On Belonging

The day we moved from our little yellow house in the desert, my heart broke. I had dreams of raising children the way I remember childhood: biking through cactus speckled desert trails, breathing in creosotes after a monsoon rain, catching lizards and toads in the backyard. Then suddenly, poof! We were on our way west.

The first few months I did what any mom in a new city would do. I brought Little Butterfly to local parks. Visited libraries. Joined online play dates. Took long stroller rides with no direction in mind. Shed some tears during nap time, wondering if we could ever feel like we belonged here. But then suddenly....

We managed to get a few places without needing our trusty GPS system.

Our neighbors started calling us by name, and brought over ripe lemons, the size of fists.

I watched Little Butterfly grab a ball and race to the front door, after hearing her friends playing nearby.

It dawned on me that I walked for miles in a nature preserve with a mama from Palestine. Then had our new Israeli friends over for brunch the following weekend. That's the beauty of living in our new area.

I started feeling giddy anticipating the weekend exploring the wooded groves on creaky boardwalks, and finding a stroller's worth of vegetables at the farmer's market.

We scurried away on mini family trips - we visited quirky coffee shops, one with an enormous treehouse built inside. We walked downtown hand in hand.  We ate pie overlooking the bay.

Little Butterfly and I met a few kindred spirits on our play dates and around our neighborhood. Mamas and babies so lovely we feel honored to have met them.


Maybe we belong here after all.