Today it's spring. The birds are chirping. The sun is mostly shining, save a few games of peek-a-boo behind benign, puffy clouds. N is home with us between stints of working weekends and we've already accomplished some heavy duty family frolicking.
This morning, with boy and girl side-by-side in our jogging stroller, we all headed out for a long walk to cooking class via the waterfront for a cup of coffee and great views of the cityscape. As we stepped out, cool air drifted off the ocean and mingled with all sorts of spring blooms before making its way into our nostrils. After a few breaths, we found ourselves almost intoxicated with the spirits of springtime.
If the day felt perfect then, it was about to reach nirvana, for as we strolled past our island's central park--a meeting place for parents with all stages of preschoolers in tow--we noticed that the new playground that we'd all been anticipating for weeks had at last been unveiled. A handful of children were trying out new rope ladders and breaking in freshly molded plastic slides with their tiny bottoms. We hadn't intended to stop, but once we spied clean-driven sand in the sandbox and powdery bark dust under the toys just waiting for first footprints, we knew we had absolutely nothing more important to do. L spotted her new friend M and was halfway out of the buggy before N and I could share a glance of agreement that one of us would be staying with the kiddos while the other retrieved coffee.
N happily ducked away from the clusters of chattering mommies for espresso and milk over ice while I stood beneath our children with arms poised to rescue dangling limbs as they took on mountain-goat capabilities on tot-sized rock walls and steep sets of monkey bars. Tackling new physical challenges was exhilarating for us all, like scaling a mountainside and finding a new discovery at the top of every rock ledge.
By the time N returned with cups of creamy brown deliciousness in hand, word about the new playground had reached the far corners of our tiny island. The mommies were out in full force with babies strapped to fronts and toddlers tumbling out of jogging strollers faster than their little legs could carry them.
I began to glance around and to my surprise, I knew about half of the moms there. I could easily move in and out of conversations with many of them and felt I could even consider a few of them my friends. I felt a surge of joy in the sudden realization that I'm not the new girl in town anymore and neither is L. We have people. We've almost reached that critical six-month mark with our time here in the new neighborhood, when we feel like we belong. At last, it's home.
I work hard to remind myself every time we move that God is good to provide us with community wherever we go. I tell myself to be outgoing and assertive, but also patient and faithful. In the first few months here, though, I still spent a fair amount of time feeling sorry for myself and wondering why it's so hard to get into other people's social circles.
It's a tough period of adjustment, but it never fails. Six months in and we're on our way. We're forming relationships and perhaps a few friendships that will extend far beyond the boundaries of our new playground.
I love you.
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