Blake has neighbourhood friends! You know how people complain that "things aren't like they used to" and "parents are too paranoid to let their kids out to play", topping it all off with a sigh of nostalgia for the good old days when kids were kicked out of the house at 8 and told to come back when the street lights came on? You know? Well, Blake has made friends with toddler twins 8 houses down the street. It's so convenient I could cry. (Especially when I remember that we're MOVING IN 3 WEEKS. As Ayun Halliday would say: melon-farmer.)
We were on our way home from furniture shopping yesterday when we passed the boys and their mom taking a walk. We went out and chatted, had dinner, and immediately rushed out to play. (Blake was leading the charge to get shoes on his feet. So. Cute.) The Boy & I hung out with this family until – wait for it – the day got cold and the streetlights came on. Blake ran around until he was filthy and exhausted. We sat on the porch, drank a beer, and talked parenting. It was so easy and natural that I couldn't believe it. When it was time to go home, Blake went into hysterics – I think he's found a tribe he'd like to join. I love the fact that dirty-faced toddlers of the world only need a big yard and each other.
We had our house inspection yesterday. I'm half-exhausted, half-elated and half-disappointed. (I know that's three halves. I don't swing in thirds; correct your own version at home.) Exhausted because there are so many things to do!!! Elated because there were no huge problems and living in this gorgeous house is going to be sweeter than children's cereal. Disappointed because the roof will need replacement in 2-5 years, the water heater needs to be changed NOW, the chimney needs mortar, blah blah blah bling bling bling blah. I'd go on, but you're probably asleep by now.
I really liked the guy who did our inspections. He was meticulous, exacting, and full of knowledgeable advice. Plus, we went to the same highschool (but not at the same time, because that would be weird.) Despite the fact that I just saw my tax return sprout fluffy white wings and fly over the horizon, I have every confidence in the job he did for us.
P.S. One of the many things I found out about our house was that it is roughly the same age as Robert Smith. This prompts me to create a new standard in suburban gothic: the woodburned sign that reads "Fascination Street."
Knitting on Friday night. What can I possibly say about it that I haven't already? The amount of fine conversation, ridiculous good humour, in-jokes, yarn fondling, technique exchanges and beer drinking stuns the casual observer. It still stuns me.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*