“Another Perfect Day in LA”

If I told you this move back to LA was easy, I’d be lying.

Moving anywhere is tough. Moving two houses, two kids, a dog, cars—and essentially two separate lives—across the country and into one home? That has been an entirely different exercise.

Mostly, an exercise in patience.

Everyone has had to learn a little more of it. And when all else fails, our emotional support dog, Mia Maria Briboneria the Pug, has been working overtime.

It’s been about six weeks since we closed on our home in Malibu, and almost every morning I wake up, look outside and say the same thing:

“It’s ANOTHER perfect day in LA.”

Part of me is genuinely talking about the weather. I mean, come on. It’s hard to complain about Malibu.

Except the traffic! I recently went to a Dodgers game with friends on a Saturday and it took THREE HOURS to get to Dodger Stadium. It’s supposed to take one. Welcome home, Cristina.

But even with the traffic, I’m still pinching myself.

These first six weeks have been filled with new friends, incredible restaurants, Dodgers games, beach days and new adventures. Some have been planned. Others have simply happened. I think I’ve enjoyed those the most.

And then there’s the adventure happening INSIDE our own house.

Rachel and I have been together for five years, but this is the first time we've actually lived together full-time. Before, I would go to Houston or Rachel and the kids would come visit me. Eventually, someone always packed a suitcase and went back “home.”

Now, we're home.

Together.

There's no escaping! HEEELLPPP! LOL.

I'm also living with kids full-time for the first time, which means I'm learning how to parent—and, more importantly, when not to parent.

We don't always agree. We were raised differently. Sometimes I probably “help” a little too much. I'm learning when to speak up, when to step back and when to simply mind my business.

Who knew?

But tomorrow will remind me of another reason coming home means so much.

September 23rd is my mom’s birthday. She would have been 75 years old.

Tomorrow, for the first time in 31 years, I’ll be able to spend her birthday at her graveside.

There’s something about that I’m still trying to process.

For years, I thought about coming home to LA as moving back to the place where I grew up. I imagined Malibu, the ocean, old friends, new friends and finally building a life with Rachel without an airplane ride separating us.

But coming home has also brought me closer to where my story began.

To my mom.

Maybe that's why these mornings have felt a little more meaningful than I expected.

Life certainly isn't perfect. There are still boxes to unpack, disagreements, dog hair, sand everywhere and a pretty steep learning curve when it comes to parenting teenagers.

But tomorrow, I'll visit my mom. Then I'll drive back home and probably look out at the Pacific and say it again:

“It’s ANOTHER perfect day in LA.”

Not because everything is perfect.

Because after 31 years, in more ways than I realized, I’m finally home.