One year ago today, I stepped off the plane at DFW with a chubby baby wrapped to my chest, with Jake next to me insisting on wrangling our technically illegal number of carryons solo. We made it through customs with all our bags, made it through jetlag, made it through 6 moves, made it through a lot of uncertainty. If you had described this past year to me on that day, I may have just stayed in Marseille, despite the interminable trash strike and oh yeah, the fact that EVERYTHING ELSE was on strike too.

Today, that chubby baby is a skinny little boy who can walk and talk; Jake has a job he loves (I do too, for that matter). Today, I am happy. The sun is shining, it is absolutely gorgeous outside, I am wearing jeans and driving with the windows down, Foo Fighters cranked up, and things seem more or less right. At last.