Rambling introspection and poor writing to follow.

The headline? We'll get to that.

A little over a year ago my wife and I moved to New York City with our two children. We left a house and life in suburban Chicago, as evidenced in all these Flickr photos that serve as a reminder of our histroy.

We sold the house, packed up tight and left town in a stretch limo with six suitcases and a hermit crab in my wife's front pocket.

We arrived with no apartment to rent, jobs or money. The money was tied up in the sale of our house that was occurring in a couple days, I had interviews lined up but nothing solid and for lodging a friend named Tom hooked up a tiny studio for the four of us.

I'm going to take the liberty of speeding up this story. I'll share more of it another time.

Needless to say, things didn't work out quite like we have hoped or planned.

I didn't get the jobs that I had interviewed for. The money from the sale of our house didn't clear our bank for 3 weeks. Once it cleared we got on with things.

Which brings me to the short version of things:

New York has been many things to our family. I fell it love with every part of it and convinced my family to come with. They've stood by me as opportunities have come and gone. They've believed in me in what my own personal history will recount as one of the most challenging years of my life.

Things are on the up and I feel a little more comfortable taking the time to look at this last year as a series of challenges.

My children may never forgive me. Hopefully, later in life, they'll appreciate that mom and dad took risks in order to provide them a more interesting life. Who else gets to watch a midget hooker try to work their father at a subway stop with a sweet line like, "Wanna party, Giant?"

Nothing in suburbia packs that much excitement except a play-date at the local children's museum.