Just Call Me Mama Malibu.

Dean's job is relocating to one of the most delicious places this side of the Grand Canyon--Malibu. Pont Dume, to be precise, and we have boldly decided to ditch city life for the slower, softer and gentler existence to be found nestled in the wild and rural terrain of the canyons just a stone's throw from the beach.

There are no apartments to speak of in Malibu, just a smattering of multi-million dollar homes precariously perched upon ocean-side cliffs, hidden on hillscapes behind scrubby brush and retaining walls, or on sprawling ranches found down long windy dusty dirt roads. That's it--not much to speak of as far as shopping, or touristing, or hollywooding--it's surprisingly rural to those who visit for the first time. So, what's a multi-million dollarless family to do if they have chosen this destination as home? Search for the rare humble guest house even though they are breathtakingly overpriced and severely under square-footaged.

Nevertheless, we're ready, oh, so, ready to dodge the grimy, noisy, crowded, stink of the city. Malibu is not far from where we are now living, but it sure feels a world away. We are ready for green and grass and nature and quiet and flowers and creeks and ocean and breeze and wildlife and rocks and dirt and leaves on trees. We are ready for a few adopted hens and farm fresh eggs. We are ready for a goat and farm fresh milk and cheese. We are ready, after a 10 year wait, to adopt a dog who will trail our heels through the lush expanse of the 20 acre horse ranch we found this past weekend.

The house is small but rustic. All it needs is a little loving hand. The land it's on is oh so huge and pristine and ours for the exploring, gardening, flowering, romping and picnicking. I can't wait for Noah to rub each horses nose in the morning before breakfast. I can't wait to lunch on the beach everyday. I can't wait to water my edible garden at sunset and wake to the song of birds and dance of squirrels. We will inhabit this cozy little cottage for only a year, two at most (or who knows, maybe we'll fall in love and stay forever)--until we move on up to the pacific northwest in search of a permanent homestead, a home we'll own.

In the meantime, we are giddy with excitement for our last adventure as wanderers, as house freelances and the freedom it provides--the freedom to wax and wane from place to place until we've scratched all the itches to live wherever we want to live until it's time to wander no more. This really will be nothing less than a really long vacation--Noah and I frolicking around the ranch and beach with Dean scampering to his dream job by weekday and hiking and BBQ'ing and sunbathing at week's end.

It's not all roses and pickles though, isolation does enter my mind. I have already begun to seek out Malibu mommy groups, music classes and playgroups for Noey Finn and I--which are few and far in between as far as I can tell. We are so active with other mamas and babies here in the city that I am not sure if this will provide a welcomed rest or forced seclusion. Only time will tell.

In the meantime, it's Malibu or bust, baby.