Way, way in the back

The holding pattern is finally broken. The tower has given us permission to land. We've begun our final descent, turned ourselves toward the runway for the last time, and throttled this big sucker back. Nose up. Landing gear down. I sure as hell hope I haven't forgotten anything important.

I don't know why I'm irresistably drawn to airplane metaphors when I think about the last year-and-a-quarter of my life, but I am. My wife and I have been preparing, in meticulous detail, to purchase a new house. Our current place has been a great home for us, but with three people now living with it, and the future possiblity of a fourth, it has become uncomfortably cramped. Particularly since one of those three is now the human equivalent of the Tasmanian Devil running around the place.

Now we have close dates. We have mortgage agreements. We have contracts and receipts and any number of other officialities that have locked the whole thing in legal stone. All that's left now is a countdown, which is excruciating. I feel more exposed right now than at just about any time I can remember. I never thought I would be so grateful at the prospect of just being able to settle down into a mortgage payment for a while.

So please lock your tray-tables into their closed and upright positions, and here's hoping that there's no wind shear.