I love my neighbors. We don't fuss.
We don't jump in the shower or put on shoes or insist on bringing a bottle of wine to dinner. We show up and trickle in and help with the dishes and go home. We compare ingredients in the fridge to see if between us we can come up with some inspiration for a mid-week joint dinner. We send outgrown kids gear their way as we receive it from others. We lay on each others couches- really lay, barefoot in cutoffs and old shirts. We do not change the kids' shirts before a visit. We're all just so, so past that.
We do not put out appetizers.
We send our children back and forth, knowing they're welcome and that the moment they're not.... they'll be kindly sent packing. I once mentioned how much I wanted a planter for my oddly-sized outdoor shelf- a few days later a handmade, freshly stained pair sat on my porch.
We promise ourselves hat we're going to walk daily together- really get into that habit. We give up.
We keep an eye out for each other, in town or out of town- their children know that I love them dearly, but I am on team Mom and they'll get no sanctuary from me. In spite of this, the teenagers still stop and play with the kids for a minute, squeezing hugs and taking quick basketball shots even as they quickly slip away to the waiting car and friends. Home for a quick weekend from college means at some point I'll have a leggy teenager in my kitchen casually walking through the choices coming their way as I make cups of tea.
We add another PB&J to the lunch lineup if you're here around that time.
I joke that I want to be known as the Popsicle lady- I'll fill my freezer full of them and dispense with a free hand to any neighborhood kids nearby... anything to let the kids know they're welcome. Come on in. Of course you can have a Popsicle. (Yes, ok... you can have two).
We send over plastic wrapped slabs of cake or half-recipes of chili. We borrow chairs and cups of sugar and forgotten ingredients. We assure each other our children are indeed fine and will grow up to be normal members of society. We do not make playdates. We show up and swim and get dirty and wet... home and clean clothes are just a few houses away.
When babies come, your neighbors are the friends who come see the new addition first. Slipping in with muffins and casseroles, you do not worry about the state of your house our your hair as you tiredly show off the newest member of the gang.
We do not pretend to have a perfect life, marriage, or children. There is really and truly no point. They've seen (and heard) us trying to get to Church on time and unpacking from a road trip.
Years of recycling bin waves don't seem to be the beginning of much, but the shared experiences of seeing children arrive, grow, and leave is a particular bond that leaves a sweet, small mark on your experiences.
The beauty of these friends is hard to overstate, because it is so connected to a deeply felt sense of community and belonging- it really can't be replicated outside the narrow streets where you live. It is, oddly enough, also hard to make sense of exactly why such simple, unhurried relationships can really add all that much satisfaction or even joy to life... but they do. Start them or grow them. It's worth every unpolished minute.
We don't jump in the shower or put on shoes or insist on bringing a bottle of wine to dinner. We show up and trickle in and help with the dishes and go home. We compare ingredients in the fridge to see if between us we can come up with some inspiration for a mid-week joint dinner. We send outgrown kids gear their way as we receive it from others. We lay on each others couches- really lay, barefoot in cutoffs and old shirts. We do not change the kids' shirts before a visit. We're all just so, so past that.
We do not put out appetizers.
We send our children back and forth, knowing they're welcome and that the moment they're not.... they'll be kindly sent packing. I once mentioned how much I wanted a planter for my oddly-sized outdoor shelf- a few days later a handmade, freshly stained pair sat on my porch.
We promise ourselves hat we're going to walk daily together- really get into that habit. We give up.
We keep an eye out for each other, in town or out of town- their children know that I love them dearly, but I am on team Mom and they'll get no sanctuary from me. In spite of this, the teenagers still stop and play with the kids for a minute, squeezing hugs and taking quick basketball shots even as they quickly slip away to the waiting car and friends. Home for a quick weekend from college means at some point I'll have a leggy teenager in my kitchen casually walking through the choices coming their way as I make cups of tea.
We add another PB&J to the lunch lineup if you're here around that time.
I joke that I want to be known as the Popsicle lady- I'll fill my freezer full of them and dispense with a free hand to any neighborhood kids nearby... anything to let the kids know they're welcome. Come on in. Of course you can have a Popsicle. (Yes, ok... you can have two).
We send over plastic wrapped slabs of cake or half-recipes of chili. We borrow chairs and cups of sugar and forgotten ingredients. We assure each other our children are indeed fine and will grow up to be normal members of society. We do not make playdates. We show up and swim and get dirty and wet... home and clean clothes are just a few houses away.
When babies come, your neighbors are the friends who come see the new addition first. Slipping in with muffins and casseroles, you do not worry about the state of your house our your hair as you tiredly show off the newest member of the gang.
We do not pretend to have a perfect life, marriage, or children. There is really and truly no point. They've seen (and heard) us trying to get to Church on time and unpacking from a road trip.
Years of recycling bin waves don't seem to be the beginning of much, but the shared experiences of seeing children arrive, grow, and leave is a particular bond that leaves a sweet, small mark on your experiences.
The beauty of these friends is hard to overstate, because it is so connected to a deeply felt sense of community and belonging- it really can't be replicated outside the narrow streets where you live. It is, oddly enough, also hard to make sense of exactly why such simple, unhurried relationships can really add all that much satisfaction or even joy to life... but they do. Start them or grow them. It's worth every unpolished minute.
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