Day Eighteen

An Open Letter To My Neighbors:

This is an open apology to my wonderful neighbors who had no idea what living next to a house full of three boys and all of their assorted playdates and friends would entail.
I am sorry that my boys wake up at approximately 6:30 no matter what time they go to sleep. It is all I can do to keep them in the house, and away from yours, until 8am. I know they are trolling the neighborhood on their bikes and scooters looking for company. I have told them not to knock on your door, but I fear now that they are standing on your porch looking in the window for any sign of movement. And in Drew’s case, to see if there is anything cooking on the stove.
I am sorry that every time we leave the house to get in the car, there is yelling, pushing and doors slamming. The arguments over vital issues like who touched the car first and who can sit up front likely carry into your homes on a daily basis. Just for the record it is me slamming the doors and the hatch because I am trying not to yell and my stern “I can’t believe you are fighting about this again” look is largely ineffective this far into summer.
I am sorry for the cleats, football pads, tennis shoes and assorted gear that line the deck and front porch at all times. Frankly, it just all smells too bad to come into the house. My car already smells like a locker room but I am trying to preserve the facade of an orderly home as long as possible. It is, however, great entertainment to watch me dash out to gather all that stuff and move it to the garage when a sudden storm comes.
I am sorry for all the times the boys have grabbed tomatoes or berries from your yard as they passed through and trampled your grass during a game of hide and seek. If it is any consolation, all reports indicate that you have quite the green thumb and that everything they sampled is quite tasty. Congratulations!
I am sorry that even the simplest game of baseball or football in the yard dissolves into a wrestling match and tears. Drew is not really a quitter. Reed is not really a sissy and Mac is not really a cheater despite what you may have heard repeated over and over again. If, that is, you can make out any of the words amid the yelling and tears. Sometimes, to me, it sounds like another language when they get all worked up.
I am sorry for all of the experiments that were, in retrospect, probably ill-advised. They knew that Mac would likely not make the basketball into the your hoop when throwing it off my deck. This was confirmed as it slammed off your garage door and careened over your fence. They knew that trying to throw a tennis ball from the backyard, over the house to a waiting brother in the front yard would most likely hit a car somewhere along the way. This was confirmed as it pinged off the hood of a car parked in front of your house. Luckily, no damage except to my ego.
Lastly, I am sorry that we are never moving. We love it here. We have seen neighbors come and go and we are never sorry we stayed. I mean, really, who else would have us?


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Magnificence in the Mundane

Finding humor in kids and chaos is the best place for your personal blog or business site.

Magnificence in the Mundane

Finding humor in kids and chaos is the best place for your personal blog or business site.

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