I love our neighborhood

We went for a walk yesterday afternoon between rainstorms. Harper on her tricycle (she has a bike, you'll remember, but it is really still too big and wobbly for me to supervise properly when I've got the other two along), Hudson on his little push trike, and Helena in the stroller. Our new neighborhood is the sort where people wave when you walk by. We had just turned a corner and I saw a car coming slowly towards us. They stopped in the middle of the street and the window rolled down. It was an elderly couple and the wife was driving. The husband said, out the window, "How. CUTE." And the wife went on to tell me that they had three grown kids who were also pretty close in age. I felt a little like Mrs. Mallard in Make Way for Ducklings. Proud, with a little extra waddle in my step. I do like when people make sweet comments because I can agree with them and not feel like I have to be a little apologetic, as I sometimes do when people make the, "BOY, you've got your hands FULL" comment. I saw something in the Dallas Morning News last weekend that made me so thankful for my healthy children who do indeed keep my hands full, but in a most beautiful, fulfilling, albeit exhausting way. I'll link to it, but don't watch it unless you need a serious catharsis. It's incredibly life-affirming, but devastatingly sad. It's about a baby named Thomas.