I admit to being a Desperate Housewives fan – of course a lot of that is my being a huge Felicity Huffman fan. I would seriously watch just about anything she does. (By the way, how fabulous is it that her hubby, William H. Macy, is the narrator for PBS’ Curious George cartoon? Love it!) You can find me (pre-writer’s strike) on Sunday nights following the antics and drama of Wisteria Lane. Although I always wondered what kind of neighborhood this was with everyone home all day, running into each other as they bring their trash to the curb and having weekly poker games?
Admittedly, and thankfully, our little neighborhood of 80 homes is NOT Wisteria Lane. But, as I’ve realized, we live in a pretty unique place. I ran into a neighbor friend the other day at the playground across the street from our house. And by ran into I mean that while peanut and I were taking part in our post-nap ritual of checking the mail, we saw our neighbor and her three year old playing and quickly made our way down the hill to the park to
have some adult conversation play. While enjoying the fabulously spring-promising weather we’ve been having, she commented that she was so looking forward to consistent warm temperatures so “I can have a life again!”
And it’s true. Where we live, there are impromptu gatherings at the playground, Friday night picnic dinners in the park during the spring, summer and fall (as long as there are decent temperatures and daylight), book club, garden club (totally code for chatting ladies who drink wine and plan neighborhood parties, activities and an occasional fundraiser – yes, I’m most definitely a participant. Didn’t you see wine listed?), and afternoon gatherings at the neighborhood bus stops. With a newborn, I would eagerly watch the playground from our dining room window for folks, then run out the door, baby strapped in the Bjorn, to descend upon the more experienced moms for advice or just much needed conversation. I forget sometimes, until I’m talking to friends that don’t live down the street, that this is a somewhat unusual situation in today’s hubub of suburban McMansions and overscheduled parents and children.
As the temperatures continue to rise with the daffodil buds here in the South, I, too, look forward to the warmer weather and the promise of “a life” as we gather on a Friday night with a beer and a pizza and two very adorable little nearly three year old girls who like to pretent peanut is their baby and watch over him so the hubby and I can have a real conversation with a few of our very awesome neighbors. So thanks ladies of the CV – you have made it easy for us to call this place “home.”
Although a cute plumber in the neighborhood would be nice. We should really work on that.