About nine years ago, when Big Guy was a toddler, he had a buddy whose mother was an acquaintance from the pre-pregnancy days. Although we never spent much time together before kids, impending motherhood and then actual babies bonded us in a way only new mothers understand.

Occasionally, she would make the drive from her new, Edward Scissorhands type of neighborhood in deep northwest Raleigh to my house, in the now named Midtown section of the city.  And as she drove, she never failed to comment on the changing scenery.

She'd pull away from her patch of sprouting deep green grass and glance up with a clear view to the sky since there were no trees to form a canopy.  She'd pass by all the other houses, with every third one looking just like hers. She'd drive the quiet road complete with deer crossing signs until she reached the busy intersections, continue on with the city buses and eventually end up in our side of town, with its not-quite-too-suburban feel, central location, established trees and non-cookie cuter houses.

It's the kind of neighborhood you could actually go for a run and get a little bit lost. The kind of neighborhood that has apartments, gas stations and superstores upon exiting, but on the inside has schools within walking distance, a city park and a neighborhood club.  It's the kind of neighborhood where people move in and end up staying. And it was the perfect spot for us to settle so many years ago, when it was just Really Big Guy and me.

Even when our floors were covered with toys, even when a n0-bonus room feature made our kids feel completely deprived, and still now, when guests are force to share the toilet with two  kids whose perfect aim for flicking a puck in a net or shooting a soccer ball in a goal falls by the wayside when it comes to taking care of business, we've not waivered in our intent to stay put.

But recently, we've been tested. Our quiet neighborhood has been seeing big city problems. Gang graffiti on nearby apartments, shots fired at a moving car, shady characters lurking at the park and most recently, a house fire that may be ruled as arson make us wonder, at least for a split second, if this spot is still perfect.

It makes those normal, ordinary problems we used to worry about, such as too many geese making their way toward front lawns, a family of foxes finding a home in the ample brush and even the absurd amount of squirrels digging up spots in freshly seeded lawns suddenly seem a little smaller.  It makes us wonder if we're silly to stay. 

What I have learned is that the split second of contemplation is just that - a split second of contemplation. Because when my rational brain kicks in, I know we're not leaving. And neither are our neighbors.

For we know that in this neighborhood, we check in on each other if you're supposed to be home yet you don't answer the telephone.  Children wandering in packs that end up on your street to play will be reminded to come in and call their parents. And you'll find neighbors gathering on the corner in the cold, early morning rain to see what they can do to help those who are grieving from a tremendous loss.

That's what makes a true neighborhood. A neighborhood with all of its imperfections is still the closest thing to perfect. And who wouldn't want to live there? 

Illyse appears Thursdays on TriangleMom2Mom.