Our Small Life

Life here in our neighborhood is small. As all of you know, Ryan and I have shared a car since we've been married, which means that after we had Trenton, our life became wherever the stroller could take us. (Or wherever my friend Amber was going. :)

We walk over to the local grocery store a couple times a week. Trenton is buds with all the produce guys, and I chat with my friend Chaza in her checkout line.

Then there's the little Asian man who patrols the shopping plaza almost as much as Trenton and I do. He always tells Trenton that he will grow up to be like Obama, the president of the United States. "Either that or a doctor," he adds, "And I will be your patient!" Then he cracks up at himself and keeps on walking.

Then there's our neighbor, 90-year-old Mr. Elliot, who always says good morning, no matter what time of day it is. In each conversation, without fail, he tells me that I'm sacred now that I'm a mother.

Our other neighbor, Mo, always tells Trenton, "So many H's! Happy, healthy, and handsome!"

We know our mail carrier and UPS guy well.

We visit frequently with our sweet and spunky, 90-year-old nextdoor neighbor, Gladys, whom Ryan calls "Trenton's girlfriend." (Trenton is pretty much obsessed with her walker.)

One of our favorite things about being resident manager is that it gives us the excuse to know all our neighbors—all 52 of them. Sure, sometimes we know them because they're asking us for things, but a lot of the time, they're just seeing how we're doing. Managing this complex is the perfect job for us. (And I'm saying that even after a whole weekend of monitoring the sump pump to make sure sewage doesn't overflow. So that's saying something!)

Thanks for reading, and we love you all!