Yesterday, we had our annual Not Labor Day Not Block Party. The event lives up to its name every year, even though sometimes it does happen to fall on Labor Day—people from our neck of the ‘hood come, along with others. Our party planning methods very informal; we let go of attempts to determine that the potluck have balance a few years ago and somehow the meal only improved and we make a list of grillables and assorted other necessities the weekend of and three households share in host duties and the party spills between our driveways and lawns. What’s fixed in tradition: corn from Our Lady of the Butter and Sugar (okay, Golonka Farm) and the truth that every year the kids seem to be bigger.
This year, more than one person remarked upon missing the first near neighbor off to college (something I’d written about this week on Huffington Post Parents). We still have a lot of action at the swings. We haven’t lost preschooler or toddlerhood. We sure have teens, though, too. It’s more than a little wonderful to have kids grow up in a neighborhood (and us parents and friends, too).
Just before the party, my essay about being a mom preschool to high school went live on the NYT site (here is the link). I walked out my door and lived it.