I have a feeling we’re not in West Asheville anymore.  Much like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, I’ve started looking around and our new home, well, doesn’t feel much like home.  Baby T and I moved a mere fifteen miles.   But it might as well be another region entirely for how different things feel.  If you’ve read my previous post, you know I’m a single mom who recently moved in with another single mom.  The most common question I get asked these days is how’s it going?  Everyone seems to be curious about what it’s like.

It’s been a blast — a mix of suburbia living, slumber party, and summer camp all blended together.  In a month, we’ve managed to create a happy home that’s full of our kids’ laughter, Baby T’s happy coos and squeals, and the other mama and my girlish chatter and banter.  We’ve also gotten into a pretty good groove, working on sleep training together, figuring out how to get kids to do chores and homework, and taking turns with meal prep.

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If you had told me that our move would feel like living in the suburbs, I would have replied that you had gotten me confused with someone else.   Turns out a little time in the suburbs is exactly what I needed.  Gone are the grunge, desperately hip, young families and the elderly couples out on the front porch Baby T and I use to chat with on our evening walks.  In fact, gone are all of our daily interactions, because we’re no longer living in a neighborhood with sidewalks nearby or parks within walking distance.  Instead we’re spending more time commuting, driving to strip malls, and waiting in traffic lights.

Living in suburbia sprawl isn’t really my thing.  But it turns out that getting to spend so much time with another family in a happy home dwarfs the unpleasant realities of suburban living.  For me, living with another mom means a whole lot of support.  We spend entire evenings playing with our kids, grilling on the deck and enjoying a bottle of wine on the deck.  I’m helping her lose weight with healthy smoothies in the morning and evening jogs with the kids.  She, in turn, has given me clothes and beauty advice, made me Mexican food, and dangerous cocktails.  We swap stories about our work days and provide support with one another’s kids when needed.

But my favorite part of living here is spending time with our kids.  She has two – a nine year old boy and a six year old girl.  Her nine year old boy first interacted with Baby T as if a baby were a science project.  He was very inquisitive, asking with a fascination whether Baby T actually swallows any of the food that he eats since it seems to drop from his mouth all over his clothes.  He asks me what Tobin is saying, like I know because I talk back to him.  At first the nine year old boy seemed uncomfortable with his new living situation, but he’s warmed up to us.  He recently insisted we attend his birthday party in September.  We’ve turned taking out the garbage into a relay race and I’m not sure who looks forward to it more.  .  .

As for the six year old girl we live with, she just thinks Baby T is adorable, which she somehow manages to fit in just about every other sentence.  She’s already taken dozens of pictures of him on her purple camera adorned with pink flowers.  She can be found holding on to one of his hands or feet at all times, never letting Baby T get far from her.

When Baby T and I walk through the door, the children run to greet him in happy voices and the other mom reaches to him for a quick snuggle.  Baby T-lights up and adores his new big friends.  The six year old girl turned to Baby T the other night and said, “you are like the little brother I never had.”  And it does feel like that – like we’re part of one big family.