking?

I'm in it for the adventure, I guess. Right? Maybe the Victorian feels like the adventure. I'm freaking out about leaving. The idea of leaving reminds me of the day Tim started his first real job outside of the music industry. I wanted to make a documentary about the death of his music career to help me cope with the loss of adventure and future life excitement. He killed the project.

But I guess as with the closing of the music career I can remember that just three years later I was pulling my hair out and mostly going bankrupt during the band years. So this adventure comes back around too, right?

The Victorian is not the heart beat of this adventure, but she feels like the soul. She feels like the energy and the excitement. What will happen without her?

Also, how important are roots and stability? Probably pretty important especially to the kids. Since I am horrible at daily schedules and plans, I feel like I owe kids a constant place to come home too. If I'm honest, that is not going to be the Victorian, right? But will the next place be that for them? Renting confuses me and compounds this problem. Sigh.