On Popsicle Sticks and Living Life

My husband and I moved to a new home in a new town in a new state and felt like we had moved to a new world. We were a family of three and our oldest was the only grandchild at the time- moving away from two sets of grandparents. We moved into a culdesac where ours was one of the first houses built, over time this changed but in the beginning, it was very quiet. A couple months later, I heard a laugh outside, I peeked out the door and saw a man walking up the the new house next door. Little did I know at the time, that first introduction would be the beginning of a beautiful friendship- he told me that his wife and their son would be moving in soon. Could it be true? Could this be happening? Could we have a sweet little family, a lot like ours, moving in next door? Up until that time, the only people I talked to were the unlucky few I cornered in Trader Joes, trying desperately to find community.

Before long, our kids were friends, as much of friends as toddlers could be. They took turns dumping cups of water, blowing bubbles, playing in small plastic pools. I remember the first time T toddled into their house without me for a play date, the first one without me in tow. I think of all of the iced tea we shared, sitting on their cement steps that lead to their door. Red, juicy, drips from cherry popsicles running down dimpled chins. I remember when my friend bought a bin of legos and dumped them on a tarp in her front yard, quickly becoming a magnet to our boys. Both of our husband’s worked unconventional schedules and we both understood the deep implications of that. The loneliness that accompanied a Christmas Eve alone or a Thanksgiving where you still tried to teach your kids about being thankful that Daddy had a job, even if he was away. All the while calling each other to regain our composure. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Barbecues. Watermelons. Snow Days. Hot Chocolate. Ice Cream.

There is no way to log how many hours my dear friend and I have sat outside in our little corner of the world. Summer belonged to us. Our boys couldn’t wait to get outside to each other every single day, and S and I were the same. When one of us would go on vacation, the time went so slowly, waiting for the return of our routine, the return of iced tea and hours of chatting. We tied water balloons until our fingers ached, we bandaged skinned knees, we honored sad hearts, we oversaw lemonade stands, and nerf gun battles and somewhere along the way, we became family.

When the sun was shining, our hearts were aglow with joy, life was good. When the rain fell, we offered each other shelter. We have witnessed each other’s tears, we have honored each other’s anger, we have worried, we have grown, we have laughed. And each season, one thing remained- a well worn path between our front doors.

My friends are leaving the culdesac, moving on to a new landscape, a new adventure, a new neighborhood. And although I am eagerly awaiting stories from their next chapter, my hearts stings when I think of not seeing their car in the driveway. I do not know a life here of not waving to them everyday, often not even knowing if they are waving back- but just in case they are watching, I wanted them to know that each wave was an ” I love you, we will be back soon!”

Friends, the day to day can be hard and it can feel so long. Especially if you are on your own. In those moments of cleaning up popsicle sticks, draining tiny pools, stepping on legos, wondering what is for dinner, leave a little space for the beauty. Those days are life. We live in a weekend obsessed world, but the reality is, most of our lives are not the weekend- but the days in between. Life is happening right in front of us while we daydream about something else. Before long, the kids no longer need us so close, no longer want us so close. But the connections that you make through them will remain. I remember planning my wedding and wondering why my mom wanted to invite so many of her friends. I no longer wonder that. Those women are her community- her source of encouragement on those long days. I could easily go on being neighbors with S and her family forever, but as life goes, our book is turning a page.

It may take me some time to stop waving at the house next door, but the sentiment is the same. “I love you and I will be back soon.”