With every passing day, we love our house—and our neighborhood—more and more. But our feelings about the new address shot through the roof last Friday, when we went to our first shindig at a neighbor's place two blocks down.

Thank goodness for my mother-in-law. That may be as rare an expression as there is, but I've said it to myself, silently and aloud, dozens of times in the last few weeks.

A friend of mine bought a house in North Carolina a few years back, and when she first moved in, she slept with a hammer, a garage-door opener, Lysol spray, and her cell phone under her pillow. (The plan, apparently, was to distract an intruder by opening the garage door while spraying Lysol in his face, calling 911, and threatening him with a hammer). As an easily scared whimp, I figured I'd probably do the same thing someday.