As we get closer to the end, I am certain that my blogs will get sappier about life in the District. Most importantly, they will probably involve these amazing ladies that I have met and how I truly adore them, their children, and their husbands. Mostly, I love the gentlemen.
It's not because I know them so well, rather- they let us get together and stay together until some ungodly hour with no complaints. They fetch us wine and deliver it to wherever we have gathered before scooping up a kid and heading out again. They take pictures of us. Lots of pictures. They clean up the mess we made at whoever's house we made it in, probably thankful that they got a night off-- just as much as we are thankful that we, too, got a night together.
We talk. A lot. The ladies, that is. We talk about all sorts of things. There really is not much to gossip about, because we only know each other. We gossip about our children. We talk about the men. We drink wine.
Lots of wine.
We change diapers, eat cheese, cook chicken nuggets, and occasionally we play bunko. We fix hems in another's dress, take away forks and replace them with butter knives, help fasten princess dresses and adjust tiaras. We soothe babies and grab bottles from fridges.
We get spit up on. Usually not by our own.
We trade recipes we immediately forget. We talk about our family back home. We revel in the successes of others and are not afraid to boast about a great accomplishment. We order sushi. We laugh.
We laugh a lot.
We talk about God, faith, and pancakes. We lay train tracks for the kids to mess up. We wash another's clothes with promises of returning the soon-to-be stain soaked shirt. We ask opinions. We find ice packs and tylenol for the skinned knees and clobberings. We leave those same ice packs and tylenol on the counter for later use.
We love each other.
But, really, what's not to love?