A few weeks ago the lady at the bakery around the corner asked me how my boys were.
Soon after that, the clerk at a store we have been in only once or twice before commented on how much Squish looks like his dad.
We’ve had a neighbor take to calling us the Dartmouth family. (I corrected him this morning — we’re actually the BYU family. He had misremembered Manchild’s favorite hoodie.)
Our super, despite his thick accent and rough demeanor, has come through for us on more than one occasion and loves to tease the boys as much as he loves to scare them.
And there have been many other neighbors who have let me know, in one way or another, that they see me. They see us. And though I am often too preoccupied with the boys to notice them as they watch us go by day after day through their windows or from their stoops, I feel taken care of. I feel like they have my back.