We tend to be a bit reclusive. By that I mean we never go anywhere or see anybody that we aren’t required by work or school.

That’s a slight exaggeration, but not much; we really are homebodies.

So the other night, it was stepping outside our comfort zone a little bit to take some things over to some neighbors. They have kids, too, and two of their kids are really close in age to two of our kids, so we kinda know each other. (not well enough that I could actually tell you the parents’ names; cuz I’m awful with names and because we usually just wave at them as we pass on the way places)

They were wonderful and gracious and invited us in, and we sat on the couch and chatted for the better part of an hour while all of the kids shrieked and hollered and had a great time in another room. We talked about where they used to live, and where all of us have worked, and what we will be doing over the summer.

It was so wonderful, we wondered why we don’t do these kinds of things more often.

Then a child melted, right there in the middle of the street, and we knew why. This shit’s hard, sometimes.