Housewarming

To begin with: I'm fine. Honestly.

Touched by your concern, eager to hear your very own favorite weeper songs and films, and utterly amazed that anyone, up to and including my mother, read that whole long post.

I am, to quote Mary J., just fine.

Interesting side note: although I amuse myself with the notion that I share with my better half the things that are on my mind and (awww... ) in my heart, I'm never really sure how much of my blah blah blah actually penetrates his consciousness.

He is, after all, from Mars, whereas I hail from Venus.

Still, I was surprised to awaken Saturday to the realization that a large chunk of the morning had easily come and gone without my involvement.

The kids were fed and dressed; the kitchen was sparkling clean. And I got the sense that everyone was, I don't know, tip-toeing around so that I could sleep even longer, if I so desired.

"Wow," I yawned and stretched as I shuffled out of the bedroom. "What's going on here?"

"Oh, I just figured you needed your sleep," Trey said. (Awww... )

"Also," he added, a little hesitantly, "I read your blog this morning, and now... well, I'm a little worried about you. Are you okay?"

Fine. I really, truly, honestly am just fine.

However, I may be blogging about depression again pretty soon. Like, next Saturday. Because sleeping in? Is probably my favorite activity on the planet.

So that's how the weekend began. And get this: it ended on an even better note.

Because today, we all piled into the car, and we drove north. Oh, so far north. I mean, we could not have been more northerly if we'd had a sleigh and eight reindeer.

That's how much we've missed our wonderful, irreplaceable, formerly across-the-street neighbors: so much that we were willing to drive halfway to Kansas just to see them again.

Yes, I exaggerate. But at one point, Carter did actually pipe up with the observation, "Mom, we've been driving so long that it feels like we're on vacation!"

And you know, it was a vacation to see our friends again.

Kirsten, who kept me from falling apart that infamous day Spencer decided to take an unchaperoned tour of the Arboretum, and kept me in the loop on all the neighborhood gossip.

Rod, who brought over a tray of Kirsten's famous banana cake on the day we moved in, and who made a mean platter of ribs for us tonight.

And their two sweet, handsome, blonde-haired, blue-eyed boys, both of whom I utterly adore. Even if they have this odd notion that burnt orange is the world's ugliest color.

It was such good, relaxed fun, seeing them again. Laughing and swapping stories. Bickering about politics. Watching the kids play together, just like they used to in our back yard.

And although I've finally stopped clutching my chest every time I see the strange brick building that stands where their sweet house used to be, I still miss them all the time.

Here's the thing: you fall in love with a house for its floor plan, back yard or school zone. But you don't always get terrific neighbors as part of the deal.

We did. We know how lucky we were.

So if Kirsten calls tomorrow with news that the house across the street from them is absolutely perfect for us, and it's just been listed at a Franklin-friendly price... well, then: halfway to Kansas, here we come.

And now that I've got Jen all riled up, I'll end with one last happy house note: this one.

It's not halfway to Kansas, but it is the perfect place for one weekend, twelve adults and (seriously?) fifteen children.

Cannot wait.