A couple of weeks ago I was at the park right by our house with my next-door neighbor (and dear friend) Becca and our children. It's one of those glorious things that starts to happen when spring is in the air-- sometimes it's planned (a text from me to her or vice versa: "Going to the park to ride bikes in 10 minutes, wanna come?"), and other times we just find ourselves there at the same time.
I've started keeping a list of things that I am going to miss when we move from this neighborhood, and my hang out time with Becca (both planned and impromptu) is high on the list. As we were sitting on the bench talking and watching our kids run wildly, other people started showing up at our park.
Another thing on my 'miss' list?
The fact that every person who showed up that day (and there were many-- probably at least 5 other families) was a friend that I could call by name and chat with.
I have loved living here so much. Maybe I am particularly attached to it because it is the first place that John and I lived that truly felt like "home." We have lived here for almost five years now-- it is the only home my children have ever known (well, we moved in when George was 3 weeks old), and there are so many memories and moments wrapped up into the space that we've occupied here.
I also think that I am so attached to this place because of the people that are here. Oh how I have grown to love my neighbors! I have found a group of girlfriends here that I will love and cherish for my whole life. They are the best kind of friends, I think, because they are so incredible and inspirational, but I never leave being with them feeling like I'm not good enough. You know what I mean by that, right? There is a difference between being with amazing people who just make you feel inferior and then being with amazing people who make you feel like you are pretty cool yourself-- like your particular talents and gifts (though often different from theirs) are valued and recognized and worthwhile. I feel really lucky.
The whole reason I sat down to post tonight was to post these pictures of my kids flying a kite. Weird what that turned into. Anyway, what I was planning to write was that as Becca and I walked home with our kids from the park that day George started begging me to bring him back with our kite. The wind had picked up and he was dying to fly it. I wasn't sure-- I had no clue where our kite was-- but George solved that problem immediately by proudly producing the kite from the shed. So we waited for John to come home and then we walked the 100 yards back to the park with our kite and camera. Yay for March wind and bare feet.
Pearl let the kite get away (several times) so George and I chased it down.