My neighbors are pretty tolerant. At least, that’s how it appears.
I live in one of those developments where you can stand between both houses and – if your arms are long enough – touch houses on either side of you.
It’s worse in the backyard. I’m pretty sure there’s less than four feet from my block fence to the foundation of my neighbor’s house.
Despite that, they’ve never once complained about the kids.
That’s an interesting fact because when it’s cool outside, I’m sure they can hear my kids run out the door first thing in the morning to play.
No matter the time.
I try to keep it from getting too early on the weekends. But this morning I didn’t look at the clock until after I put on the coffee.
It was 7:46 a.m. and they were having the time of their lives.
“Let’s go to grandma’s house. Mom, you pretend to be grandma. I’ll drive the car.”
I looked out to see my 3-year-old on top of the play truck my 6-year-old was driving.
“WHEE!”
I only had to ask her to stop screaming once. They really weren’t loud. They were just being kids.
I love this time of year because they LOVE to be outside. And their imaginations run wild as they make up their own storylines to play.
I’m pretty sure my neighbors have forgiven me.
Now everyone is talking about the American economy and eclections, nice to read something different. Eugene