When we moved to Indianapolis from Minneapolis nearly eleven years ago, Maggie was only two years old. The only house she really remembers is the house we lived in for 10 years. Moving last fall was very hard on her. We didn't move far from our old neighborhood, maybe fifteen minutes away, but to her, we might as well have been moving to the moon.
She grew up in our old neighborhood. She developed friendships there. She doesn't even remember making many of the friends there because she was so little when she made those friends. It was a great neighborhood for her because it was "girl heaven." Much the way this neighborhood is overrun with boys, our previous block had several girls right around Maggie's age. She could almost always find someone to play with.
We promised her that even though we were moving, she would still be able to be in touch with her old friends; there would be plenty of visiting back and forth as well as sleepovers. It wasn't like we were moving a bajillion miles away. She would see her friends--probably almost as often as before. And she has seen her old friends. But, not as often as before. The girls are all growing up. Some are in high school, some middle school and they all have busy schedules. Staying in touch is difficult, but made a little easier through things like Facebook and text messaging.
Recently, Maggie asked if B. could sleep over. It had been awhile since they'd seen each other. Maggie and B. have been friends "since, like, forever." They have had many sleepovers, been to each other's birthday parties, and done various outings with each other. They have always had a good time together. B. calls herself my third daughter and I think of her that way. I am always interested in what is going on in her life and I enjoy seeing her. So I gave my consent and plans were made.
The girls were giddy and silly and giggly, just as they have always been. They watched High School Musical 3 and goofily danced along. They closeted themselves in Maggie's room and cranked up the music. I could hear laughter over the pounding music. Not much had changed even though the scenery was different.
On Saturday morning, I was in the kitchen and I could hear the girls upstairs giggling. Shortly, they came down the stairs and into the kitchen. What I saw made me snort. Maggie and B. had raided the dress-up tub and were wearing capes and holding shields in one hand and spray bottles in the other. They ran out the door and there was much screaming and squealing. I knew I needed to get my camera and beat feet out the door.
The girls were having a squirt bottle fight.
They ducked behind their shields and blindly sprayed each other.
I asked them to let me take a picture of them together and they called a truce long enough to allow it.
Then, B. whispered in Maggie's ear and they both pulled their squirt bottles on me and began spraying me. I ran screaming into the house, yelling idle threats over my shoulder, while they followed behind spraying and laughing hysterically.
We have moved. Our neighbors have changed. Their lives are a bit different than before, but one thing has stayed the same through all the changes; their love and friendship has not moved.
Happy Love Thursday, everyone!
Seasons of Change
8 hours ago
