For the next three weeks we're on our own, staying in the house I grew up in. She's fascinated by the giant Lichtenstein print in my room. It doesn't feel like my room anymore, but there are relics, like the print.

My life for the last three years has been in the city and it's glaringly obvious that I don't belong here anymore.

It's so hot here I don't know what to do with myself. I'm already sunburned.

The dog is confused by the green lawns: Every time we turned a corner on our morning walk he thought, "Park!" and ran ahead only to be disappointed by yet another front yard.

I thought it would be a nice vacation, but apparently there's a lot to be done around the house. Most of it is outside, so I don't mind, but it's a lot to keep track of.

It will take some getting used to the suburbs again.