This morning, as I sat with my new Chicagoan friends watching our children play (together and not so much), I was struck with an overwhelming feeling of gratitude for this group of people whom I’ve come to rely on so much.

On Wednesday mornings, Jude and I meet up with two other moms and their kids. We go to the farmers’ market, find a nice patch of grass on which to set up shop, and let the kids run and roam and play. Inevitably, the kids get peckish and return to home base for a snack (or two, or three). Today was no different, but for the first time, I feel like I got an outsider’s view of the situation, and let me tell you…It was a lovely view.

The three children wandered from mother to mother, picking and choosing what they wanted to eat from a number of different options. One of us had an apple and some mushrooms (obviously the most health-conscious of the bunch), and one the coveted vegan scone and a banana, and another one a peach and some muffins. As each child approached the next station along the buffet, the mom in charge would break or bite off a piece of her item and hand it to the eager child. Everyone shared all they had. No one went without.

Later, as the kids played, us moms took turns wrangling in the young ones and playing soccer with the older one. Occasionally we were able to step back from our child-centric activities to engage in conversation with one another. We didn’t get to do much relaxing, but I think we all had a really great time. I know I did.

One of the tings I miss most about living in Scranton is the network of friends we had there. I miss those relationships. I miss being around people who, while not related by blood, were the most incredible family I’ve ever had. Today I got a glimpse of what ‘family’ might mean now that we’re 12 hours west of NEPA.

Things are looking up.